Ghosts at Drayson Schoolhouse by Rick Suttle

Author:Rick Suttle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-10-30T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

I froze. It seemed like a minute before I could swallow any saliva. The walkie-talkie came on again, spitting out something I couldn’t understand. “Ya . . . shul . . . nnn . . . a . . . caaaaa . . . maaaa.”

“Goooooooooooo!” it blared.

I jumped but held my ground. I was frightened but tried to stand tough. “I’m not going anywhere until I find my sister,” I said. “Where is she?”

“Go! . . . Go now!”

The thing sure had a limited vocabulary. But the last word needed no interpretation. “Killlllll!” It sent shivers through my spine.

My heart was pounding. I took a deep breath and stepped back toward the walkie-talkie. I don’t what possessed me to do it. But just when it came to life again, I slammed the heel of my gym shoe on it. I stomped on it again and crushed the plastic casing. I then continued down the corridor.

I must’ve walked fifty feet but still couldn’t find the office that Sarah said was down here. I turned and gazed behind me. The door by the classroom now appeared no more than a foot high. Was it getting smaller? My breath grew shallower. Sweat poured from my forehead to my eyebrows. Some leaked into my left eye. It stung. I wiped my eye with my forefinger.

“Sarah. It’s Dylan. Are you down here? Please answer me.”

The hallway curved to the left . . . and then back to the right. Given the apparent new dimensions of the door, it felt as if I were getting buried alive in here. The ceiling even seemed lower. After slowly making my way forward another five feet . . . and then ten, I spotted a door to the left. It appeared to be a small office. I approached it.

Just then, I heard someone speak. It was a girl’s voice, but it didn’t sound like Sarah’s. I couldn’t see the girl. I took another step—almost expecting to see one of the ghoul-like kids appear from behind the wall. That’s when I spotted the blue tennis shoe and white socks. It was Sarah. She was seated on the floor with her knees propped up, leaning against the wall.

“Please tell me where my mommy is,” she said.

“What? . . . You’re mom’s at home. Sarah, it’s me. Dylan.” Sarah was in another trance. That’s when I realized someone else was talking through her. I raised the pitch in my voice, as if I were talking to a young child.

“Who are you, little girl?” She sounded as if she were five or six, or perhaps it was a boy. I wasn’t sure. I stepped into the office and watched Sarah for several seconds. She looked up—still in her trance.

“Please help us,” she said. “We need help.” That child sounded older—and it was definitely a girl’s voice.

“Okay, sweetie. That’s what we’re here for—to help you. What’s your name?”

“Tur . . .”

Sarah coughed and rubbed her throat. She looked up at me.

“What’s my name?” she said, as her voice returned.

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