The Academy

By Rachel Vaughan

Feet stumbled across the carpeted corridor. Hands brushed against high panelled walls lined with brittle paned windows. The evening’s setting sun bore through the glass into Willow’s eyes, the beating rays pounding her head. The pain wouldn’t fade, nor would the sound of her own blood pumping through her ears. Her skin felt fiery, as did the never-ending hunger in her stomach that made her want to tear out her insides with her bare hands. Willow stumbled like a rag doll being thrown about like a child and fell; her weak body slammed into the doors of the girls’ dorm’s inhabitants as she searched manically for her most dire need. She could barely breathe from the desperation to end her hunger; no thoughts of normality could bring her back to reality. She was dangerous as she was, and no one else was safe; but after hearing rumours of a cold blooded killer prowling the campus of the academy, students tended to lock themselves away after what little day’s light had vanished. This, it seemed, did not faze Willow.

The maid’s quarters lay just ahead, down through the dimly lit corridor and seven doors from the nearest occupied dorm. It was quiet in the far ends of the girls’ dormitory; footsteps were barely audible and even the shrillest of screams were as quiet as muffled voices. Willow outstretched a pair of shaking hands, her nails digging into the thick wood of the door. Slowly, she pushed it open and stepped inside - longing for the sweet metallic liquid to pass her lips once again.

Blood lined the walls and saturated the bed sheets. It stained Willows face and covered her hands. It was thick and glossy, sticky but sweet: the very thing she craved the most. She felt replenished and satisfied, but at the back of her mind a screaming guilt forced her to set eyes upon the drained body that lay awkward and pale in front of her. Smothered in a pool of burgundy blood and bathed in the faint orange sunlight, it set the scene for the tormenting truth Willow would have to face. It was the look in the maid’s lifeless eyes that made her wince, the fact she had taken another life from this world and replaced it with a horrific death. She felt disgusted with herself and began to scrub at her hands and mouth with a cloth she had found lying over the back of a chair. Desperately she removed the blood smears, even cleaning up what was the maid’s body and placing her back into the bed where she had slept. She prettied her up, tucking her under covers before stashing the blood stained clothes and rags in a trunk to her side and fleeing from the iron scented room.

She didn’t look back when she ran. Her feet thudded hard against the floor as she rushed for the safety of her own dorm, longing to curl up in bed and sleep away the event that had occurred. She knew, though, that a peaceful sleep was the last thing she would receive - instead her dreams would be filled with the eyes and pleads of her victims, playing over and over until she would be forced to scream herself awake.

"Willow... You’re covered in blood. Are you hurt?" Annabel hushed panicked. She was a small girl with long dark hair, her nightwear much too big for her and hanging loosely off of her small frame. She rushed over to Willow, whose eyes were set wide open, with her jaw clenched tight and her hands shaking by her sides. She quickly tried to dart past Annabel and slip into her own bed to avoid questions, but as she attempted, Annabel's tiny but vice like hands gripped fiercely onto Willows wrists. It was no use trying to struggle out of it, Annabel was much too strong.

"Answer me, Willow. Why are you covered in blood?" Willow was silent; her body remained rigid and she didn’t as much as blink.

"Willow..." Annabel's voice sounded almost pleading. There was a strange look plastered onto her face, almost disgusted and pained. It was when she smothered her hand over her mouth and nose that Willow figured that the stench of the blood was making her feel weak.

"I'm fine." Willow finally replied with a smile. She tucked a strand of her bloodstained hair behind her ear and sat down on the edge of her bed. She slumped down onto the mattress, staring up to the thick, plum cotton canopy high above her head. The small dorm room was lit by a single candle set between both girls' beds; not much light emitted from the small dancing flame, but it was enough for Annabel to write by when the night grew darker.

Lying on her side, Willow watched as Annabel scribbled into a leather bound journal she kept under her pillow. It was old, the pages fading to a dirtied ivory and the leather cover fraying more and more with every touch. Annabel never told anyone what was written inside. She kept it to herself, her personal book of secrets that would most likely shock anyone who read them. Willow was curious about the journal; she wanted to know what her best friend had been writing for so many years in such secrecy. Sitting up in bed, she pressed on with the questions.

"Bel, what do you write in that journal of yours?" Annabel didn’t ever look up from writing.

"I don’t have to tell you. It’s private. Just like you never tell me why you come back covered in blood every fortnight. You worry me, Willow."

"That’s a different matter. Besides, I’m never injured."

"That may be so, but still, it’s strange. I’m starting to wonder if you’re the one going round killing off the staff..."

Willow went cold, her hands clenched so tight that her fingernails dug hard into her palms.

"But I guess it couldn’t be you, could it, you’re not clever enough to pull off something as big as that." Annabel smiled to herself and continued scribbling into her journal, half her face painted orange by the small flame that barely illuminated the dorm room.

Willow didn’t ask any more questions about the journal: it was obvious Bel wouldn’t utter a word about its content to her, close friend or not. Instead, Willow sprawled out over her bed, staring into the darkness and slowly remembering the look on the maid’s withered face as she drained the life out of her. She shut her eyes tight, but all that flooded into her mind were the gargled pleas for mercy and the feeling of weak, aged hands grasped around her wrists, slowly becoming weaker before falling limply by her sides.

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Another piece of guest work for you, again from Rachel, and as far as I'm aware she's going to continue this one, so stay tuned! Remember to leave us comments and criticisms either on the blog, Facebook, or Twitter!

The photo comes from this blog, you may as well check it out too!