Somewhere

 

Tablo reader up chevron

Prologue

Snarls and roars and war cries screamed all around me, clattering through my brain. Charging footsteps thundered across the ground and flags of every colour swung from large poles, labelling every army and their purpose. The brooding sky was kept at bay by the mourning clouds. Icy hands clasped at steel as foe gazed upon foe. The Siberian winds blustered through the fields, slicing through any strength left in the souls of those that had remained.

Spears and swords glinted cruelly in the sunlight, phantom flames of fire dancing like ribbons, spilling onto the soldiers and eating into their already burning flesh. Monsters swarmed and swayed through the crowds, clumsily clawing at anything that came to be within their reach. Orders were screeched and cannons fired, the inert feet of the enemies like a wave of rumbling thunder. A cyclone of villainous, barbed fire arrows soared into the sky and disappeared into the crowds, the blood-curdling screams of those affected barely audible through the mass of pain and angst. From every side, ranks were being mangled and gashed until they could fight no further. Men groaned and women yowled as the battlefield became slick with the mass of digested innards.

Weapons were clanging, but they weren't enough. A new method of torture was long overdue, and it appeared in the form of a team of hell-hounds, pouncing onto the battlefield and careering into the enemy lines. Bones split and splintered in the theatre of death. The grass beneath the carnage had been drenched with rich and honest blood and the air filled with the bitter, mordant perfume of rotting corpses. Spear tips were blindly thrust forward, causing springs of blood to leap into the air, filling the mouths of those who'd forgotten to bite theirs shut.

The army marched forward, void of any feeling or thought. They had only one purpose- to kill.

The Gods and Goddesses which they obtusely worshipped day in and day out hovered uselessly behind their lines of soldiers, giving the occasional wink and smile to those who turned- an empty promise for those who desired. Their statuesque figures remained untarnished by the nefarious grins that creased their faces in response to every scream: no matter which side it belonged to.

The battlefield fell still. Weapons fell from hands but were silent in their landings. Enemies arrived at one another's feet, all equally powerless beneath the figure that had now appeared: a fiery poker, with laser streams for eyes and thunderous clouds for feet. Eyes disappeared and heads bent as low as they were able, each one desperately trying to imagine themselves into invisibility.

A siren burst out into the crowd, tearing the silence to shreds. Some heard police sirens, and only half of these welcomed the sound. Some heard the peeling bells for what they simply were- lesson time.

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

*

I was the school's loner. And I was happily so. I worked alone in lessons, remained silent in group work, and sat by myself on the same bench every break and lunchtime, like a bird does his perch. Whenever my Mother had stressed about how abnormal her daughter was, my Father had simply justified the stranger of their off-spring by saying 'perhaps they're not her kind of people'. And as usual, he was only half right. For, it was true that the 'people' in my school weren't 'my kind of people.'

But, that thought applied to everyone I had, and ever expected to meet. The truth was, this wasn't 'my kind' of world. People were ignorant, and selfish, and obsessed with so many trivial things that just didn't matter. Half of the world greedily took more than they could ever need whilst constantly reminding each other that they ought to do something about the other half of the world who were starving and impoverished. And the real reason why nothing was ever done was because of the sea of indifference that every one of us bathed in. Every day there was a new reason to hate and prejudice against yet another group of people, despite the fact that if the bodies of both sides were sliced open, their insides would be identical. And then people justified the bad that they couldn't be bothered to do anything about by calling it part of their God's 'plan'. If it was all part of a plan, it was a bad one.

Everyday, these thoughts spun through my mind; depressive, but real. And everyday, they were followed by one simple hope: that somebody had to know. Somebody had to know why the world was so wrong, or even that it was wrong at all. Somebody had to know enough to explain it all away. Because if they didn't, there wasn't any hope at all.

Today was a particularly vile day, for it was non-uniform day where the snobs could flash the labels which symbolised their wealth, the fact that they disliked the clothes irrelevant so long as the price tags were visible. Meanwhile, the 'chavs' could roll out of bed and into school without dressing themselves, and the poorer, less fashionable people got to hide in a corner whilst the rest of the yard laughed and jeered at the fact that these people had higher priorities than what they looked like.

Admittedly, I was one such person. I wore a simple t-shirt, jeans, and boots. My brown hair was tied back in its usual pony tail, and I wore no make-up on my pale face. There was nothing even remotely 'fashionable' or 'stylish' about me. And yet, noone jeered, or pointed, or laughed at me. In fact, noone made so much as a glance in my direction. Over the course of my eleven years in school, I'd made myself invisible. It was perfect.

From my invisible perch, I could watch the wars unfold every lunch time. The brainless thugs who punched and broke bones on behalf of the most fashionable, and therefore most important idiots would always begin the fights. A young weed of a child who was scared of his own voice would risk a cheeky look in the direction of their king, and the thugs would battle with each other to be the first to eliminate the threat. Then the blonde, beautiful but immensely dense queens who were unable to spell out their own names, but had no need to with the clingy shadows to do this for them, would wink and wave to thugs. The thugs would drool and their faces would fill with gormless grins in response, as though these tiny signals were promises from the Gods themselves. Only these promises, as far as the Gods were concerned, meant nothing. The thugs and the shadows and the weeds: they were all lucky to be allowed within a mile of their golden boys and girls.

The whole laughable spectacle, made complete by our vile headmistress who knew only how to scream, continued beyond the end of the school day. But where others stayed behind to watch, I disappeared to the only place that made me smile...the forest.

I visited the forest everyday for two reasons: The first, that it was an all-round pleasant place to be. It was peaceful, beautiful, safe, it smelt and looked nice, and it changed with the seasons. But the second and most important reason for me choosing such a place as my haven, was the fact that no human ever entered it. Throughout the four years I'd been visiting the forest, I hadn't seen a single human. Not even the odd dog walker circling the perimeter. No idle kids out to cause trouble. Just me. And that was perfect.

I relaxed the second I entered into the shade of the trees, the sweet smell of damp leaves and bark mixed with the crisp cool breeze reintroducing my brain to its favourite place in the world. The sun shyly peeked between the branches, and occasional twigs and leaves fluttered lazily in the evening warmth. I found my tree, right in the centre of the forest, and slid my bag off my shoulder. I sat down next to it, leaning my head back against the tree trunk. Birds chirped and the leaves rustled very occasionally as tiny creatures rushed off to their evening tasks.

The small creatures, the random sounds, even the mud would have bothered many people. But to me, it was perfect. I was surrounded by nature, and the most magical thing about nature, is that it knows how to just be. Not to think, or feel, or aspire, but to just do what it has to do. I liked that. I loved it.

On the first few occasions where I'd visited the forest, my parents had barely noticed my absence. After the eighth or ninth time, they demanded to know where I'd been going. For a while, they didn't believe me. But the fact that I had no friends to get drunk with, or to do anything at all with, soon helped to convince them of my solitary disappearances. At first, both parents despaired at the more embarrassing of their two daughters. But by now, they were content with my elder sister's popularity, and gave no thought to me whatsoever.

It was this series of events that lead to my shock at the moment where my phone rang in the forest, and the word 'Mum' flashed on my screen. My immediate thought was to reject the call, but there was something about its irregularity that spurred me to instead lift it to my ear.

Yes?” I said.

Mae?” My Mother's shrill and permanently frantic voice came shooting through my phone. I distanced my hand from my ear so as to conserve my hearing. “Mae? Is that you?”

Mhmm.” I answered. I couldn't blame her for needing to check. She rarely heard my voice, so had no reason to know what it sounded like.

Well I need you to come home.” She said. “Now.”

Right...” I paused. “Why?”

Your Grandma's invited herself over for tea. We need you here.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. Grandma was a foul, sour-faced traditionalist, and every one of her five children bowed down to her, licking each patch of floor before her silver embellished soles were able to step on it.

And this matters how?” I asked. I already knew the answer to this question. If Mum wasn't seen to be running a 'happy family' where the children spoke only when spoken to, there would be trouble. It had taken years of arguing before Grandma had ceased to pass comment on the fact that Mum worked more hours than Dad.

Mae? Please?” There was something quite amusing about my Mother's tone. She was genuinely panicking. I had never understood why noone had just ignored Grandma. I'd questioned how hard it would have been to just reject or block her calls and lock the doors in her face. I would have said that it was because deep down, her children actually loved her. But noone in that family was capable of real love.

Okay.” I said. “I'm coming.”

There was no reply. She hung up midway through my answer. Sighing, I slung my backpack onto my shoulder, and began to move- I wanted a front row seat before the show began.

Feeling the unusual need to hurry, I took a left where I'd normally take a right, and walked at twice my normal pace. The ground was perilously slippery with the mud still bogged down from the mid-July rain. A moment of disorientation left me lost, and I slowed, wandering around in a circle until I'd found my bearings. The edge of the forest returned to my sight, and I sped up once more.

A large, twisted branch lay in my path. My eyes noted its placement at the exact same time as my feet, and in a split second I was soaring through the air, the ground rushing straight towards my face.

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

In which hell becomes a corridor.

Like stepping off a plane into a hot and humid country, the stench smacked me in the face with such force that, had I not already been on the ground, I would have almost certainly fallen down. It was a vile and potent combination of burning flesh and the sweet smell of decay. It took me a few seconds, and a couple of groans, to realise that my eyes were closed, and a few more of each to bring myself to open them.

A thousand shades of searing scarlet and brilliant orange filled my sight, sending waves of light to my brain. My head smacked against the floor, white spots appearing in the corner of my eyes. I held for a moment, breathing, before slowly opening my eyes and lifting my head. The colours still hurt, but they danced in a way that made such a bright scene so dark and sinister. I lifted myself up onto my elbows and reviewed my surroundings.

My first thought was that I was in a furnace, for I did appear to be surrounded by fire. I flinched at the thought, pulling myself in tight and breathing heavily. But the fire did not seem to be coming any where close to me, and rather seemed to prefer to dance against the walls, preventing anyone from leaving.

For that matter, I was now beginning to identify other beings. A few distant figures seemed to be moving in a pained fashion, lifting objects that were unidentifiable from such a distance.

At this point, I was sure of two things. The first, that wherever I was, it was not home. And the second, that wherever this place was, I hadn't been there before my eyes were closed. Fear and confusion invaded my brain, informing me that I was going to die, and that it was going to be painful. I lifted myself up further, giving my lungs more space to breath. In less than a blink of an eye, I had appeared in this horrific place.

I blinked. I blinked again. I was still sat, with a massive bruise forming on my head, in the middle of a fire corridor. I lifted my hand to the bruise. On its way back down, I noted how dry my face was – I wasn't crying. The feeling of being complete calm was unfitting for such a scenario, and yet, I seemed unable to change it. Even my breathing had slowed.

As it was clear that my body had come to accept its surroundings, I instructed my mind to do the same. And with that thought, I lifted myself up off the ground, and began to move towards the moving figures in the distance.

As I walked, I began to notice just how cold I was- an extraordinary sensation to feel when surrounded by such immense heat. I considered that, perhaps, my temperature had fallen to match my lack of emotion.

The fire that licked the walls seemed to act as the only light in what was otherwise a dark and nefarious place. And, no matter how far I moved, my surroundings didn't seem to change. The same, never ending corridor spread out both in front and behind me, and the end never appeared to be in sight. The figures, however, were now within speaking distance of me, and the very sight of them made me halt in horror.

The first of the men, for this is what they said they were, was plastered head to toe in scars. No matter how hard I brought myself to search, I failed to find a single speck of fresh and intact flesh. The wounds seemed to feed into one another, encasing the man in a web of pain and torture. Some of the marks appeared to be burns- understandable in such a place. But the others! I hadn't, and am yet to find any weapon capable of tearing flesh and bone apart in such a way. It was undoubtedly a torture weapon, designed to cause as much pain as possible without killing the victim. Without ever ending their pain.

The second of the men's flesh seemed to be unharmed. Whoever had caused such afflictions had taken a different approach with him. His spine had been coiled around into an ongoing spiral, resulting in his full stance to fall forward and to the right of where it should have been.

At first, I assumed that his left hand had been twisted around, but, under further observations, it appeared that this whole horrid procedure had applied to the whole of his arm. What should have been the part of his arm that slotted into his shoulder faced outward, stretching his skin to an unnaturally pale colour. And, what should have been visible appeared to have been rammed into his shoulder in a way that expanded the whole of that region. The man had many other contorted bones, his upside down nose being one of them, but these were by far the most striking.

Then there was the third of the men, whose injuries drew all remaining air out from my lungs. His skin had been systematically torn away from the rest of him, in a way that meant he looked like some sort of zebra. All the way down him, in horizontal alternating lines: Skin, bare muscle, skin, bare muscle. And the lines were so neat, as though someone had taken weeks over crafting his vulgar appearance into what it was. His irises were a startling shade of red, that enhanced the pained look on his face. And the skin on his lips appeared to have been removed completely, a modification that had lead to constant bleeding. Streaks of blood in varying stages of solidifying hung from his jaw, as though he was the one that had torn apart another creature.

Never before, had I seen such a network of agony and indescribable pain.

When I first arrived at their side, the men appeared in awe of my existence. One by one they turned around, and just stood, mouths hung open as they stared at me. They seemed to be absorbing every single one of my features as though it was something magical. Part of me wondered how long it had been since they'd last seen a body that was fully intact. The thought of such a sight being normal made me queasy – was this what was to happen to me? The other part of me wondered if the damage done to them had taken away their powers of speech, or whether they were just silent. The final wonderment was answered when the one coated in scars spoke.

Who are you?” his speech was gruff and unsteady. He sucked in as much air as he could manage after his question, as if those three words had cost him more effort than he could muster.

My name is Mae Wood.”, the voice inside my head helpfully reminding me that it was wrong to talk to strangers, and questioning my ability to communicate without so much as a dry throat. The sordid threesome remained silent, and so it was me who asked the next question.

What about you?” I asked. “Who are you?”

The three men looked at one another, and then turned back to me with the same blank expressions. Finally, the striped man answered.

We...we don't know.” He stuttered. He was unsure even of his own, unsure answer.

I paused, processing his answer.

But, surely you know your own names?” I asked.

Stripy man shook his head.

We're just dead folk.” he said, with a marginal amount more conviction this time. “Sittin' it out in hell.”

What do you mean, 'Hell'?” I asked, my confusion mounting by the second.

Well what do you think we mean?” The only man not to ask, the one with the twisted bones answered. He seemed almost angry.

We're dead folk spending the rest of forever in Hell!” As he spoke, his bones seemed to judder in a way that made my own spine shiver. For, if I was surrounded by dead people, and I was in Hell, a place which is widely accepted as a place for dead people, was I dead?

I didn't remember doing any dying. But then, it's hard to know whether death is the kind of thing that you do remember.

Do you remember dying?” I asked, before squirming- that probably wasn't the kind of question I should have been asking.

Like it was yesterday!” Scar web man said, squirming and scowling all at the same time. “And I'd thank you not to remind me.”

I nodded, relieved. I didn't remember dying, so I was probably alive. That was always nice to know, I thought.

Now, if you don't mind li'l lady, we' got work to do!” I could now just about identify their accents as being Texan.

It was only then that I noticed the vast pails of water they were lugging across the span of the corridor.

What exactly are you doing?” I asked, curious.

Why, puttin' out this fire of course!”. The stripy man answered. As he did so, the other two thrust the contents of the pail into the fire. The fire died for a few seconds, before the flames reignited and resumed their roaring. I watched the pail as they placed it back down on the ground. Instantly, a fresh batch of water appeared.

What's the point in doing that if nothing happens?” I asked. “That seems a bit futile!”

Stripy man shook his head, the visible patches of muscle flexing and relaxing as he did so.

Don't you understand the point of Hell, lady?” he asked. “It's not meant to be a party! It's meant to be Hell!”.

I stood still and faced the floor, embarrassed by my apparent stupidity.

Why, she's just like that other fool!” I looked up, trying to identify the voice behind the exclamation. All three of them were studying me, their heads tilted at varying angles of thought.

Well li'l lady,” stripy man (who I'd now identified as being the most talkative of the men) “why don't you come with us now?”

I had only a name for where I was, and no clue as to how I got there or how to get out. For this reason, I saw no reason not to nod and follow the three dead men wherever they wished to take me.

I longed to break the silence that we walked in, but couldn't find the words to share that stood a chance of being heard. So instead, I took the opportunity to observe my surroundings.

It turned out that the fire corridor did have an end, and that it opened out into a colossal space with an extraordinarily high ceiling and walls so far away that they seemed but a dot hidden amongst the landscape. The space was dark and light all at the same time, and the light didn't seem to have a source. It just hung, oppressive, against the thick air that I had no choice but to breath. Still, the stench of rotting flesh singed my nostrils, making my eyes want to bleed. It was clear that this whole space was designed to make its inhabitants feel uneasy and unsafe-permanently.

As we walked, we passed what felt like hundreds of men, all in varying stages of torture. Some were missing features, others had been messed around with in the way that 'spiral-spine' man had been. Others looked like their torment was happening on the inside. Every single one of them looked like they longed to be anywhere but there. I would have thought that they'd have preferred to be dead, but my current understanding was that they already were.

The dead men all seemed to carrying out futile tasks. Some were scrubbing away dirt that constantly reappeared. Others were building objects that never seemed to increase in size, despite the amount of material that was added. There were a few men in the corner, just shovelling piles of coal from one spot to the next. The spot from which they took the coal never seemed to decrease in size. There were even a few that seemed to be just marching round and round in circles.

At one point, I was entrapped in one such circle. What felt like thousands of men marched around me, seemingly oblivious to my presence.

I fell to the floor with dizziness, my mouth landing open around a cold, mushy object. I pulled it out and gagged at the sight of the rotten finger that had just been in my mouth. Repulsed, I spat at the floor where the torrent of bloody chunks landed. My eyes stung and I could smell the stale flesh in my breath. It felt as though I couldn't look in any direction without being made to feel queasy.

An immense feeling of claustrophobia hit me, and made breathing in the dense air even harder. Something grabbed me from behind and I squealed. I kicked out, trying to pull away, but whatever it was was strong. A second something grabbed me. The air around me seemed to move just a little faster, as I felt myself being dragged out away from the group. A set of stripes looked down at me.

Come on, Lady!” he said, sloping off to join the others in their quest. Relieved, I joined him.

Over the sounds of chinking metal, grating, pouring, and choking, came a loud and confused voice.

You know,” it said, “if I could just move past you there I could be on my way!”

The voice was Irish (from Dublin I thought), male, and fairly youthful. As it carried on talking, we appeared to be moving closer to it.

Really, I had no intentions of staying, I don't wish to be getting in your way now.”

The man before us was, as I had guessed, young. And he was very definitely Irish. Wild, mellow brown hair sat in little ringlets on his head, like the coils from a Jack-in-the-Box, bouncy in a playful and somewhat cheeky way. His eyes sat as red a brown as the Earth itself. His main frame was slender and of an average height. Muscle didn't protrude out from his skin, and neither did fat. His features were fair and his skin delicate. A few freckles lined his cheeks, like lost specks of red paint, there by accident but somehow meant to be there. He wore a torn, brown t-shirt with a second, white shirt worn open over it. It hung loosely around him, swishing every time he moved. His trousers were, again, torn to the point that they ceased to exist beyond his ankles. On his feet were the kind of shoes you'd expect to see on the feet of a fairy tale dwarf. They looked to be tea stained, but I guessed that this was just their colour.

When his head turned to look at me, a smile appeared on his face with such ease that it appeared to have been waiting for me. His teeth were lined up like soldiers, gleaming in a light that I failed to source in our dank environment. Everything about this man oozed benevolence, and for this, I trusted him.

Crazy Man!” The man with the twisted bones summoned the Irish man to him. He winked at me as he approached, and for this, I was grateful. “Meet Crazy Lady!” Twisted man gestured towards me.

Why hello to you, Crazy Lady!” Still, the smile sat gently on his face.

Hello.” I smiled back, hoping that I appeared as approachable as him, but at the same time being certain that this could never be the case.

And what might your name be?” His voice was gentle, and seemed like the sweetest of all sounds in this darkened room.

Mae Wood.” I said. “What about you?”

Mae Wood?” He seemed to sing the name, as though searching for a hidden secret between the letters. “That's a good name. Short and sweet...” He paused. “I'm Hagan.” He put out his hand, waiting for me to seal the greeting with a shake. I did so. His hand was soft but firm at the same time. The hand of a kind man.

Now then,” he said, “how's about we find our way out of this place?”

I nodded.

Bye!” I said, turning to three dead men. “Thank you for helping me.” For, I was sure that was what they'd done in introducing me to Hagan, whether they'd intended to or not.

Bye Li'l lady!” One of them called after us. I sensed a hint of sadness in the voice, and a longing to follow. Something told me that they couldn't leave, even if they wished to.

Trust is a strange thing. It's the tiny little voice inside our heads that lets us know when strange and new things are okay. The problem is, it is rare that we know exactly what the advice of this little voice is based on: it is hard to find the evidence to make you trust the voice. And so sometimes, you just have to blindly listen to it, and hope for the best. I'd already done that once today in following three scary men in a disconcerting place. And now, I was doing it again, with a highly attractive Irishman who I was already following. Ordinarily, this would be ridiculous. But in such a ridiculous place, I couldn't have felt more safe.

As we manoeuvred our way through the crowd, Hagan turned to me and I smiled. He laughed and I raised an eyebrow.

You have a little something in your teeth.” He gestured.

I gasped and turned away, searching for the evil object. Sure enough, a chunk of rotten finger came out from beneath my incisors. Mortified, I flicked the piece of flesh to the ground and carried on walking, not making eye contact with Hagan again.

Together, we left the vast room in the opposite direction to that which I'd arrived in. Rather than opening up into another corridor, we were this time greeted with a door.

Here it is!” Hagan said. He bounced on his heels for a moment, as if in celebration of his finding the door.

What is?” I asked, licking my teeth to ensure that no other mystery objects appeared.

Well, right now, we're in Hell.” he said. “Hell is a corridor to many other places, one of which I wish to go.”

Is this the way there?” I asked, looking at the door again. He paused.

Yes.” he said, pausing for thought again. “Well, nearly.”

He lowered himself down slightly until his eyes were level with my own, and placed his hands on my shoulders. The gentleness in his expression was mixed with a new wave of seriousness.

Mae,” he said. “As soon as I open this door and we step inside, every wall but the one we're headed towards will rush towards us...It will try and crush us.”

I nodded, trying and failing to not be scared. The Irish in his voice seemed even thicker and stronger now, as though every ounce of him was trying to reach out to me.

When I open that door,” he lifted his hand off my shoulder and waved toward the door, “you run, and you don't stop. Do you think you can do that?”

I nodded. He smiled. He stood up and placed one hand on the door handle.

Ready?” he turned to me. I nodded. We both sucked in the air. This was it.

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Running for life

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The tale of the fish and the birds

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Becoming a foreigner

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

In the cell

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The great escape

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

When good and bad become the same thing

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

A minor inconvenience

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

No Man's Land

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The Lost Village

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The edge of the End

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Brains and Cupboards

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Making plans

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Going Somewhere

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Talking it out

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The Enticement

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

A man who won't die for something is not fit to live

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The Strength of Today

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The Belittlement of Operam Quaerens

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The Alsation's Rebellion

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The Alsation's Finale

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
~

You might like Emma Jones's other books...