The Beast takes a walk through the hallowed halls of eduction.
|Beastly Lessons (extended).
by Stephen A Abell.
Number of Words: 2999
“So,” Mr. Evans inquired, “is this a wise move?”
Mr. Fitzwilliam looked at the well dressed middle aged man with incredulity. “Wisdom is for God; and we sir, in case you have forgotten, are dealing with the complete opposite. Chaos is the loss of all wisdom, and we have just sent chaos out into the streets of the world.”
“So, it’s not a wise move then?”
Mr. Fitzwilliam looked disdainfully at Mr. Evans... His hand shot forward, at the last possible moment he snapped his hand back at the wrist allowing the, flesh covered, hard bone at the base of his palm to crash into the annoying man’s nose. The crack of bone was deafening as the bridge broke into pieces. As planned, a shard travelled upwards into the grey brain matter. Death was instantaneous. The look of shock frozen on the dead man’s face was instant gratification to Mr. Fitzwilliam...
The haze in front of his eyes began to clear.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam, are you okay? You kinda fazed out there,” Mr. Evans asked, with a hint of concern in his voice.
“Just daydreaming,” Mr. Fitzwilliam replied. Fuck, he thought to himself. “And, to answer your question... no; not wise... at all.”
“But you said he was ready.”
“That I did. I still believe that we have reached the right moment in time for him to interact with his minions; or should I say prospective minions. After all, if he is to be a true ruler, does he not need men to follow him(?) To be willing to die for him and his cause(?) Without question or hesitation(?)
“I’ve done my bit to the best of my ability and knowledge. I have taught him since birth, about man and his strengths and weaknesses. He can speak every tongue on the planet. Though he doesn’t show it, he has been instructed in the ways of decorum and manors. All this just so he can pass in the world of man, without being ridiculed, scorned, hated, or feared... until the time is right for his Ascension, then all will fear him and bow down at his feet.
“I have been lucky to survive his training and instruction. Now the beast must prowl the face of the earth, and gain a different kind of strength so he can bring his fathers legacy to fruition.”
“So,” Mr. Evans started once again and Mr. Fitzwilliam felt his blood start to boil in his veins, “if everything’s ‘hunky-dory’, why is this not a wise decision.”
“Let me state this in the manor to which you are accustomed - in other words the degraded vernacular of the common man…
“Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me? How the fuck can this turn out well?” With his English accent ‘dumbed down’ Mr. Fitzwilliam pointed at the monitor that was showing the live feed from the hacked security cameras at the secondary school. “We just sent the fuckin’ Son of Satan to a fuckin’ public school.”
“Shit,” Mr. Evans exhaled as understanding finally flooded his features. “Fuck.”
----- x ----- X ----- x -----
Kane stood in the playground of his new school and watched the maniacal movements of the other school children as they ran frantically, and it seemed, without purpose all about the place. He smiled. The energy and frenetic movements calmed him a little. For some reason he could not figure, he felt satisfaction at the sight before him. He strode through the gates, feeling tall and proud, confident with each step.
The football smacked into the side of his head sending him crashing to the concrete below. As a few of the children gathered around he heard laughing. Were they laughing at him? The thought annoyed him. Like a pesky fly on a summer’s day, it fluttered about his brain. Always dancing away before he could swat it.
“You okay?” A voice called out as a hand was cast down in assistance. “Soz ‘bout that, but you shouldn’t walk in front of the bloody goal, should ya? Come on, let me help you up.”
Kane grabbed the arm and was hoisted upright.
“Better get that looked at,” said the dark skinned boy in the school uniform, “you got a bit of a bleed,”
Kane noticed the boy nodded towards his hand. Looking, he saw the scrape and tear of skin. A few droplets of blood were running down his palm towards his fingers. Humans were so fallible.
“Name’s Denzil, on account o’ the fact me Mother wanted to shag that old actor fella.” His smile lit up his face, and it appeared to Kane that even the sun grew a little stronger on the strength of it. He took a step away from the boy. “What’s your name then?”
“Kane,” he exhaled weakly.
“Pleased t’meet ya’. Now let’s get that cut sorted before it goes septic.” He turned his head away and shouted back to his football mates that he would not be long, he just needed to take care of his new friend, then he would be back in a couple of minutes.
As Denzil guided him towards the main entrance, Kane sighted the clique of girls. As they passed by he heard them start laughing once more and one pointed to him and said to her girlfriends, “Fuckin’ loser,”
“Ignore them skanks,” Denzil advised, “they never have a good word for anyone except themselves.”
“My old teacher told me of an old saying he knew... ‘If you have nothing good to say, then say nothing’.”
“Good advice that.”
“I think so too.” As Denzil pushed through the double doors into the main hallway, Kane pictured the laughing girls’ throats. Inside those necks were their vocal chords. These he kept reducing until they disappeared.
On the playground, the girls became forever silent.
----- x ----- X ----- x -----
Kane had learnt that Denzil and his “crew” were also new starters. It was because of this fact that Denzil had suggested he should throw in with them. “So as to reduce the risk of getting the piss kicked out of ya’ from the prefects and older students. They love to really torment the newbies.” Being in a gang lengthened the odds of him not taking a battering.
He smiled at the thought and had actually wished for such a situation to arise. His hands curled into tight fists of joyous anticipation. The Beast in him roared.
The bell had sounded as they finished rinsing the blood from his hand. His “new friend” had been astounded to see no cut... no scar... Though the rush and exhilaration of running to their registry rooms soon pushed the thought to back of his mind and into extinction.
Mr. Fitzwilliam had tutored him in all myths. Even touching upon the possibilities of fate; where nothing was left to chance or coincidence - everything was mapped out and predestined; where only fate and God (the great sanctimonious prick) knew the outcome. If that were the case, then the bitch and the prick had put him in the same registration room as Denzil.
They sat together and joked, twanged rulers, discussed music, life, and girls. As the short period drew to a close, he had grown wary of this happy boy. There was something infectious about him. It had stolen into Kane’s marrow, and burrowed deep, draining him of energy and conviction.
He wanted him gone... Dead. Though, something in the back of his sluggish, infested mind told him to withhold his power, especially where Denzil was concerned. Something his teacher had quoted from “The Art of War” buzzed at the back of his mind, just out of reach.
As they were given their teaching schedules it was evident that luck had shone on him here, as they never shared the same lesson. Denzil decided they should get together at break times and lunch so he could meet the rest of the “crew” and, more importantly, so they wouldn’t be alone and easy prey for the bullies. Reluctantly, he agreed, though did not know why. That answer also fluttered out of reach in his dulled mind.
His first lesson was French, at which he excelled - much to his fellow students chagrin. He was suddenly the teachers pet, a know-it-all, a goody-goody. Their hatred and distrust blew the sluggishness to hell and he felt instantly rejuvenated. In his mind he watched as the teacher ignited, fire boiling her flesh, making it bubble and pop. Her clothes, melting painfully onto the nerve endings of the skin beneath. As the children screamed in terror, each became engulfed in flame and hellish torment. He smiled and using every ounce of will-power he could muster, he pulled back the power of incineration.
A strange thought and emotion ran through his whole being, he loved them for their hatred of him. This was something he could get used to... something he could control.
At break he met Denzil and his “crew” - George, though everybody called him Gee; Steve; Mark; Bazza; Jace; and Jay. He immediately knew why Denzil was the leader of this gang, because without him and his enigmatic persona they would have been nothing. Each seemed to share the same interests; X-box, telly (especially the brain numbing and soul killing reality programs), footy, and music. Denzil had stated they were together so they wouldn’t be bullied, though had any one of the gang wandered off, they would have been invisible. That was how much of a nothing they were. Denzil and the nothings, the thought made him smile.
It was Denzil who did not want to feel the punches and kicks of the older lads, as they might have cause to single him out; maybe because of his colour, or due to his too-bright smile, or because he was intelligent and individual, just like himself. He decided that Denzil was correct; being one in a number would be safer.
English had been a breeze. The teacher had gotten then to read a page apiece from the book, “The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas.” Thanks to the stuttering and ineptness of the class, his turn failed to arrive.
At lunch, he ate in the cafeteria with Denzil and the nothings, and then trotted out onto the playing fields to kick Gee’s footy around. Summer was taking its dying breath and each exhale grew chillier. Kane was surprised to feel unhappy when the bell rang, signalling the end of play and the beginning of study.
He was more than proficient at Mathematics, though it was far from his favourite lesson. Worse still, Mr. Williams, the teacher, took an immediate dislike to him, as his hand shot up to answer every question... and correctly. The bastard even made an allegation that he was cheating, in front of the entire class. As he had learned to love their hatred, he learned to hate their laughter. Halfway through the class Mr. Williams wrote a moderate algebra problem on the board and left the room for five minutes. When he returned he carried a mug of coffee in his hand. This was the moment to avenge the harsh and incorrect judgment upon him. A second after Mr. Williams took a large mouthful of coffee; he was spitting it out over the front row of students, and screaming. His hands thrashed wildly at his face as he fell to his knees. Within a minute, the room filled with teachers and Mr. Williams grew silent as he passed out.
Later that week an older student would shoulder the blame for putting acid into Mr. Williams’s coffee, via the milk, and would be reprimanded by the old bill for it. Though, truth be said, no source of acid, other than the mug were ever found.
Nobody noticed Kane chuckling to himself as the teachers started to clear the room.
----- x ----- X ----- x -----
That break, Denzil was nothingless. Kane and the nothings sat in the small hall, awaiting their leader. After five minutes passed, Kane inquired as to the last lesson Denzil had. George thought it had been biology.
As he raced into the science block he could hear the screams of pain and ran purposefully towards them. They emanated from the second floor physics room. As he burst through the door he saw two older boys holding Denzil fast between them, as a third held the boy’s palm over the flame of a Bunsen Burner.
“Lookie here,” Denzil’s torturer sneered, “your girlfriend’s come to save you.”
“Let... Him... Go...” There was a power in his voice that he liked.
“An’ what are you gonna do about it shit-head?” Asked the blond haired constrainer.
Kane stood tall and looked from the torturer to the captor, though said nothing.
“Oh,” taunted the torturer, “we have a little big man here. What are ya’? Another Karate Kid?”
The blond boy laughed with his friend at the joke, as the second captor put in his own two pennith worth, “More like Karate Flid, that is.” To which they all nearly bust a seam... and nearly lost hold of their captive.
“Hold ‘im steady lads,” the torturer called, “look, were just carrying out a little experiment. We’re wondering, what if we apply enough heat to his palm - would it darken to the same colour as the rest of ‘im. Waddaya think?”
“I think you should let him go before I start experimenting... ever heard of spontaneous combustion?” The smile flickered on his lips as his mind played out the scenario. “It’s where people mysteriously and suddenly burst into flame.”
“What the fuck’re’ya’ babbling about, shit-head?”
“They start to feel warmer and warmer... the heat radiating from the inside, as though their hearts were on fire and their veins carried that fire throughout their bodies. Do you feel anything like that?”
He saw the worry on their faces, though they held tight to their prey...
“Shut the fuck up,” one of them called.
“Then the heat turns into searing pain as it burns through the thin vein tissue and ignites the muscles.”
All three lifted their heads to the sky and cried out in pain, sweat popping on their foreheads. Denzil was free and running to Kane and the doorway. As the two boys escaped down the stairs and into the fresh air of the afternoon, Kane played out the scene in his head.
The flames popped and melted the boy’s eyes and grew fiercer, as it fed on the oxygen in the air, melting their skin, singeing and burning their eyebrows and hair. The greedy flames devoured their clothes, through their flesh. As the hellfire consumed their brains and turned their bones to ash, they fell onto each other on the floor of the science room, and the sprinklers finally came on.
On the same day as the student was charged with poisoning the mathematics teacher, a fire marshal ruled the three deaths as a tragic accident. Neither Denzil nor Kane came forward with their side of the story.
----- x ----- X ----- x -----
With such an eventful day the staff and students were happy when the final bell sounded for the end of lessons. Kane walked Denzil and the nothings out to the car park where their parents awaited to pick them up. Other students waited for their buses, or were already walking home.
He spotted Denzil’s mother straight away. That damned smile was too similar to mistake. She, like her son, could be trouble for him. Not now, but maybe in the not so distant future. The happy and joyous personality that Denzil exuded came from this woman. He had little hope of controlling him, and keeping his power at maximum, should he return home to this woman every night. Something needed to be done.
The sound of the labouring engine drew his attention away from the grinning woman. It belonged to a school bus - a big double decker. Without a thought, his mind entered the drivers and directed the bus towards the car park, as he pushed the driver’s foot down on the accelerator. Inside the driver’s mind, the driver started to fight against Kane’s will. His hands twisted the steering wheel. Kane straightened them, putting the metal behemoth back on course.
In the parking lot, Denzil’s mum was walking over to them. He could see this through his eyes, though in his mind he looked through the driver’s. The woman had walked through the parked cars and stepped onto the road section. He forced the driver to push harder on the accelerator. As she reached the middle white line, he forced the driver to sound the horn.
He watched as she turned towards the sound. The hesitation killed her, just as surely as the bus hitting her at sixty miles an hour. The driver saw her head pulp on the windscreen and inside his mind he felt the young boy smile. Still they did not slow.
Beside him, Denzil screamed for his mother, and Kane placed a restricting arm around him to stop him running after the bus.
The driver and Kane saw the oncoming wall. Miraculously, the woman pinned to the front of the bus moved her head. Kane laughed. The diver heard the boy say, “Now this is gonna hurt.”
The bus slammed into the wall, grinding the woman and mother into eternity.
Denzil fell to the ground and threw up. Kane held him tight and consoled him. He never let the smile touch his face as he felt the utter despair steel into his “new friend” and kill his love and hope.
Kane chanced a glance up and spotted the Daimler with Mr. Evans behind the wheel and Mr. Fitzwilliam in the rear. He waved them on and was pleased to see the smile on his old teacher’s face and the subtle nod he gave.
As he cooed his regrets and condolences to Denzil, he knew that in his arms he held his first acolyte. The son of Satan had his first Apostle... and very soon the nothings would follow,
FINAL Version for the "Invalid Item" and the prompt - "Horror in a school setting."
Come on over and give it a go... you wont regret it.