Ashes and Anger (wip)

I have been going back and forth for a while about what I am going to do with this story. I have, in truth, been working on it for over a year. occasionally I open it up and write a few lines but I really haven’t got much drive left to finish it despite still quite liking the idea. I guess in all fairness you could say that if it has taken that long I can’t like it too much but at the same time I would hate to see it unfinished after it got so close. I just got side tracked when i was writing ‘You are what you eat’ and i never really got the momentum back for it…

Ashes and Anger.

The music stuttering from the small Sony radio wavered and faded before coming back to power for a few seconds before fading again and finally dying into static. James Arnold cursed under his breath and stood from his chair, walking across the room to give it a gentle tap. There was no response and after a few more severe slaps James gave on the damned thing and turned it off. It always happened here, it was something about the crematorium walls that meant that almost any technology short of that which kept the place running seemed to short out and die. The local council had come up with some excuse about the way the place was built and deemed all excess items unnecessary, if it didn’t interrupt the way the crematorium was run then they weren’t going to do a thing.

James returned to his desk and picked up the crossword again, 11 down, Ironmonger, 6 letters. James puzzled over it again; he had been stuck for a while. Finally he gave up and turned to his right pressing the intercom.

‘Hey Trev, you there?’

For a moment there was nothing but a quiet buzz before a voice replied.

‘Yea Jim, what’s up?’

‘You had any luck with 11 down?’

There was a chuckle from the intercom.

‘Yea I put Harold…’

‘What do you mean Harold?’

‘Well I have a friend called Harold who is an ironmonger’

‘Somehow I’m not sure that’s the answer they had in mind’

Both men were chuckling now

‘Yea well maybe I could be more helpful but I’m still stuck on 5 across.’

‘Yea I haven’t figured it out either; I’m starting to think I’m not very good at crosswords.’

‘I’m starting to think the same, you’re not very good at these, stick to sudoku’

James laughed


‘I Heard that. Look give me 20 minutes to have a sweep of the top floor and then I’ll come down and we can compare what answers we do have.’

‘No problem’ finished James and he let go of the intercom.

‘Oh he’s coming down’ mumbled James to himself before giving his crossword another scan and then throwing it down on the desk.

‘Can’t do a crossword on my own’

James opened up his desk draw and looked about inside, shifting around the piles of receipts and the odd dirty magazine he kept in there till he found the Pack of cigarettes he had been looking for. He opened the pack and withdrew a cigarette and his lighter, lit up and then threw the pack and lighter back into the draw which he closed. Then rocking back on his chair he placed his feet on the desk and took a deep drag on the lit cigarette before turning to the security console. There was nothing happening. Each of the cameras showed the same empty corridors they always showed at this time of night. What a waste of money, keeping both a manager and a security personnel on the premises at night. What was the point? Who wanted to get into a crematorium at night? What were people going to try and do? Steal something? It was stupid. But James supposed that as long as they kept paying him his surprisingly generous salary he didn’t really care.

Taking another drag of his cigarette James was startled when the radio buzzed static again loudly. God damn this place, stupid power problems. But wait, hadn’t he turned the radio off? Looking over towards the wall where it was plugged in James could quite clearly see from his chair that the switch was in the off position. James gazed at this for a moment, running through ideas of how the radio could have come to making noise when the sudden knock at the door made him jump and almost fall backwards out his chair, the cigarette dropping from his mouth.

‘Don’t you remember being told not to rock on your chair in school?’ Trevor, the security guard was stood in the doorway laughing as James grabbed the desk to keep himself from toppling.

‘You Dick!’ James shouted, his hand on his heart feeling it beating like a machine gun.

‘Something got you distracted Jim?

‘Damn radio playing up again only, I turned it off when it first started doing it’

‘Maybe it’s the ghosts’ Trevor said waving his arms in a mock ghostly fashion.

‘Oh shut up and show me your crossword.’

An hour later Trevor returned to the top level and to his security details. While James shoved his paper in his draw and turned back to his security console. He slipped between the various cameras, 1 was fine, 2 was fine 3 was fine 4…4 wasn’t showing anything. Well it was showing something but it was just a grey image, not static but something was blocking the lens. James sighed and got up from his chair, grabbing his keys and heading to the door. Just as he left the radio gave another loud buzz of static, James jumped and spun to look at it. It was still off. Taking a deep breath to steady himself again James walked over to the radio and unplugged it before leaving the room and making his was to corridor G where the offending camera was located. As James walked the corridor his mind was preoccupied with the radio and he only faintly noticed the burnt smell in the air. Of course this wasn’t unusual in a crematorium but usually by this time of night the smell would have faded to almost undetectable while tonight the smell was getting stronger.

When he reached corridor G he looked up at the camera and saw what the problem was. There was a thick layer of ash covering the lens, as well as a smear of it down the wall underneath the camera. James stood and took in the scene, the ash looked almost like it had been deliberately left on the camera, it seemed too perfect for it to be there, and the wall, there was a lot of ash there, stuck to It as it was it looked as if something had been dragged down it, leaving the smear. James’ mind raced with a thousand unlikely scenarios, the wind, an animal, then he finally realised. Chuckling at his stupidity he went to clean the camera. It was a practical joke. Trevor must be trying to spook him by making this mess; he might even be behind the radio somehow. Reaching up to brush the ash from the camera he ran his finger along the lens and yelped, wrenching his hand back and clutching it close to him. The lens had been burning hot, like touching a stove. James looked at his finger, expecting for it to already be turning red, maybe already be burned, but it looked as it ever did and the pain was already subsiding.

Slowly, carefully James reached up again. The camera was giving off no heat that he could feel without touching it, not even slightly warm. He took a breath and rubbed his finger across the lens. The glass was cold as ice. James whipped all the ash off and walked back a few steps. Maybe it was a static shock he had felt, not a burn. James left the ash on the wall; the cleaners could deal with it in the morning. All the way back to his office James had a cold sweat, he felt like something wasn’t right and he was starting to feel that this may not be a practical joke. It was just that a feeling, he had not concrete proof that it wasn’t, just this horrible feeling.

When James got to the door of his office he stopped. There was a sound coming from inside. A quiet but high pitched screech, one persistent note that seemed to be never ending permeating the door and drifting down the corridor. James slowly opened the door carefully glancing into the room to try and see where the noise was coming from. Not that he needed look far. He already knew as soon as the door opened that it would be the radio that was making that sound. The screech was issuing from the speakers like a piano with something lying on the keys. The plug was still lying on the table next to the body of the radio and James knew that he had never put batteries in it, had never even taken off the back cover.  James cautiously picked up the radio, holding it in his hands and staring at it. The sound persisted. James gave the radio a quick shake and still the sound persisted. James gave the radio another harder shake and the screech exploded into a scream that filled the room. A banshee’s wail that split the ears and rattled the screens of the security console.

James dropped the radio and it crashed to the floor, bits of plastic scattering in all directions and one of the speaker covers skidded off under the table. The scream stopped immediately and in the silence James could feel his ears ringing, his eardrums throbbing. The silence stretched on for minutes while James simply stood and looked down at the broken radio. Smashed on the ground the main body was mostly intact, a few chips and one big crack. The led screen had shattered but for the most part it was in one piece.  Finally James decided what to do. Picking up the radio he hurried over to his cupboard and wrenched it open. Placing the radio at the back of the bottom shelf he slammed the door and padlocked it closed something he never did. Then he returned to his chair and slumped down. His fear slowly leaving him and making him exhausted. For the rest of that night James merely sat and stared at the cupboard. Almost too afraid to move for fear that the radio might start screaming again. When dawn came he left immediately, not waiting for his replacement to arrive.

James did not sleep well that day. Dreading returning to the crematorium he dreamt of twisting darkness and the smell of burnt flesh that filled his lungs and choked him. He woke before his alarm drenched in a hot sweat and considered calling in sick but he knew he would never be believed. He staggered around his flat still exhausted and unable to even think of eating anything he considered telling Trevor about what had happened but he knew he would just get laughed at. He decided he needed some proof and finally he decided that he knew how to get it. Rummaging through his draws he finally found what he was looking for. His Dictaphone from when he had attempted university.

That night James arrived at work almost an hour early, something that was almost unheard of. He set his Dictaphone up in the room and waited for his shift to start, the sandwich he had bought at the corner shop lay open but uneaten. James had spent the entire day without food, buying the sandwich simply because he thought that he needed it but as soon as he tried to take a bit he felt his stomach turn, unable to even stomach the concept. He almost ached at the prospect. So he sat and waited, waited for anything to happen.

But nothing happened. James’ shift started. The hours rolled by Trevor came in for a chat but James was too preoccupied to be much of a conversationalist and Trevor left seeming a bit put off.


The Factory

So after a long time of working on a submission for  publisher and after some work on a personal project of mine that I’m not sharing yet, I finally got down to some horror story work. This is an attempt of mine to try and write something a bit longer and I’m not sure about it but I guess we shall see. Also for once i edited my work!


The factory loomed ominously high into the air, the grey tower of the smokestack highlighted by the clear sky. Ryan stared up at the tall building, looking through the broken windows, fancying that he could see shapes moving beyond the shards of glass that still sat in their frames. At eight years old Ryan had always been told by his mother to stay away from the factory even though the chain link fence that surrounded it was completely locked and there was no way through. Ryan had always thought that he would be able to climb the fence easily enough if he had a chance, but he knew he wouldn’t even get half way up before he was seen.

Ryan was about to turn away and continue on his way back home when he felt something pat him on the back. Ryan jumped and wheeled around to see another child, probably slightly older than himself, his features contorted into a smirk.

“You like the factory kid?”

Ryan didn’t reply, he was still slightly shaken and he didn’t recall having ever seen this kid before.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t scare you did I?”

Ryan shook his head but still didn’t say anything.

“You ever been in there? It’s really cool inside.”

“You can’t get in, the gate is locked” Ryan finally replied.

“Don’t be stupid, you don’t get in through the gate; there’s a hole in the fence, me and all my friends have been in there.”

“There’s a hole? Where?” asked Ryan excitedly, despite knowing that he probably shouldn’t know or else he would be even more tempted to go exploring it.

“It’s round the back, follow me” and with that the kid walked off, turning round once to wave Ryan after him as he hadn’t moved. Ryan hesitated for another moment and then followed.

As they walked round the back of the factory the kid turned round again.

“What’s your name?”


“Mine’s Tommy” he replied and continued walking.

The pair reached the back of the factory by slipping through a narrow back alley, little more than a few feet gap between two other houses. When they got around to the back Tommy knelt down by the fence and started to pull at a corner by a support pole, revealing a gap that was small but still large enough to crawl through. Tommy stood again and gestured for Ryan to crawl go on through.

“Go on” he said, but Ryan didn’t move.

“My mum tells me I’m not supposed to go in there, it’s dangerous.”

“Oh you big baby, do you do everything your mum tells you? I told you everyone I know has been in there, it’s not dangerous.”

Ryan stood and considered it for a moment, before stooping and staring to crawl under the fence. When he got to the other side he turned back to Tommy but he had made no inclination that he was going to follow him.

“Are you not coming?”

“Not yet, there’s a game. If it’s your first time going into the factory, you have to go alone.”

Ryan was shocked at this.

“Go in alone? For how long?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come in and find you when you’ve been in there long enough.”

Ryan turned and looked at the factory. As enticing as it had looked before it now had an air of foreboding that didn’t seem to settle quite right.

“Go on, go in, or are you just a chicken?” Tommy taunted from the other side of the fence.

Ryan gave one last half glance backwards before setting off resolutely towards the ominous building that stood in front of him.

As Ryan approached the factory he started to wonder how he was supposed to get inside. He had always thought that the large iron doors had been sealed when it had closed and he knew he had no chance of being able to pull them open. His trainers crunched in the gravel that covered what had once been the car park of the factory but now was empty asides from an old rusty shopping trolley that lay on its side in the middle of the car park.

Starting to consider the possibility that there was maybe a widow somewhere on the ground level somewhere he could climb through Ryan wondered if that was how Tommy had gotten

before. Or maybe Tommy had been lying and he had never been in the factory and had just been teasing him. But then how would know about the hole in the fence. But as Ryan grew closer to the big factory front doors he saw that instead of being closed they were in fact standing slightly ajar, just enough for him to be able to slip through in fact.

Pausing just before the doors Ryan peered into the darkness of the factory but he couldn’t see much through the small gap between the doors. Taking a deep breath Ryan started to slip through the opening. As he slithered through he started to see more of the factory’s insides which got his excitement going and he struggled harder, desperate to get inside. Suddenly something caught Ryan’s jacket. He pulled desperately at it but he could not get it free. Suddenly the horrible thought that while he was stuck there circled his head, still halfway between the doors, something could happen and the doors would slam shut on him! He started to pull more frantically at the jacket but still couldn’t budge it. Finally he managed to get the zipper open and he slipped out of it tripping as he forced his way through the doors, landing hard on the ground.

Getting up from the floor Ryan tried again to pull his jacket from the door but was still unable to. He thought it must be stuck from the other side and was about to squeeze through again to try and retrieve it but then he remembered what Tommy had said, he had to stay in there until Tommy came and got him before he leave. He stood there for a moment, considering what to do, then decided that he would have to get his jacket on the way out. Turning away from this now he faced the rest of the factory.

Ryan found himself in a massive room full of old machinery such as conveyor belts which stretched the majority of the room. There was a staircase that lead up a back wall, ending in a door that lead off to another part of the factory. The factory had used to be used to make car engines a couple of which were still sitting on the conveyor belts as well as several small piles of parts littered around the place, almost like they had been abandoned in a hurry. There was also a chain hanging from the ceiling that ended in a vicious looking hook the purpose of which Ryan could not fathom.

The edges of the room were lined with huge metal supports that ran up the walls and across the ceiling connecting together in the middle of the roof, giving Ryan the image of some bizarre metal ribcage. On the back wall of the factory there was a massive machine that all the conveyor belts lead out from. This machine was probably about the size of Ryan’s bedroom back home and he was amazed at the complexity. With several panels on the side with controls that Ryan could not understand. Given its positioning and sheer size Ryan thought instantly of it as the heart of the factory, hidden behind its steel ribs.

But Ryan’s attention was distracted mostly with the way that the light filtered in through the windows, many of which were broken or boarded up so that the light only managed to enter in slivers, becoming a glowing razor blade that cut through the darkness. The dust particles floated down and rose through the trails of light, reflecting off it and giving the appearance that they were sparkling. The small movements they made, caused by the light breeze wafting in, made them look like they were dancing through the beams of light, pirouetting through the air.

The wind that blew through the factory made a quiet whistling sound as it passed through some of the piles of pipes that littered the ground and the occasional squeak from a mouse made a quiet symphony to play for the dust. Ryan was amazed at how, despite the initial impression of stillness, that the factory gave off it was in fact in constant state of movement. From the dust dancing around and the mice scurrying back and forth under the machinery to the fluttering of the ivy leaves of a creeper that had grown up through a crack in the concrete floor and was now constricting it’s way round one of the steel ribs.

Ryan also noticed the smell that the breeze brought in with it. While he had been expecting the smell in the factory to be damp and mouldy it was quite the opposite. It smelt earthy, like walking through a wood and smelling the damp soil and the wet grass. It was a smell that reminded Ryan of going to see his grandparents, who lived in the country, playing hide and seek with his cousins. The smell made Ryan happy. It washed away all the fear that he had had just moments earlier and started his excitement running again. He was eager to go exploring the rest of the factory.

After looking around at the several doors that lead off the main factory floor Ryan decided to take a passage closer to the back wall, partly because he wanted to get a closer look at the heart and also because it seemed to him that that was where the breeze was coming from. Wandering down the corridor Ryan saw that there were several wires and pipes attached to the ceiling running from the heart and down into the next room. This seemed slightly weird to Ryan as he had would have thought that wires like that would have been somewhere that they were less likely to be damaged. His mother had always told him that a damaged wire was exceedingly dangerous and that he should stay away from one should he see it. But these wires weren’t damaged as far as Ryan could see so he continued to wander along the corridor. He should be ok.

The corridor was long and bland to look at but finally Ryan entered another room. This one was a lot smaller, filled by another large machine that the wires led into. He assumed that it must be some sort of engine to drive the other machine as there was the smell of petrol about it and several

empty cans lying in a corner that Ryan had seen before when his mother had stopped to fill the car up. Ryan found this room to be less interesting than the main factory floor and after a quick look around, returned the way he had come with the intention of seeing where the stairs lead.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs he looked them up and down, they looked secure enough though there was a worrying amount of rust on some of them and the handrail was broken in several places. Ryan hesitated, starting to worry about the wisdom of climbing them, but as he looked up towards the room at the top he could see that the door was slightly open and there was a golden glow coming from inside. Taking a deep breath Ryan put his foot on the bottom stair and started his ascent. He was small for his age and quite light so he reckoned that he shouldn’t have any problems. Though they were rusty the stairs stood firm as he climbed them and even the worst looking section showed no signs of stress as he traversed them. Reaching the door at the top he pushed it all the way open and stepped inside, still slightly relieved to be off the stairs.

Turning to look at the rest of the room he had entered he saw he was in a small office, about half as long as the main factory floor and thinner, he was surprised to see that the divisions that separated the cubicles were still in place and a few of the desks were still sat there, worn and starting to be eaten away by woodworm but still where they had been left.

Ryan walked around some of the cubicles examining them; opening desk draws gripped by the desire to see if anything had been left in them. He jumping out of his skin when he opened one to see a small rat sat inside chewing on a rotting piece of paper. The rat leered up at him and squealed before leaping from the draw and speeding off out of sight. Ryan let out a small yell as it darted past him and stumbled backwards, hitting the wall. He waited a moment to let his heart settle down again before looking around the room again, trying to find the source of the light he had seen, his desire to examine the draws no longer as strong. Finally saw it. There was a door at the opposite end of the room that stood ajar, and the glow he had seen was emanating from under and around the cracks where it was slightly open. Creeping forward cautiously he pushed the door open a bit more and peered round it to see what was inside.

Ryan saw a single office, not too large in size but with a big window opposite the door that looked out onto the street below and gave a nice view of the sky. The sun was starting it’s decent in the sky, painting it shade of burnished bronze as it hung just above the skyline of the city. In the middle of the room was another old desk and behind that there was a tall office chair bound in brown leather. Despite the fact that the chair must have been quite old the leather had only started

to crack in a few places and apart from a bit of wear in another couple of spots was clean and still perfectly useable.

There was also an old filing cabinet in the corner of the room and despite the instant temptation to sit in the chair Ryan headed over to this first, opening each draw too see what, if anything, was inside, certain that it at least couldn’t be another rat, though that didn’t stop him being slightly more cautious. Finding each draw to be empty he turned and looked out the window, admiring the view and the way the sky had changed colour since he entered the factory. He thought to himself that when he got home he might try and paint it. Art was his favourite class in school and his teachers had all said he was good at it. And then his heart skipped a beat. Home. He was meant to be back before it got dark. He had forgotten with all the fun he had been having exploring the factory. He hurried to the door of the office and pulled it open, about to run out and leave the factory when he stopped in the doorway, turning slowly to look back at the chair. Surely he could just quickly sit in it and see what it was like to sit there in the big chair. He could spare just a quick few minutes.

Ryan walked over to the desk and settled himself into the chair; it was soft and seemed to settle to his weight perfectly making it extremely comfortable. The leather also seemed to be strangely warm despite the cool air wafting through the factory. Ryan span around in the chair a few times before pretending he was shouting orders to his imaginary workers. He was loudly telling them that they weren’t working fast enough, shouting at them and telling them they needed to do better. He stood up on the chair and shouted across the offices at an imaginary man in the back, pleased to hear the way his voice echoed around the empty air.

Then from behind him came the screech of metal on metal, loud and chilling, it came from where the filling cabinet was sitting. Ryan span around, still stood on the chair with a chill crawling up his spine. The chair rocked as he moved, making him lose his balance. He stumbled, flailing his arms about trying to find something to steady himself on, found nothing and fell backwards. The world slowed for a second as he fell but then a sharp pain split the side of his head, a crack resonated around him and the world went black.

When Ryan awoke his head hurt worse than it had ever hurt before and when he reached up to feel the spot where it had hit the table he felt a huge lump under his hair as well as something sticky. Looking at his fingers he saw red clinging to them and realised he had been bleeding. He started to panic his breath coming hard and fast, catching in his lungs at points. He sat there almost in tears for a few minutes before he managed to calm himself and regain some sense.

When he finally regained some control he got to his feel and looked around and thought he was going to have another panic attack. The room was dark, the window that had previously let in all the light of the outside was now broken, shards of smashed glass sticking up from the frame and a few boards had been nailed across the frame to cover it, though by the look of them they had been there for a while. The desk was now leaning diagonally as one side of it had rotted away to the point where it had broken and the chair Ryan had stood on was not a tattered mess. The leather, which had been almost pristine, was now all but peeled away. The stuffing was damp and grey, spilling out of several holes and onto the floor. Ryan also noticed the filing cabinet, now battered, missing all its draws and lying on its side. Ryan felt his breath catching in his throat. How could it all have changed he thought? It wasn’t like this before, it wasn’t.

He hurried from the room as quickly as he could and out into the office that had been filled with cubicles. Just like the first office this one now seemed completely different. The few dividers that remained were toppled over and broken; the fabric on them was worn and rotten away with age. The desks were all missing now, with nothing but marks on the filthy floor to show where they had been. There were also stains on the walls, long, greasy looking marks that ran down from skirting board to skirting board. Where they had before been a clean white in colour they were now a dirty grey, covered in marks and peeling where water had leaked in.

Ryan again rushed through this room and out onto the staircase, planning on rushing down it and out the door but he had to grab onto the hand rail as he reached the first stair to avoid falling down the hole that had appeared. The staircase was now completely covered in rust, the missing piece of it lay on the floor of the factory, fifteen feet below fractured upwards like a spiked pit. Ryan stared out over the factory floor and gasped.

The darkness had filled in where before the light had streamed in from outside. Shadows now covered the walls and where before there had been beams of light that had played with the dust that hung in the air and made it dance now the shadows that hung thick from the ceiling and covered the floor. The dust still circled in the air but now it only gave the illusion that the shadows were moving, slowly crawling across the machinery and the conveyor belts, shying away from the light like some demented jungle creature. Where the ivy that had crept through the windows had glowed and emerald in the sunlight it now seemed thicker and looked slimy as the low light reflected off the damp than clung to it, giving the vines the look of tendrils forcing themselves through the cracks, gripping the walls as if a sea serpent had slipped from the ocean like some horror movie and now gripped to the side of the factory, hauling it back to the sea.

The smell of earth had gone and had been replaced by a stench of mould and rot but it was also tinted with something bitter and foul that lingered at the back of his throat and almost made him gag as it filled his lungs. The sound of the wind not seemed like a distant scream as floated round the factory, chilling Ryan to the bone and making his breath mist in front of his face. The supports of the factory, which Ryan had before thought looked like ribs, now seemed to curve inwards in the darkness, making the entire factory feel like the chest of some mighty monster.

Ryan felt cold sweat trickle down his back and realised he had to escape the factory and now. Looking down the staircase Ryan could only see one way down the stairs, he would have to grip the rail, carefully placing his feet on the side of the stairs where it hadn’t broken would be dangerous but it was the only way. Slowly Ryan started to edge his way down the side of the stairs. The metal groaned loudly under his weight and dust started to drift out of the wall where the supports strained to pull themselves free. Occasionally small chips of metal would fall out from the stairs as the rust and strain finally defeated them. The wind that flowed through the factory felt like it had suddenly turned against Ryan, pushing him backwards towards the holes in the stairs. The sound of the wind changed from a scream to a cheer, urging itself to push Ryan down and to his death.

Ryan pulled himself onwards however and neared the bottom of the stairs when finally the stairs seemed to give way and the supports pulled themselves from the wall. Creaking and moaning the structure slowly started to collapse on itself. Panicking Ryan did the first thing that came to his mind and leapt from his positions on the stairs and down onto the floor, his legs giving way under the impact. The stairs smashed loudly to the floor, snapping and bending under the weight of the rest of the metal. The shadows on the wall seemed to swirl in the rising cloud of dust forming evil faces for split seconds, menacing in their visage and wafting away before Ryan could be sure he had seen it. A few stray bolts clattered across the floor, bouncing off the metal and making a sound that resembled that of a high pitched laugh.

Ryan lay on the cold, filthy ground trying to catch his breath and calm his heart again. Ryan could only look at the tumbled staircase and think how close he had been to going down with it and being crushed. Even if that hadn’t killed him he would be stuck there without help. The realisation suddenly dawned on him that he was lying in in the shadows, covered in the muck of the factory; his knee had taken a hard knock when he hit the ground and his shoulder was aching to match the throb that had been in his head since his fall. The shadows around him had suddenly seemed to grow very still since his fall and Ryan grew chill, they were watching him, waiting to see what he would do. Like animals circling wounded prey.

Ryan knew that he had to run; he had to get away from here as fast as he could. He would slip through the door, dive through the hole in the fence and wouldn’t stop running till he was home and safe in his bed. He pulled himself up from the ground, feeling himself sticking to something, in his panic he thought that the floor itself was holding on to him, trying to pin him down. Ryan wrenched himself free and ran. Dodging round the conveyor belts and other machinery piled on the ground. The shadows seemed to curl and move around him trying to hold out wispy arms to grab hold of him but Ryan burst past them. Reaching the front of the factory he looked up, expecting to see his jacket still hanging between the doors, stuck on something outside, but what he saw made his heart sinking in his chest.

His jacket was lying on the floor, torn to tatters. It lay a few feet from the door as if it had been pulled loose from where it had stuck and been hurled away by someone, or something. The door itself stood tall and solid and clearly closed. Ryan rushed to it, screaming to himself in his head that it couldn’t be true and he was just seeing things. He pushed at it with all his might, tried pulling on it, hammered on it with his fists and kicked at it but there was no way that he could move it. Ryan felt tears starting to flow freely from his eyes and he screamed loudly in as much frustration as fear. How could the door have closed? But now he felt he was trapped. He thought of trying the windows but they were boarded up as the window in the office had been and that at least was how they had always been. Even if he could pull a board away he would cut himself to pieces on the shards of glass as he climbed through.

Ryan whipped the tears from his eyes and looked around watching the shadows circling around him, their sleek forms seeming to creep down the walls and across the floor. Even the ivy now seemed to be bending his way. Then he saw it, something that gave him hope. There was a shadow down the end of the corridor he had walked down earlier. No it wasn’t a shadow. It was a silhouette. A human silhouette. Ryan realised in an instant, it must be Tommy come to get him out!

Ryan ran towards him, why hadn’t Tommy found him earlier? It didn’t matter he would know a way out of here and then he could go home. Ryan ran down the corridor but as he got closer Tommy turned and ran away from him. Ryan called after him and started to run harder but Tommy easily outpaced him. Ryan chased him back into the room with the engine. The room was not very large and Ryan could see that there was nowhere for Tommy to hide. But he was not there

Ryan was confused now, he was scared and he was alone. He turned and was about to start walking back down the corridor, getting desperate enough to try one of the windows, see if he could knock some glass out of one and make it safe to escape through, when suddenly the engine behind

him started to rumble. At first it only growled quietly but it grew louder and louder, reaching a roar that filled the room and echoed down the corridor. The engine started to shake with the force of the mechanism inside and the stench of petrol filled Ryan’s nostrils. Ryan stood terrified of what was happening. He needed to run but he was rooted to the spot. Finally he managed to force himself to turn away, running headlong down the corridor chased by the roar of the machine behind him. The further down the corridor he got the more the sound of the engine was replaced by a new sound. A rhythmic thumping that was, if possible, even louder. He finally reached the main floor of the factory, terrified of what he might see. Of what could be making that noise.

The heart of the factory had started to beat. The pounding filled his ears, so loud it rattled his teeth. It sounded like fireworks being set off right beside his head, a monotonous thump-thump thump-thump. The sound echoed around the entire room, from the ribcage ceiling to the slick murky floors. Ryan glanced up and saw to his horror that the ribs of the factory were not just ribs but they had now become claws that were visibly bending in towards him, long skeletal fingers that lead the shadows down from the ceiling to grasp at him.

Desperately Ryan ran for the only way out he could see. He wrenched urged himself into motion, almost tripping as he dashed to the closest window. The window was boarded up but the glass behind the boards was broken, if only he could get the boards away then Ryan could clamber out and be free. He didn’t even care if he got cut by the glass as long as he was out. He grabbed a hold of the bottom board and pulled with all the strength he had left, desperately trying to wrench the board free. But the wood held firm. The nails keeping it on the frame didn’t move and inch and despite the rotten, worn look of the wood the plank didn’t so much as bend. Almost hysterical Ryan tried again and again to pull the board free but it still refused to move. Warm tears flooded his eyes as he looked through the gaps in the window, straining his eyes in the dark to see if there was anyone out there. His heart skipped a beat as he saw there was a figure standing in the street and as they moved under a street light he saw that it was his mother! She must have gotten worried and come looking for him. Pushing his mouth between the gaps in the boards he screamed for her, straining his voice over the thumping of the heart. From the distance between them his mother should have been able to hear his hysterical cry for help. Ryan called again and again but to his dismay, when he looked his mother was looking up and down the street, clearly having not heard him. He called again and his mother looked up briefly, she turned and gave the factory a glance before she turned and walked on down the street.

Ryan fell to his knees, tears now running freely down his face. He had nothing left he could try, he was trapped. Why had he not listened to his mother? Why had he allowed himself to enter

the factory? And where was Tommy? Had he entered after him? Had he already been caught by whatever it was that was that pursued him. As these thoughts swirled around Ryan’s head another shadow rose up the wall, taller and darker than the others. The shadow swirled and formed into a very familiar face. Tommy’s face. It looked down at Ryan and sneered, a familiar expression to the one he had worn when he first startled Ryan, but now it was cruel and full of malice and Ryan realised how he had been lured into the factory. How whatever was in the factory had waited for someone like him to lure into its lair.

The shadows moved around him, surrounding him and slowly advancing towards their prey. They closed the gap and started to creep up Ryan’s legs, twisting themselves around him like the ivy that had slithered up the walls. Ryan finally found his voice and let out a scream.

Outside the factory was as it had ever been. The street was deserted and silent. No thumping heart. No screams. Nothing.

Hi Ho Silver Lining!

So I have been rather busy recently with other writing I have been doing as well as starting a new job but I did manage to get one piece done. With this I was trying to think of a way i could mess with peoples perceptions of characters by simply witholding details about the characters. i guess we’ll see if it worked or not.


My foot comes down hard in a puddle and I find it to be deeper than I had anticipated. I stagger forward and only just manage to prevent myself from going sprawling in the mud. Urging myself forward I slip again, this time in the mud and again narrowly manage to stay on my feet. I stop and steady myself, the water running freely over me. My insides are still twisted with panic, I keep asking myself where he is and I still have no answer. All I can do is struggle on, the mud clinging to my boots, sucking my feet down and trying to hold me back and trap me. The trees are far from close to each other, hardly a forest at all but in the dark they still prove hard to navigate. More than once I almost crash into a thick trunk or grot myself on a low branch.

I keep thinking to myself, where are the police? Why aren’t they here yet? And my stomach twists tighter again. I can’t think like that, they are on their way. My thoughts quickly rush back to him, where can he be? How fast was he moving? Can he know where I am? I curse my lack of exercise and swear to myself that I will cut all the fast food out of my diet, I’ll never drink again, I’ll be the most athletic person in the county. For now though all I can do is keep running, with every breath tearing at my chest, my legs feeling like shattered glass.

The wind is cold and bites with savage ferocity at my face and hands, my drenched shirt offering me all but no protection against its bitter cold. But then, on the edge of hearing, comes the sound of snapping branches. Something is moving off to my left. I change direction and keep running. The howling wind seems to try and mask the sound of crunching bark, all the elements seeming to conspire against me. I am making no effort to quiet my own footsteps, I can’t, all my mind is telling me to do is to move and move fast.

The sound of his movements is getting louder, getting closer and in my panic I trip over a root. This time there is no saving myself and with a colossal crash I slam into the ground. The sound of movement stops and all seems quiet. There is no sound of movement, the wind has stopped howling, even the rain seems to have silenced itself. I lie there, listening to my own ragged breath, I keep imagining the sound of sirens in the distance but again I banish the thought from my head. Slowly I start to crawl forward, not even daring to raise my belly from the ground. There was still no sound as I cautiously crept forward hoping against hope that I had not been seen by him.

Then I stopped, just ahead of me with his back facing me, he was crouched behind a tree. Clearly he was trying to conceal himself unaware that he was on the wrong side of it. There was still some blood on his shirt where it had stained before the rain could wash it away and I realised I had to act before he turned around. Lurching to me feet I rush forward. He turned and saw me, his face a mask of terror as I quickly crossed the few meters between us, raising the hatchet gripped tightly in my hand I brought it down hard, burying it in his head.

Blood burst everywhere and he fell to the ground without so much as a scream or a cry for mercy. It was not very satisfying but given the situation it had to be done quickly, he had already almost escaped.

I placed my boot on his chest and, grabbing the handle of the hatchet I gave a sharp tug. the man’s neck twisted violently at the force of my pull but the axe head stayed firmly embedded in his skull. Several more attempts yielded the same results and I sank down in the mud and clutched my chest, desperately sucking air. Finally I manage to calm myself and relax slightly. Sure I still had to find a way to drag the body back to the cabin and hide it with the others but the worst of the night was over and for a silver lining, the rain had started to let up.