Backwards Into Hell

Part Three: Everybody Dies

Jake's Diary

Sunday 31st October

I was the last one down for breakfast that morning. It wasn't because I'd woken up late. I'd been busy working on the book, documenting everything just right and procrastinating on what followed.

The others wouldn't know it was me who finished Darren off, and even if they did, I didn't think they'd care. He'd killed one of our own, plus, in their minds, he'd murdered the rest of them.

And me? I was the quiet young man who could do no wrong.

As my mind drifted, I turned to the first page—the night Harriet died. How scared I'd been.

She'd deserved it. She'd been rude to me that first day, and if the rumours were true, Harriet was a killer herself. A smile crept onto my lips as I shut the book and finally headed down.

Every time I walked through the corridors of The Lodge, it became eerier. The first few days had been so lively—every room with an occupant, conversations through walls, stupid chats at dinner. Now the rooms were empty, and the conversations ended.

Somewhat wistful, I arrived in the lobby. David and Lottie were already there, standing and staring at Darren's body in deathly silence. Darren slumped in his chair, a stream of blood running around his neck and a gross lump of saliva resting on his chin.

I was worried he'd be awake, talking and joking and telling everyone what I'd done, but he wasn't. Darren's skin was a shade of purple, and the blood in him had congealed.

'He must have died in the night,' said David when he noticed me behind them.

'Jesus,' I said. 'What do we do with him?'

'He doesn't deserve a funeral,' Lottie muttered, not turning from the body.

'I'll dump him in the forest later,' David decided, running his hands through his hair. 'I'm having breakfast first though.'

We followed him into the dining room where Caleb, oblivious to the cracked table, red-stained floor, and chipped mantelpiece, sat in his high chair with a bowl of milky cornflakes. The dining room—despite Lottie's brave efforts to clean it—was a bomb site.

As I sat with my breakfast—a bowl of unsugared cornflakes because all the better cereals were gone—I reflected that this was our last day. The was the last time I'd see The Lodge, this room, and the tired faces of my fellow guests.

Once we were settled, David rested his elbows on the table.

'I'm still leaving,' he said. 'What happened yesterday doesn't change anything.'

'Why?' Lottie coughed up a mouthful of flakes. 'You'll be safer here.'

Lottie may not have understood, but it was obvious why David wanted to go. If I had a kid as young as Caleb, it was safer to be as far away as possible.

'Let him leave,' I said calmly.

'No!' She leaned over the table. 'This can't happen. We've got to stick together.'

David shook his head.

'I need to protect Caleb.'

'But the murderer's gone!'

David put down his spoon. 'That doesn't matter. This place... it's cursed.'

'Fine. But we're not coming with you.'

'You're not invited.'

A harsh silence fell, and David left not long after that, muttering something about packing.

Lottie glanced at me. 'You'll stay, won't you, Jake?'

'Of course, I will.' I placed my hand on hers.

'Thank you.' She wiped her mouth with a napkin and suddenly seemed ten years older.

'You never know,' I said. 'David might come back once he sees what it's like out there.'

Lottie frowned. Even I didn't believe my own words.

'Jake?'

'Yeah?'

'We're not going home, are we?'

My silence said it all. I tried to think of the right words.

'There's always hope,' I said.

Although I knew, almost definitely, there was not.