Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Monday 25th October

'You've probably guessed by now, but we couldn't find the police.' David said, placing his hands over the oak table.

When we'd arrived back at The Lodge, everyone had gathered in the dining room, eager to hear our news. I'd slid through the door as quietly as possible and, it now being past lunch, wondered if there was anything to eat.

David stood at the head of the table with Lily by his side. I stayed at the back, and the others gazed at him from their seats. This wasn't good. He was already the clear leader.

'The station was empty. Actually, the whole town was. I don't know how to describe it. It's like... like everyone's left.'

'We didn't find anyone either,' said Lottie and my ears perked up.

'You went out?' I asked.

She nodded, keeping hold of Caleb as she explained their failed attempt to find Lisa.

David continued. 'We went to the pier to see if there were any boats off-island, but it seems no motors are working. A storm might have cut out some things.'

'But it was clear last night.'

'An electrical storm, maybe.' David gritted his teeth. 'Simply put,' he said, 'we don't know what's happened. But for now, that's the only idea we've got.'

The Storm.

What nonsense.

'So what do we do?' asked Darren. He was leaning forward in his chair like a kid.

'There's no way off the Island,' I said and felt under the spotlight as all eyes turned to me. How did David do this? 'Save from actually building a boat ourselves.'

Silence again. Were they actually...?

'I could have a go,' Anais said quietly. 'I took a few carpentry classes at school.'

'I'll help,' said Lily, and soon everyone was piling on, drawing dreams of a giant ship rocketing through the seas to the mainland. But that's all it was—a dream.

'Is there a radio tower on the Island?' David asked. 'We could get a message out.'

Anais shook his head—he knew more than he let on. 'The only one's the next island over.'

'Well, maybe we sail there. That can be our first job.'

A cacophony of nods and mutters of agreement spread through us. We were banding together, forming a team, and I had to make sure I wasn't left out. But it would be better if the group was split—it would give me more opportunities to get the guests alone.

Luckily, Lottie suggested that for me.

'Some of us should look for Delilah,' she said.

David frowned. 'I reckon she disappeared like the others. We probably won't find her.'

'We should try anyway,' I urged. 'Just in case.'

Lottie smiled at me then. Good.

'Alright.' David buckled. 'But don't roam too far. For now, we should get some lunch.'

'I'm afraid we've forgotten something.' Darren leaned back in his chair. 'The Chef.'

'Oh, well we can make Sandwiches, can't we?' Lottie suggested. 'And—'

'No,' Darren interrupted. 'We can't just leave her out there. We need a funeral.'

                                                                                         ***

We had a quick lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches before I excused myself, saying I didn't feel well—which was perfectly natural under the circumstances—and fled to my room as they prepared for the funeral.

It felt wrong to be there anyway. I was the one who'd killed her. What sort of man attends their own victim's funeral?

When I got to my room, I made sure to lock the door and by some small mercy, Delilah was still there, hiding under the bed. I don't know why she wouldn't have been—she was dead. She wasn't going for a walk on her own any time soon.

A clear hiding place was already in my mind. It wasn't anything original or clever, but Delilah wouldn't be darkening my door any longer.

So once I was sure everyone was downstairs, it was time to act. It was dangerous to move her, I knew that, but the stench was dangerously close to spilling into the corridor and already bad enough to make me gag.

First, I stole the clothing hamper from the first-floor hall. It was a large wicker container, more than big enough for someone as petite as Delilah, and I struggled upstairs with it as quickly as I could, reaching my room without incident and covered in a film of sweat.

Then I wrapped Delilah in some bed linen taken from the basket and stood back to admire my work. A carpet-rolled corpse.

It was better than nothing.

But as I lifted her, the rigor mortis had already begun to set in, and she was heavier than a two-tonne stone. As I set her head on a dirty pillowcase, my arms gave way, and the rest of her landed with an echoing bang that rattled the floorboards.

I froze.

No one was near enough to hear it but my heart thudded anyway as I grabbed the basket handle and heaved it toward the door. I poked my head into the corridor, looking both ways before nearing the stairs. There was no way the basket could stay up here. It was too suspicious to keep it on my floor—especially once someone found it.

Getting it down the stairs was another struggle. Using muscles I didn't have, I staggered down, basket in hand and taking care not to fall.

Exhausted, I dumped it at the bottom and breathed hard. My arms felt like overcooked spaghetti as I dragged the basket back to its original spot. I paused and rested on the lid for a moment, except there was hardly time to admire my handiwork as muffled voices drifted up the stairs.

I stood and dashed back up, doing my best to move like a shadow—sneaking around was becoming second nature. My chest heaved as I fell into my room and collapsed onto the hard bed.

It was done. There was nothing to link Delilah's body back to me, and after a minute, the dreaded noise came. Someone knocked on my door.

Had someone seen me running? Had they looked in the basket? Would I have to kill them, too?

'Jake?' Lily's voice echoed through the wood.

I breathed slow and got up to answer. Lily's eyebrows floated up when she saw how sweaty and red I was, but it fitted with the illness story.

'Are you coming down? We're starting in a sec.'

I said I would, and Lily left me to clean myself up. I splashed my face with water and ran the same words over and over in my head:

No one knows.

Not yet.