Art

Art-Club ‘Ghost’!…

rs-265

*

“What’s with the Art Club?”

“Seven ’til Ten. I’ll take you, if you like?”

And so… I did, but he didn’t get it. None of it. Certainly not, what was so good about going back to school when you are not supposed to be there.

Villains of out of time and season lifting never seen before veils.

Moving naturally instead of in designated lines. Free… Which it was also.

The corridors were now phantom walk-ways which perchance would never be used again. In winter they were all pitch-black until the switches were flicked… By us! Even the people there looked different: informally un-uniformed they finally seemed real instead of pretend.

We got to use art-room materials to draw or paint whatever we liked! And there was music… An old record player. Curiously, there were never any arguments over what should or should not be played. It was good too, sometimes just to watch others… quietly.

*

It was only a matter of time before we decided to explore the pitch-black. It took the form of a dare: to walk the corridor end to end without breaking into a run. Easy enough for those with no fear of the dark, albeit this was darkness so thick you could not see a hand in front of a face. We did not even get a light for the stair-well. Down we went. Three fools who laugh at fear. Each determined not to break into a run, or at least, not before the other two did.

The creak of a door. During the day we would not have given it a second thought. But now, that over used staple of too many bad horror flicks seemed in league with the darkness. The door closed on our tomb. We turned and made tentative steps into the black. Normal darkness the eyes grow accustomed to. Not here. Here the darkness bounced against the back of the skull, stirring no shadows.

The creak of a door. Not our door. The one at the far end of the corridor. From somewhere, a light shone. There, somehow suspended from the door, was ‘Bones’, the art-room skeleton.

We lost the dare.

*

hm15a

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