Backwards Into Hell

Part Two: The LFG

Abigail's Diary

Thursday 28th October

It was time. My one chance to save Caleb from The Spirit's cruel grip.

The gun was heavy in my pocket as I waited until nightfall, sharing stories and food with the rest of camp before heading quietly to bed. I had set an alarm for two am; witching hour.

When I woke to my phone's vibration against my arm, my stomach squeezed. I pulled on my warmest jumper and watched my breath frost in the air as I unzipped the tent, holding the gun wrapped in the red fabric. Then I set out into the fields and towards The Lodge.

They'd released more information that evening about the latest body. This time, it had been a young girl, a student. Her parents had already packed up their tent and left. I never got the chance to talk to them.

As the grass crunched under my wet trainers, I wondered how long the rest of us would be camping. Would I stay, if Caleb was found? Would I wait with John?

Maybe I should have brought him with me. John knew about The Spirit, after all, but it would put him in danger, and anyway, he'd only slow me down.

I was making excuses.

The immediate area around The Lodge was tightly cordoned with police tape, and as I reached it I ran the fingers of my free hand along the plastic. There were a few officers stationed outside The Lodge and in the dark they blended into the black, making it impossible to figure out their number.

Here we go.

I laid on the grass, ignoring the wetness that seeped into my clothes, and, hoping the safety was on, shoved the gun into my back pocket.

I began to crawl through the soggy grass. Clumsily at first, until my body got used to the movement and I built speed. There was an opening at the side of The Lodge—a kitchen door. But in front of it stood a stout policeman clad in black and blue with a heavy belt of defensive items. His eyes were narrow as he scanned the perimeter. For a moment they stopped, rested on me, and moved to the trees in the distance as my heart thudded in my ears.

This was impossible.

I thought about rushing in, shoving past him and his weapons and forcing myself inside. Except the gun needed to stay in The Lodge. If they knew about it, they'd take it.

I frowned. None of this made any sense.

Why sneak a gun into an active crime scene?

So I stayed there, frozen in the grass, brain swirling with what to do and at that moment, the Spirit appeared. He drifted from the darkness like a phantom and came next to the officer. He paused, leaning heavily on his staff, and gazed at the back of the officer's head. Was it a hint? Did he want me to saunter up and knock the man out?

No chance.

Something happened. As I waited for more guidance, the officer began to sway. Softly at first, and then harder, like a rope swing in a tornado. He staggered, and spun and spun until he didn't, and dropped to the floor. Asleep, I hoped.

Regardless, it was my chance. I glanced up, searching for The Spirit, but he had already moved on and as I sprang up and dashed through the night, I was almost thankful for his help. But if he could do knock someone out like that, why did he need me?

It didn't take long to reach the glass door to the kitchen, and conveniently, it was unlocked. Elated, I rushed in, panting and seeing The Lodge for the first time.

It might have seemed homely and warm in daylight with its wooden interior and rich red rugs, but at night, it was creepy. The rugs were like puddles of blood.

I moved through the kitchen, into a tight dining room bordered by stuffed bookcases and finally, into the lobby. Along its main wall was another bookcase, tall and dark and wooden. That's where I put the gun. I sandwiched it between two especially dreary-looking books for good measure, and stood back to admire my work.

It had been easy. In and out in under two minutes.

Except something made me pause: between two of the books was a soft, white envelope. I yanked it out and let my fingers drift along the sharp writing on the front.

John.

It was from his father. He'd been telling the truth.

I stuffed it in my pocket. Time to go. I weaved back through the lobby, dining room, and kitchen, and as I stepped out of the final door, I took time to sweep my surroundings. There was a grunt in the darkness as one very much awake, and very much angry, policeman took position in front of me.

Our eyes met.

This wasn't over yet.

Already filled to the brim with hot adrenaline, I swept out the door and spun past him as my feet pounded the grass. Heavy footsteps echoed behind.

I reached the police tape. The Spirit stood behind it and I caught the smug grin on his face as I rocketed past.

The officer might have been large, but he was fit. Fitter than me.

With a short glance back, I could see he wasn't even tiring while my heart shuddered and my lungs roared. I had to go faster.

I reached the camp as the officer gained on me, blowing his whistle to alert his friends. But some reason, John was there, stargazing as we piled toward him.

'John!' I screamed. I don't know why. I'd just pulled him into it.

He looked up. His hair, slightly too long, bounced on his forehead as he frowned and mouthed,

'Abi?'

I crashed towards him, falling onto his shoulder and palming the letter into his hand.

'I got it,' is all I said.

As the officers caught up with me, John grabbed my neck and pressed his head to mine.

'I'll get you out,' he said. 'I'll get you out.'

And that was it. The Officers came forward with the weight of a thousand bricks, ripping John from me as I collapsed, face smashing the mud and a cold pair of handcuffs slicing my wrists.