Coldbrook

4

Jonah knew that this was action for the sake of it. But sitting in Secondary in the dark with nothing to do would drive him mad, so coming back down to Control was at least something to occupy his mind. Nothing will have changed, he thought. He slid the gun into his waistband and pulled back the chairs he’d propped beneath the door’s handle. As he opened the door, something whispered behind him.

Jonah whirled around and shone his torch back along the corridor. The wall was smeared with dried blood, black in the artificial light. Nothing moved.

‘Is that you?’ he said. Nothing answered. ‘Bastard!’

He was talking to shadows.

He tugged the door open and stepped inside Control. It was cooler than the rest of Coldbrook. The air held a hint of something alien to this place — flowing water, soil, healthy plants. He breathed in and held his breath: the scents of another world were startling. Previously the containment field had kept the two worlds separate, but Holly had switched it off to go through. Holly is through there, he thought, staring at the breach. It glowed gently in the torchlight.

Moths fluttered in the light, creatures from elsewhere. Their presence took his breath away.

He’d thought seriously about going through, but not yet. He could not abandon his world while there still might be a chance for it. So he stood just inside the door and aimed the torch around the room, switching to wide beam so that shadows could not hide for too long. A few flies buzzed in the light. The moths spiralled in confusion, dusting the beam. The withered creature still lay where it had fallen.

And that was when the dark started talking at last.

‘It hurts when you pass through.’

Jonah gasped and pressed himself against the glass wall. He shone the torch this way and that, tracking its beam with the gun.

‘But pain purifies.’ The voice was low and wet. ‘It purges the old. Emphasises the new. The pain is necessary. There is so much more to come.’

Jonah swung left, and when he turned back the man stood in front of him, several paces away and different from before. He still held the pulsing red organ, its tendrils stirring as the light hit them, but his other hand had removed part of his mask to speak. His newly exposed lips were as pale as dead fish, the flesh around his mouth smooth and speckled with moisture. He pressed the mask back across his mouth and Jonah heard a pained inhalation. Steam hazed the air. Then the man removed it again to speak some more.

‘I am the Inquisitor, and you will be prepared and instructed.’ His teeth were rotted, black and cracked, and a faint mist seemed to issue from his throat.

Jonah raised the gun and aimed, but the man merely pressed his mask back against his mouth. He had yet to expose his eyes. Jonah flicked the torch this way and that, trying to get its light to penetrate the goggles. They glittered wet and dark.

Jonah lowered the gun, backed to the doorway and slipped through, never taking his gaze from the man. He followed.

‘This world is dead,’ the Inquisitor said. ‘You are honoured, because for you it is the beginning.’

‘This world is not dead!’ Jonah said, surprised at the forcefulness in his voice.

The intruder breathed in heavily once again, hissing softly as he exhaled.

Jonah flipped the torch around to check the corridor, and when he turned back the man had gone. A light mist hung in the air where he had been.

‘Where are you?’ Jonah whispered. ‘Inquisitor. Bastard.’ Control was silent, the corridor behind him whispering once again with scratching echoes of the dead.

Jonah stacked the chairs against the door, slid down the wall and nursed the torch. He remained there for some time, because that place was as safe as any.