"In the Basement" drabbles by Lisa Williams

The end...

In the Basement #9

A maze of rooms running under the school. Until finally. The tang of disinfectant got stronger. Stale. Metallic. Bile rose as he moved through to the next door. The room he’d kept them in.

Chilled air gasped out as he opened it.

Bare brick. And soundproof. So near to their friends that had been crying, hoping for their safe return.

The press had gone wild with the story - Outstanding ofsted with a fucking serial killer on the staff. At least now it was almost over, just needed the bastard to regain consciousness to reveal where he'd hidden all the bodies.

The Basement

In the Basement #8

He reached the bottom of the steps. Tools were outlined in black on the peg board. Everything in its place. Meticulous. Ordered. Macabre really. A mop and bucket stood in the corner.

School timetable on the wall.

A row of photos next to a chair.

The room divided into two. Simple partition. Another locked door. And that was where Clara said it had happened. So near all that time, under the school.

Jesus. He couldn’t help think of all the wasted hours. Searching for them in the woods, dredging the bloody river. And here they were right under their noses.

Police

In the Basement #7

The policeman shouldered the door marked CARETAKER and broke the lock through the old wood. It gave with a splintered squeal and swang forward.

Steps down. Bare wood.

A smell. Dettol.

Antiseptic mingled with the damp metallic tang of a locked up space.

He stepped on the first step. Tentative. Testing them before putting his weight on them. They’d got a full confession. But there’d be evidence down here. The case needed closure and parents still waited for bodies to bury and finally put things to rest. Then try to piece together the remains of their life and move on.

Clara

In the Basement #6

It was like something else was controlling my body. I hit his head with the metal pail. That’s when he made the worst groan. I poured it over his head.

And ran.

I wanted my Mum. It’s all I could think about. Felt like I was running towards her. And it was almost a shock to be outside and her to still be dead. Is that silly? I needed a hug from her. Tell me it was alright.

There’s other stuff too. The things he did. I’m just not sure I’ve got the words for that just yet. You know.

Brianna

In the Basement #5

When Brianna died I was alone. Things were harder then. No windows so even night and day was a mystery. It was dizzying. The uncertainty. I weirdly looked forward to the sound of his bucket.

And it came. Slow and steady. Trundling down the corridor. Catching occasionally on raised bricks. The door nudged open. He called me his precious. Stroked my lank knotted hair. And that’s when it rose in me. The anger.

A need to hurt him.

I remember turning, smiling. My eyes lowered as he came closer. His short raspy breath tinged with tobacco as I pushed him.

Kaitlyn

In the Basement #4

God! We hated him with each new level in the bucket. But the days he didn’t come. Empty the bucket. Feed us. They were the best. Our smell stopped mattering. We took imaginary trips to Superdrug. The seaside. Hot deep bubble baths. Endless showers. A swim in a pool.

A hair wash. It was all Kaitlyn wanted.

His steps echoed down the corridor. Wheeled mop bucket scuffed against the brick floor.

Kaitlyn was second to die.

We knew each other backwards by then. When the conversation lulled we chanted times tables. Anything to take our minds off what he did.

Bucket

In the Basement #3

We started to tell the time by the depth of the liquid in our bucket.

Megan had wanted to dance. She’d had an interview in London. A dance Academy. Was waiting to hear if she’d got in. I just wanted to get out. See my cat. Aiming low.

One day we celebrated Brianna’s Birthday with a dream party. We invited Harry Styles and he came, sang and fell in love with her. You know how it is, turning sweet sixteen in the Summer holidays.

Spending it under your school in the secret warren of tunnels behind the caretaker’s basement room.

Megan

In the Basement #2

It was Megan that died first.

We’d lost track of time so I don’t know when it was but she was the first to leave.

He stopped tying us up after then so we huddled together as much as we could. For warmth. Companionship. We’d never been friends before. Obviously we knew each other from school. But were in different years so we’d never spoken; as we talked though we realised just how similar we all were.

The others didn’t like to talk about home. Said thinking about their parent’s grief somehow made the situation worse.

We started planned things.

The Caretaker

In the Basement #1

It was my sanctuary. Away from those that mocked, that didn’t understand. I’d drawn round the tools on the wall, like a dead body’s chalk outline. Easy to spot something missing.

Nothing wrong with order I thought as I rubbed the ball hammer with a Dettol wipe and returned it to the relevant place.

I chose a saw, removed the protective cover. Sharp well oiled blade glinted in the strip light’s glare. Walked up the steps and over to my van. The lumps there in bin bags, no prying eyes to question me now as I finished what I’d started.