“There’s no one else here, you chicken-shit. Old buildings like this are always making strange noises. Probably just air bubbles in the water pipes or something. C’mon, let’s take a look upstairs…”
Tommy pushed Malcolm out of the classroom door and towards the wooden staircase. The floorboards in the corridor outside were in the same sorry state as those in the classroom behind them, dry and dusty as if neglected for years, not a hint of the varnish that had coated them for so long. The walls in the corridor were also showing signs of wear, the pale green paint flaking badly, revealing scars of pink plaster beneath.
Tommy shone his torch around, “Look at the state of this place, Malc. Can’t remember it looking as bad as this before…”
“Maybe it’s because it’s empty now. Maybe we just didn’t notice how shitty it looked when it was full of people.”
“Hmm…maybe…perhaps the torch light just makes it look worse than it is…”
They started up the stairs, Tommy, despite his reassurances, treading just as cautiously as his friend. The wooden steps creaked loudly under their weight as they progressed towards the upper floor, every groan eliciting a stifled whimper from Malcolm.
“Shit, Tommy. What was that?”
A sudden scraping of scuttling claws sounded above them, Malcolm grabbing onto the handrail in fear.
“Probably just mice…or birds.”
“Oh fuck! Let’s just go…there’s nothing worth seeing in here anyway.”
“Don’t be such a fucking baby, Malc. You’re fucking scared of everything. Fucking pisses me off!”
Despite his friends’ admonishments, Malcolm turned, his right foot treading air above the step below him as Tommy grabbed his arm.
“I need to go to the toilet,” Malcolm pointed to the ‘boys room’ below, “I’m gonna piss myself soon.”
“Well, just have a fucking piss then. You can piss where you like in here, it’s not going to fucking matter.” Malcolm’s chicken-shit attitude was getting on Tommy’s nerves. No doubt Tommy’s thinning patience also had something to do with the throbbing pain in his temples that had been growing steadily worse over the past few minutes.
Malcolm decided his bladder could wait and the boys continued upwards. When they reached the top of the stairs, Tommy shone his torch along the corridor, its dim light barely reaching more than a few yards in front of them. They walked slowly, the dull yellow glow of the torch revealing the same decrepit state of walls and floor as downstairs. Malcolm deliberately lagged a few paces behind his friend, ready to run at the first sign of trouble, hopefully keeping far enough away from Tommy that he couldn’t grab him back again. As they made their way along the passageway, floorboards squeaking beneath them, a loud ‘whipping’ sound filled the air. Malcolm turned to run but the boards under his feet suddenly gave way. He screamed as he felt himself falling, some aeons old survival instinct thrusting his arms out to stop his descent. Malcolm’s breath was hot and fast in his throat as he propped himself in the hole in the floor with his elbows.
“Tommy! Get me out of here!”
“Fucking hell, Malc - hold tight!” As Tommy made towards his stricken friend his attention was caught by a rippling in the wall.
“What the fuck?”
The flaking paint exploded into clouds of dust as the wall bubbled and flexed - as if something was moving within it. Tommy directed the weak beam of his torch at the wall as the rippling spread towards him, the light from the bulb barely more than a dull glow.
The batteries died – the boys were in darkness.
“Tommy! Help me…I can’t hold on much longer…”
“Did you see what was happening to the wall, Malc? What the fuck is going on?”
“Fuck the wall, you cunt! Get me out of here!”
“I can’t fucking see you, Malc!” Tommy gave the torch a shake and was rewarded with a spark of luminescence - faint, but enough to pinpoint his mate hanging through the floor.
“Hold on, Malc. I’m coming.”
As he stepped towards his friend, Tommy was suddenly yanked back against the wall, the force knocking the wind out of him. He dropped his torch, the impact on the floor apparently releasing the remains of the battery’s charge as the bulb burst into life, shining straight at Tommy.
Malcolm stared, mouth gaping, at the sight of his pal. Tommy was pinned to the wall by an electrical cable, the grey flex erupting from the plaster and wrapping itself around Tommy’s throat. Malcolm could do nothing but watch as more cables burst from the walls, snaking around Tommy’s arms and legs, lifting him off the ground, holding him tight in their grasp.
“Malcolm…help…me…” Tommy’s voice was strangled, every word an effort, every syllable strained and hoarse.
Malcolm tried to pull himself up but had neither the physical prowess nor the leverage to lift himself more than an inch.
“I’m sorry, Tommy,” he sobbed, “I can’t do it.”
All he could do was watch, his strength waning by the second, as more electrical cables sprung from the wall, their grey insulation peeling back to reveal the rainbow of the individual wires within. These wires then stripped back their own coloured insulation, the exposed copper strands twisting into sharp, tapered points as they danced in front of Tommy’s face, moving as if to the music of some unseen, silent snake-charmer. Malcolm gaped as he watched the ‘copperheads’ crawl up his friend’s face, some disappearing into his open mouth, others worming up his nostrils, the rest journeying further, spreading out across his eyeballs before diving their sharpened ends into the gelatinous orbs, tiny sprays of vitreous fluid sparkling in the torchlight.
Malcolm’s arms began to tremble under the strain. He tried to shift his elbows slightly to ease his discomfort but only succeeded in dropping further into the hole in
