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Extended Work
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| Graffiti: Chapter II | |
| By Kezzi | ||||||
| 24 June 2008 | ||||||
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Tabitha Walker is an outsider, shunned by the world after her life is turned around by mysterious circumstances. But an eerie message on her desk at school and a seductive smile change everything as the world of the supernatural reveals itself...
-II-
Risks As the next few days passed by, Tabby slowly began to settle in at Blackthorn. Every day she'd meet Andy off the bus and they'd walk the grounds together, chatting about anything that came to mind. They often argued about bands; Andy preferred country music which greatly contrasted with Tabby's love of all things heavy metal, but the disagreements were never serious and always left them laughing. They’d talk about teachers; so far, all of Tabby’s had disapproved of her dress sense and ticked her off at least once for daydreaming. Andy was well-liked by most teachers, but joined Tabby in making snide comments about many of them. Then the bell would ring and she'd endure her lessons for two hours before meeting with him at break and again at lunch, where they'd eat together at a picnic table in the dappled shade of an apple tree on the school field. This was a comfortable routine, and she found she could be more herself around him than other people; but she often wondered who, and where, his other friends were. He seemed like the kind of guy who should be incredibly popular. "You up to much this weekend?" Andy asked her between bites of barbequed chicken sandwich. Tabby toyed with her dull-looking salad. "Not really," she looked up. "Is it Friday already?" Andy nodded. "Feels like barely a day since we first met." "Yeah." Tabby grinned. She'd managed somehow to prevent herself blushing scarlet every time his blue eyes met her own; despite the fact that every time they did, her heart fell deeper under his trance. "Nothing much has changed; I still don't have any friends - except you, of course." This was true; no one in her year had yet shown any sign of friendship towards Tabby, despite her efforts. Anyone she smiled at would turn away and pretend they hadn't noticed her, and anyone she tried talking to would ignore her and walk straight past. She would have felt invisible were it not for the students who stared at her, whispered about her, pointed at her - and the few who went out of their way to put her down. "Hey, Andy." The bleached blonde girl had stopped at their table along with three of her friends, their faces caked in make-up. They all wore far-too-short skirts over sheer, transparent tights, and walked with their heads held high as though they were of some great importance. "Hi, Chelsea," replied Andy flatly. He could see these girls were making Tabby uncomfortable, and knew why - he'd often seen them deliberately shoving past her in the corridors and laughing about her behind her back. "You wanna hang out this weekend?" Chelsea rested her elbow down on the table, knocking Tabby’s salad over while fluttering her false eyelashes at Andy. "Uh..." Tabby picked up the strewn salad, hoping Chelsea would notice and apologise. Instead she looked around at her, popping a pink bubblegum bubble as she did so. "Sorry, did you say something?" she asked in a sickly sweet voice, before turning back to Andy, remorse non-existent. "Honestly, Andy, honey - why are you letting this freak hang out with you? Isn't she a little short? And goodness-" she pretended to sniff Tabby "-she doesn't half stink." Tabby fought the urge to claw at Chelsea's painted face as her identical followers screeched with laughter. Andy finished his sandwich and stood up, motioning to Tabby to do the same. She did so, being careful to flick some salad cream onto Chelsea’s jacket as she gawped at Andy. "In answer to your question, Chelsea - no, I don't want to hang out with you this weekend. I have plans already." He glanced over at Tabby and she could see anger flaring in his eyes, although his voice was calm. Chelsea pouted and made a move towards him. "Aw, c'mon Andy baby, you know you want-" "Not if you treat Tabby as though she's something on your shoe, I don't - and besides, I can't imagine how listening to you ranting on about your new lipstick would be fun." He put his hand on Tabby's arm and began leading her away from the girls, turning his head to call, "by the way, you have something on your nose." Tabby giggled as she turned around to see a horrified Chelsea groping frantically in her bag for a hand mirror, her friends scowling after them. As grey clouds followed them down the windy field, Tabby's heart raced. Strands of multicoloured hair whipped her face as fallen leaves swirled around them both, and her thoughts began to tumble over one another in her mind. When he said he had plans and looked at me, she thought, did he mean his plans involved me? She glanced across at him as they walked but he was focusing on the ground and didn't catch her eye. She drew a deep breath to talk, fighting to keep her tone chilled and free of the quavery, strangled noises that were threatening to escape her throat. "So…what exactly are your plans for this weekend?" She bit her lip anxiously and looked deep into his soft blue eyes, which appeared puzzled for a second. "Huh? Oh -" he laughed, tapping his nose. "It’s top secret business, I'm afraid. I wish I could tell you, but...the organisation would kill me. Probably literally." He winked at her and they walked on through the gale, Tabby's heart crushing the butterflies which had been fluttering nervously around her abdomen. The bell rang and they parted, Tabby trying to conceal her disappointment with a smile as they said goodbye. The corridors were cold and deserted as Tabby trooped late to last lesson, which she didn't particularly want to attend. The subject, History, was boring enough - the droning teacher even worse. But the reason she detested the lesson most was the fact her desk was on the same row as Chelsea's. Waves of anger flooded her as the girl’s cackling face swam in her mind, and she felt her hands forming fists as she swept around the corner - smacking straight into a dark-haired boy hurrying in the opposite direction. He dropped the folder he was carrying and sheets of paper flew in all directions as it skidded along the polished wooden floor. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Tabby gasped, hurrying forwards to pick up the folder. “Leave it alone!” snarled the boy, and Tabby swung around in shock to see his dark, malevolent eyes piercing right through her between strands of his long hair. She stopped dead and backed off. “Whoa…I’m sorry, I was just trying to hel-” “Shove off,” he growled, and Tabby saw his fists clenching beneath the sleeves of his black hoodie. He took a step towards her. “Go on, you stupid girl!” Frightened, Tabby hastened past him to History, not daring to look back. "Late again, Tabitha," the teacher's monotonous voice followed her as she slouched to the back of the room and sat down heavily at her desk, unpacking her books and tossing her bag to the floor, aware of many pairs of eyes watching her every move. The desks in the room - like all the others in the school - were the original Victorian wooden lift-lid ones, complete with inkwell and Nineteenth Century graffiti. As the teacher turned to write the beliefs of Adolf Hitler on the blackboard, Tabby squinted to read the faded etchings left by pupils who were by then probably dead or not far off. She had just managed to make out the words "Teach is a bore" when a strong whiff of perfume floated under her nose, making her cough. She looked around to see Chelsea leaning towards her with a malicious smirk on her face; still chewing her bubblegum much like a cow chews the cud. "Hey, freak," Chelsea whispered, "you know Andy's way too good for you, right?" "He doesn't seem to think so," shrugged Tabby in a cool voice, looking Chelsea hard in the eye, who snickered quietly. "You better stay away from him, Tabitha Walker," she hissed, pronouncing Tabby's name in a disgusted voice, "or you're gonna get what's coming to you." "What's that, then? A make-over?" Tabby tried keeping her tone unfazed, but it seemed she'd spoken too loudly as there was a sudden BANG from the front of the classroom. She jumped violently, turning round to see the furious teacher staring directly at her, white knuckles clenched round the board rubber she'd just brought down sharply on the desk in front. A cloud of chalk dust was rising slowly into the air. "Miss Walker!" she hollered, "first you arrive late to my lesson, then I catch you talking when I am trying to teach. I expect better from a new student, and this kind of obnoxious behaviour will certainly not continue! A detention next lunchtime will sort you out, I should think.” Tabby opened her mouth to protest, but soon saw it was useless arguing and shut it reluctantly. Chelsea and her friends were giggling quietly together. You’ll get it one day, Miss Perfect, Tabby thought to herself angrily. You’ll get it… As the teacher droned on into the lesson, Tabby's mind wandered. She began to think about what Andy had said that afternoon - what had he meant by ‘organisation’? And why was it so secretive? It sounded incredibly interesting, whatever it was... Bored, she bent her head and continued her scrutinisation of the graffiti on the old, worn desk. Most of it was the regular, everyday scribblings - such as ‘I love who?’ and ‘Meet me at the bike sheds for some fun’. She was just wondering exactly how old some of the swear words were when something extremely strange caught her eye. Faint green letters had appeared in a clear area of the desk lid, which had previously - Tabby was sure of this - been completely empty. As she looked closer, the letters seemed to become more pronounced, until they stood out remarkably from the other etchings on the desk - fluorescing with a greenish glow. The message, although small, was now readable; and she glanced quickly around the room before lowering her head closer to the desk to read it. "Urgent meeting, after school, church. New intelligence accessed." Tabby leaned back, puzzled and intrigued. It was obviously some secret message not intended for her, and she felt guilty for receiving it - but did anyone else have it? She stole another glance at her classmates but saw no one concentrating on their desk or looking confused - they were all staring straight ahead at the board. This is insane… She tried to forget the message she'd just read and do the same - but found it impossible. Her mind was swimming with thoughts, ponderings, unanswered questions...and she found herself unable to resist the urge to look at the message for a second time. When she looked down, however, it had vanished - leaving nothing but the empty space that had been there before. As students slowly trickled out of the classroom at the end of the lesson, all Tabby could think of was the strange, glowing message. No matter how much she tried to forget it, the emerald letters were still imprinted at the back of her mind and no amount of shaking her head would rid them from her thoughts. Sighing, she wondered what to do. Her curiosity was beginning to get the better of her, and she pondered whether or not she should go along to the local church just to see what was going on. No, she thought, pushing this idea away. It would be far too risky - besides, mum would wonder where I was. Then she remembered her mother was at work until seven, and the idea crept back to her. Maybe it's possible...she pushed open the double doors leading out of the school and stopped. To go, or not to go? She knew roughly where the church was; it wasn't too far from her own house. She could go along to the church, see what it was all about, and then walk home before her mother got back. It was the perfect plan... Without thinking twice, Tabby turned on her heel and walked away from the buses out of the school gate, crossing the road and making her way down the pavement through the low mist, heart pounding in her ears. It was already starting to get dark, and she quickened her pace; pulling up her hood against the harsh breeze. A sudden pulse of thrill made her nervousness mount - the darkening streets and seeping, damp cold made her uneasy as she strode on. “Ohh, what the hell am I doing?” she asked herself with a groan, shivering as the temperature sharply dropped. She found herself suddenly longing for the warmth of the old Stagecoach as the buildings either side closed in on her in the gloom; cars racing past, owners safe and snug in their plush interiors. No one else dared venture out onto the streets, and she was alone on the pavement. Her imagination blossomed out into the darkness and she thought she could hear footsteps behind her; scared, she broke into a jog, eyes fixed on the dark steeple silhouetted against the waning winter moon. Panting, she finally reached the church. It was a huge building with walls that disappeared into the night above, looming over her threateningly. Lights flickered behind the stained-glass windows, and as Tabby drew shakily closer to the huge wooden doors she was able to faintly make out the sound of voices. Pressing her ear against the damp timber, she listened in silence. "Where do you think he is?" said a boy's voice. "I don't know," the second male voice that replied was strangely familiar. "But he'd better get here soon, I can't tell you otherwise." Tabby listened harder, wondering who the second speaker was - she was sure she'd heard that voice somewhere before. "Come on, can't you just tell me? I'm dying to know." "Well..." A car rolled by on the road behind Tabby and the second boy's voice was drowned out by the engine. She heard it stop and one of its doors slam shut before it drove on, and when the sound had faded away she tried to concentrate once more on the voices. "Are you sure? If it's true, I hate to think what could happen..." the first boy was saying. His voice sounded slightly less mature than the second one; soft and a touch higher in pitch. "From what I've heard," the second said, "it seems like-" "What are you doing here?" Tabby leapt in fright as the voice snarled right in her ear, and whipped round to see the cruel, dark-haired boy from school standing there, a furious expression on his face. "I...um..." she stammered, backing against the door, heart hammering. He stared coldly into her face. "You've been eavesdropping, haven't you?" he hissed, eyes aflame. "No...well, yes...but-" Suddenly, the door behind Tabby was wrenched open and she fell in through the opening, a pair of strong hands catching her before she hit the stone floor. "Andy, what's going on?" came the first boy's voice as Tabby got to her feet. She looked around and to her astonishment found herself staring directly into Andy's surprised eyes. The boy standing behind him was familiar, too - Tabby recognised him as a quiet soul in her own year who didn't seem to have many friends. He was looking at Tabby, his mousy brown features revealing a startled expression. "She was eavesdropping," snarled the dark-haired boy, swinging shut the huge oak door with an echoing thud, imprisoning the four of them inside the cavernous, candle-lit church. Tabby looked at him in exasperation, then back at Andy, her eyes pleading. "I didn't hear anything, honestly - in History, there was a message on my desk - I got curious, I only wanted to see what was going on...what is going on?" She looked from face to face, head spinning in confusion. Andy sighed deeply and turned away, sitting down heavily on one of the wooden benches. "I suppose I'll have to tell you everything," he said at last, looking up at her as she stood in front of him. "But that'll mean she'll have to join," the dark-haired boy angrily pushed in. "she can't know anything. It's too dangerous. Not that I care about her safety-" he cast Tabby a cruel look "-but this organisation's supposed to be a secret. If everyone knows about us, we're done for." Andy nodded solemnly. "That's true, Dean, but - if I'm right in thinking - Tabby is trustable with our secrets. She may as well know. Besides," he added as Dean opened his mouth in protest, "she has the Sight, and we're a little short on members, so if she decides she'd like to be a part of the organisation then all the better." He grinned at Tabby, who met his gaze with confusion. “What do you mean, I have ‘the Sight’? What’s this organisation?” She shot fleeting glances at the other two boys. “What the hell’s going on?” "Tabby…sit down, I’ll explain everything." Tabby did so, softening the hard bench with a prayer cushion she found before looking expectantly at Andy, who took a deep breath. "Okay, so this is Graffiti. It was set up by me and a friend of mine, Jim, a couple of years ago, after we discovered hauntings in the village. We're ghost hunters, Tabby," he looked up, eyes filled with excitement. "We discovered our first ghost when playing with an Ouija board in the old barn at Blackthorn Farm. It certainly wasn't very happy when we disturbed it - in fact, we ended up running away pretty fast with heavy farming equipment flying after us." He chuckled at the memory. "After that, we did a ton of research on ghosts, and managed to banish the one that haunted the barn. We saved up and bought some basic ghost-detecting equipment to find more hauntings, and banished those as well. You have to be careful though," he said. "Some ghosts are good, some are bad. The good ones we found joined the organisation, and continue to provide us with useful information on the evil ghosts' whereabouts and plans." "Wait," Tabby stopped his flow of speech, feeling it rush right past her capability of understanding. "Okay…you mean to tell me that ghosts are actually real?" "Of course they are," said Andy. "And you have proof and everything?" "Naturally." "Is this some kind of joke?" she asked, barely daring to truly believe what she was hearing. At the back of her mind a dormant memory stirred…an ice cold breeze…a white wisp…those chilling, yet somehow comforting, words… “Most definitely not. I wouldn’t lie to you or try to scare you, Tabby - you know that,” Andy said gently. She thought she heard Dean hiss “I would” beneath his breath as Andy looked into her eyes, but in that one moment Tabby knew he spoke the truth. "So…what exactly are ghosts?” she asked, deciding to accept the notion for the time being, and go along with it. “And how do you tell the good from the evil?" Andy grinned, glad at her enthusiasm. "Well, they're lost souls. The ones who, when their bodies died, couldn't find the light - so stayed on Earth as imprints to wander these lands for eternity. It's a sorrowful state," he said sadly, "but human contact makes them happier. Of course, that's the good ghosts. Most of the evil ones residing around here died during the Plague of thirteen forty-seven. They chose not to follow the light when they died as they felt the disease they had suffered was the fault of God, and so refused to go to Heaven - instead staying on Earth to cause trouble. This refusal to go to Heaven causes a change in the ghost's composition - good ghosts are usually a whitish-blue colour when detected using infra-red cameras, whereas evil ones have more of a red appearance." This information, bizarre as it still seemed to Tabby, seemed to make sense. She’d seen plenty of photos with ghosts that fitted both these descriptions; somehow, the red ones did have more of a malevolent air about them. "So, when did the other members join?" she asked. "I found it accidentally, like you," said the mousey boy from the opposite bench. "My name’s Ollie, by the way. I came along early for Mass one day, and found Andy and Jim discussing their latest findings. I heard too much-" he grinned, "-so I revealed myself and joined." Andy nodded. "That's when I invented the Ectosketchers." He reached into his pocket and brought out something that looked like a scalpel, with a shiny green handle. "Each member has one of these - we use them for communication within school. We scratch a message into our desks and it uses ghost technology to appear only to those with the Sight. That's where our name, Graffiti, originated." Everything that had puzzled Tabby was beginning to make sense now. “So…only those with the Sight can see ghosts?” “That’s right,” Andy smiled. “We’re very rare, and so many Seers in one community is extremely uncommon. There’s something special about Blackthorn. Personally, I think it’s the most haunted town in Britain. Perhaps in the world.” “Awesome,” remarked Tabby. The memory stirred again, seeming to ask permission to be let out. She gave in, feeling her secret would be finally safe. “I have to say…” she began nervously, having never divulged it to anyone else, “I think I have seen a ghost before. My grandmother, when I was about seven. It gave me one hell of a shock. Mind you,” she gave a small laugh, “so did that message!” “Oh, I bet it did,” Dean cut in sarcastically. “Just like the terrible shock you got when you smashed straight into me at the end of lunch. Why don’t you look where you’re going?” Tabby was taken aback. “It was an accident. You were moving pretty fast, it was your fault as much as mine.” She regretted these words as soon as they had left her lips. “Don’t you dare blame me, freakface!” he spat, approaching her threateningly. It was frightening how, all in black, he seemed to blend in with the darkness that hid outside the warm glow of the candles; and his devilish eyes shot right through her like black bullets. Why is he being so cruel to me? What have I done? "That’s enough!” Andy said as Tabby cowered away from Dean. He stopped still but continued to scowl harshly at her. Andy relaxed back on the bench, gazing into the flickering flame of a candle that stood tall by the alter as he spoke on. "Soon after Ollie joined, we had a particularly difficult case with a ghost known as Malum. He was the village's Mayor at the time of the Plague, and held an especial grudge against God when his people perished under the disease's black umbrella. He haunts the whole village, causing car crashes, fires, and other such devastation. It seems his post as Mayor gave him a lot of power and energy in the afterlife, as he can move solid objects much more easily than most ghosts. "Anyway, one day we attempted to banish Malum. We found him residing in a derelict cottage on the outskirts, and began the banishing process. This involves reading a certain ancient chant while sprinkling Holy Water onto the ghost, to send them on into Heaven or wherever lost souls end up after they've been banished - we still don't know that answer to that one," he smiled. "But it’s not as easy as it sounds. We managed to get half-way through this process, but Malum became enraged. He began to throw anything he could find across the room at Jim, who was reading the chant. That's when Dean, who lived nearby, walked past outside and heard the noise - he ran in to help. We tried to continue, but Malum grew more and more vicious. I had ducked to the floor to avoid a flying mirror and looked up to see an iron fire-poker sailing through the air much like a javelin..." Andy broke off, his tone sorrowful. Tabby could almost see the memory playing behind his eyes as he gulped slowly before continuing. "It was like everything was moving in slow-motion - I saw Jim try to leap out of the way, the poker piercing into his skin, his scream, the blood...and then his body on the floor..." Andy wiped away a tear that glistened on his cheek in the candlelight. "Malum escaped, taking the life of my best friend with him. Ever since, we've been trying to find him-" he looked up at the other three, his jaw set. "-and it seems we've just struck lucky."
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