Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Saturday 23rd October

Sulphur. That was what The Lodge smelt of. Its scent wafted up my nose like an unwelcome guest as we disembarked the coach. It was slightly eggy, rotten, stinging and, safe to say, wasn't the best first impression.

A few of the others wrinkled their noses as the drivers ushered us up the wooden porch steps and I took it in. The Lodge was made from dark pine that splintered at the edges and was covered in flecks of old black paint. Thanks to the dark sky and heavy rain, it could be easily mistaken for Dracula's castle with its four storeys, long windows, and pointed roof.

Not bothering to pull up my hood, I looked down to the bay. We were on a slight hill on the edge of town, ringed by tall trees, that could only be accessed via the long winding path that led to the water.

The drivers led us inside. Once we were suitably gathered and dripping puddles on the floor, the taller one, wearing a sharp suit, began counting us.

'Is everyone here?' he asked, pushing his dark hair back with one hand and tactfully leaving a few strands hanging over his handsome face. He didn't wear a tie, choosing instead to leave the top of his white shirt flushed open.

He finished counting and muttered the number to the other—a shorter, quiet man who seemed more of an assistant. Then he clapped his hands and began.

'Good evening.' A few people muttered greetings in return and I began to feel as if this was a school trip. 'My name is Darren and I'm the proprietor here at The Lodge—if you have any questions, come straight to me. This is Anais—' he pointed to the man next to him— 'if you can't find me, go to him.'

As Darren rattled through his rehearsed speech, he moved to the centre of the circle, holding our attention with an iron grip.

'Now, we'd normally keep you all down here for twenty minutes or so and run through some ground rules, but considering the weather, I'm sure you want to get to your rooms and dry off.'

Murmurs of agreement rippled.

'Anais will find you your keys and I say we meet back here at...' Darren flicked his arm and checked his watch. 'Quarter-past? Just in time for tea.'

No one objected as Anais nipped into another room and emerged with five envelopes. On each was a room number and our names.

I listened carefully as he called them out.

First up was a girl named Delilah who collected her things without a word and promptly disappeared upstairs. I discovered the loud woman from the coach was called Lottie and her husband, Abe, collected the keys. The man she had been torturing was David, and with him was a small boy, no older than two with beautifully curled blond hair, who raced ahead of his dad and climbed the stairs like a tiny mountaineer.

Then came Lily, the girl who'd been sketching on the coach, and once she had gone, Anais finally called my name.

'Room five,' he said as I took the envelope.

'Right at the top, I'm afraid,' said Darren who was perching on a shabby, wooden coffee table at the far wall.

I smiled softly and turned to the stairs, thinking the exercise might do me good.

The stairs were like much of The Lodge—dark and wooden. And as I spiralled upwards, the rain was strong. I stopped for a moment on the second floor, watching it patter against the long window at the other end of the corridor. That was how The Lodge was laid out: three floors, each with two rooms that backed onto a tunnel-like corridor. Downstairs was more open and featured a lobby, dining room, kitchen, and toilets.

Eventually, I made it to Room Five and unlocked the door, noting with a small delight that it was across from Lily's. The room, much like the coach, wasn't much to look at. While the lobby had been decorated in a gothic, 1800s style, this room was beige. There was a beige bed, a beige armchair, beige curtains, and a painted beige wooden nightstand. Even the en-suite was beige—a seventies nightmare.

On top of the nightstand was a heavy, metal alarm clock that seemed quite out of place with the rest of the decor. Next to it, I placed my phone and a few books before I turned to my suitcase and sighed.

Although I'd had plenty of time to plan, it had been impossible to pack. Did I need weapons? Poisons? Wire? Or would he provide me with that?

In the end, all I'd brought was a flimsy penknife. I took it out then, unwrapped it, and shoved it in a drawer.

After that I changed into dry clothes, choosing a pair of jeans and a thick jumper to counter the chill of The Lodge. Then I moved to the window that faced east, which in better weather would have given a view. Castlebay was unique: a decaying medieval fort in the middle of the water, accessible only by a short boat trip. I wasn't a tourist, but that didn't mean I wouldn't visit.

I checked the time: ten past. How to use my spare five minutes?

Dad would know.

I remembered something he said once as he trapped my queen with a sly bishop, sat back in his chair and weaved his fingers together.

Know your enemy, son, and they can never surprise you.

So I left my room and stopped at Lily's door. Faint music came from inside, but I didn't knock. I already knew a little about her, the artist.

After some hesitation, I left and floated down the creaky stairs until my feet stood in front of another door. Delilah's.

She answered quickly.

'Hello?' She peered out with a frown.

'Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.' I gave her my brightest smile and, thank God, she smiled back. 'I thought it would be good to get to know everyone—are you travelling alone?'

She nodded. 'Bit sad, isn't it?'

'Not at all. It's better that way.'

She opened the door wider and leaned on the frame. The first thing I noticed was her hair. It was beautiful, dark and shining and cropped to just below her shoulders.

'Yeah.' She looked at her shoes and there was a beat of silence before she said, 'I'm heading to the castle tomorrow if you'd want to—'

'Sounds good.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

She grinned and pushed a chunk of hair behind her ear. This was almost too easy.

'Anyway,' I said, 'I'd better head down—see you at dinner?'

'See you.' She went to close the door but hesitated. 'I'm Delilah, by the way.'

'Jake.'

She smiled again, half-hiding behind her fringe, and finally shut the door. The next logical step was to find Room Two. Except the space where it would have been was marked by two separate doors in the centre of the corridor with Staff Only signs.

So I took a step back and considered my next steps. Meanwhile, the soft click of someone's heel echoed from downstairs. After waiting a beat, I jogged to the first floor and watches as the door to the dining room clicked shut. I followed regardless, dashing in and calling,

'Hey!'

She stopped just before the kitchen door and turned to me with a snarled glare.

I chose to ignore her sharpness and instead noted her uniform—a white top with chessboard trousers.

She plastered on a unerringly false smile. 'Can I help you?'

'Sorry. Just wanted to introduce myself.'

The Chef looked me up and down.

'I'm Jake.'

'Harriet,' she said. 'And sorry, but I need to get on with dinner.'

She wasn't sorry, not really, but I couldn't blame her. Us guests must have changed every week—why bother with them? Unfortunately for Harriet, that was her first mistake.

As she hurried into the kitchen, I knew she would be the first.