“Stay here?! And do what exactly, Ezra? I’m not exactly holding a fort down here.”
Ezra didn’t answer; instead, he was crouching down at the end of the locker wall again, examining his imprint. There was something about it, carrying something within it. Not quite the safety, like he believed at first, but something more primal. And the more time he spent in its vicinity, the more he began to understand.
A pulse mimicking his own reverberated from the halls, culminating as a shudder reaching deep into his bones, and with it, the words cementing the truth.
“This is your domain.” The halls themselves conveyed the message, marking themselves as a part of him. Ezra tensed up. Again, he felt distant eyes watching, even if it was only for a second. Quickly, as it came, the halls were silent once more.
The hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Assuring Lyle that he was alright, he stood up.
“Look, if anyone should be out there looking for things, that would be me. The less danger you got to be in, the better. Just trust me and stay here. That way, at least one of us will be safe if I can’t find my way back here.” A strong exhale followed his last few breaths, as well as a few hastily made wipes at his cheek, trying to rid himself of the non-existent sweat.
Lyle attempted to throw a multitude of insults towards Ezra, stopping short every time it started making sense why he’d better stay behind. Not that he admitted that.
“How can you be so damn sure it’s safe anyway, Ezra? I didn’t feel that way until you said it was, but I’m having doubts.” There was a slight edge to his voice, making it hard to discern whether it was an honest worry or just a means of prolonging his own anger.
“I can’t force you, and I can’t prove to you that you’ll be safe here, Lyle. In the end, it’s up to you if you want to trust my instinct. I’m not going to beg you to stay if I can’t assure your safety.”
The two just stood there before Lyle admitted defeat.
“Maybe you won’t, but I will. Stay safe when you’re out there, Ezra. And make finding a fucking shirt a priority... you know, after you find anything else that is useful.” He then went inside the classroom again, leaving Ezra alone in the hall.
Lyle’s last comment suddenly made Ezra self-aware. Every piece of clothing on him was tattered, stretched to its utmost limit, or both. Without the need to do any preparations, not that there was anything but empty bags to carry with him, there was nothing left but to head towards uncertainty. A sudden wave of awareness washed over Ezra. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, and now every fiber of his being was attuned to his domain, to this isolated pocket of safety in an otherwise twisted world.
His eyes seemed to glow with an inner light as they scanned the hall, taking in details he hadn’t even noticed before. Every scuff, every crack in the paint, every loose tile—it was all laid bare before him, like a map unrolling in his mind’s eye. It didn’t take long for him to reach the precipice, the dividing line between safety and the killing grounds. Standing there, at the gate between these two worlds. The unattuned eye could have never told the difference.
Reaching his hand out, he felt a pushback, not meant as a deterrence but an invitation to put more purpose into the movement. It made him hesitate for a second. What exactly was he going out there for? Supplies, he needed to get supplies for himself and Lyle; nothing else was more important at that moment, except for something that seemed less likely the more time passed, and that was finding other survivors.
With just a bit more force, Ezra pushed onward, leaving the embrace of safety and setting foot into hell once more. For the tiniest of seconds, darkness enveloped his sight, just to reveal the same drab-drunk halls he had come to be familiar with. Or did he? There was something off about the get-up of everything around. It was much darker than usual, the lights above on the verge of giving in to the last embrace. Lockers lined both the left and right sides but had space between them, and even in the dark it was obvious how much thicker they were, looking more like obelisks of cheap iron than simple storage units.
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The air had this smell on it, rustic and heavy, like the taste of blood. It was cold, even keeping in mind that Ezra was walking around in rags; there was a biting chill latching itself into the marrow of his bones, unsure if it was a warning of what was to come. Keeping all of that in mind, Ezra turned around, stretching his hand out, intending to check if that pathway to safety was still there.
Of course it wasn’t. His hand simply wove around in mid-air. He couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle softly. Consistent rulings would have been too easy; things just had to change around erratically.
“What’s gonna be next, huh?” Mockery in his voice, like he was inviting more hurdles and hardship into the halls, though the only answer was silence, complete and utter silence. Not even the far sounds of rain hitting the windows made their way towards him.
“I should be glad.” He told himself. No commotion had to mean no danger, didn’t it?
“Shouldn’t make assumptions.” Said through his teeth while they were grinding against each other.
He made his first steps further in, quietly sticking to the right side of the hall, as close to the gargantuan lockers as he could without touching them. Every step he took made him more comfortable in his own skin.
“No sounds, no dangers. I should be glad, right?” Just a stray thought that came to his mind. No screams, no whispers, and no feeling of being watched.
The floor seemed to agree, shifting ever so slightly under his foot. He paused, listening, but there was nothing—just the oppressive silence. Shrugging off the unease, he took another step.
A faint sound, barely perceptible, like an eggshell breaking. But loud enough in the otherwise silent hallway. Then the feeling of skipping a step on the stairs.
A hole in the ground, the linoleum splintering like cheap china as he plunged forward, his arms windmilling wildly, missing the last step into the unknown depths by just a hair’s breath as he lept forward, landing with a grunt.
Clank!
The entire corridor howled with a shrill metallic sound, threatening to come crashing down, only to quiet down immediately after. With a deep breath, he pushed himself back up to his feet, brushing off the debris from his fall.
Cough.
And then all hell broke loose. The ground buckling once more. He hurtled down the hallway, legs pumping, arms swinging. He couldn’t see where he was going—hell, he could hardly see anything at all—but he knew he had to get to the end, wherever that was. Thump-thump-thump went his heart, echoing in his ears, matching the rhythm of his pounding footsteps.
“OH, COME ON!” he screamed out loud as the ceiling above dropped parts of itself onto the floor, small fragments at first, then stone-sized chunks came raining down on Ezra. His arms help up to protect his head; what little vision he had before, now gone completely.
Just when the hail had seemed to stop, just when he began the motion to drop his arms, that’s when he saw the door.
SMACK!
It went when he hit the door; the cracking sounds it made after were the prelude to Ezra bursting through and sliding into the room on the door itself.
Behind him, everything fell apart, the ground crumbling, leaving only a massive chasm, stopping just short of the room Ezra now found himself in.
Ezra lied there for a moment, panting, disbelieving, as he took in the destruction left in his wake. With a groan, he got up and wiped the dust out of his eyes to take in the room—a sign not unlike the ones he knew around the school, the letters completely alien to his eyes:
|?? ΔΛ C ? M ?| ? 0 Σ T| F ? ? N Δ|
He checked his head, expecting something sharp to stick out of it, but found himself as healthy as can be. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lights of the room, almost blinding in comparison to the corridors before. Clothing of every shape and size was piled high on shelves, draped over chairs, and strewn across the floor. The air was thick with the smell of old, undisturbed dust and forgotten time and the faintest hint of old metal, as if the room had been sealed off from the rest of the world for decades.
Half-heartedly arranged boxes stacked on top of each other, many little trinkets and knick-knacks cluttering the ground or spilling out of damaged cardboard. Looking back at the sign for a second time, it became fairly obvious what it was meant to spell out.
SKREECH-SCRAAAAPE
A shudder ran through his spine, not out of being startled but because of the sheer discomfort the sound caused, like metal being shaved by a discarded blade.
“Would have been much too convenient without company.” He whispered to himself.
CLICK-CLACK... CLICK-CLACK
Like stilts in the far distance tapping onto the ground, then that infernal scrape after.
CLICK-CLACK... CLICK-CLACK
The sign fell into his eyes once more, its meaning crystal clear.
LOST AND FOUND
