Authors: Simon Leigh
Out of Promises (4 page)
In the centre of Dog Trap Woods on the edge of city, the notoriously depressing Northbrook Children’s Home sat quietly nestled in its own little world away from prying eyes. Fifty feet high trees served as a natural wall leaving only one way in and one way out by road. The home was in two parts: one part for the children, large and square with four stories, and the other, a smaller version of only two stories serving as the staff quarters, strictly off limits to the children unless invited. And the frequently were. The unlucky ones who had been there were manipulated to believe that it was their fault, that they would never leave the home if they said anything. The two buildings were joined by a windowed platform known as the Bridge. The grounds were overgrown and neglected with roots and ivy climbing the walls to the roof. Grass long enough to hide tricycles, toys, and an old slide that once buckled under the pressure of joyful children looked waved in the night breeze.
The inside of the large structure was a maze of long and cold hollow corridors tying the bedrooms together in a network. Each bedroom had six to eight beds, a window and an archway. It was more like a hospital ward than a children’s home, except there were no curtains or nurses, and minimal decoration clinging to the walls.
Basically, the home was a prison. Every night carers would lurk through the corridors like a guard, not to see if the children needed any help, but to keep them in check. The authorities turned a blind eye when it suited as money is a powerful thing when used in the right places, and with most of the rooms being empty, it was often used for storage by the owner, Julius Matherson.
At this moment, the home held twenty children, all of them boys; a last resort for those who had nothing left and no other option. They used to say this place was better than being out on the streets because at least they had a roof over their heads if nothing else, but nobody knew the truth, not really.
There were other children’s homes in the city of course, but the more kids Matherson had here, the more money he made. They weren’t children in his eyes; they were a product that made money.
Freddie Mason was one of those unlucky enough to have spent the last three years of his short ten years on this planet. Seen as a mistake by his parents, they consequently abandoned him. For a while he was taken in by a loving family, but they reached rock bottom financially and hit the drugs, declaring themselves unfit to look after him. Since then, he’d survived at Northbrook Children’s Home.
He knew bad things went on in this place, he just didn’t know what they were exactly. Every night he’d lay awake in the dark, afraid to close his eyes, wondering when his time was coming. Every night there was a different empty bed and every night there was at least one child crying alone, never to speak of his ordeal out of fear.
Freddie’s bed was never empty; nobody had touched him yet.
Late one night in his room on the third floor, he was laid in his bed looking up at the dark ceiling, listening to the noises in the corridors. His mind was wild with terrifying thoughts of creatures creeping out from the shadows, and he wasn’t far wrong. To his left, the bed was empty. He knew where the boy was. He was with the carers.
Sleeping was very difficult on these uncomfortable mattresses. Springs and uneven bumps poked into his back and sides, but eventually, well into the night, he drifted off, dreaming of a world with parents and home cooked dinners. The kind of fantasy world you might find in cartoons with colourful flowers and tidy gardens on a bright cobbled ground. A world full of happiness and smiling faces. He was at peace.
But, inevitably, the peace was short lived with Freddie being woken by the sound of the missing child being returned to the bed on his left.
Gently lifting his head, he saw the boy sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the floor, wiping his eyes with both hands.
The carer whispered to him: ‘Remember, no family will want you if you tell anyone.’
He looked over to Freddie and sent him a wink.
Freddie pulled the cover over his head, closed his eyes and tried to get back to the world he’d just been to.
But he couldn’t do it.
The boy cried long into the night.
In the canteen the next morning, a sleepy Freddie ate alone at a table close to the door.
Large, white, and dirty with bare walls and lights hanging way above from a high ceiling, the room was cold and detached. Every so often a cook would send a deafening clang as metal on metal collided followed by, ‘God dammit. God fucking dammit.’
Shuffling past Freddie with his head low, the boy from last night stood at the back of the line. He was filthy in the daylight. Freddie watched him move along to where the cook poured a ladle full of lumpy slop that resembled porridge soup made yesterday into a bowl with a bread roll. At the end of the line, he took a glass of water and walked with the tray shaking in his hands.
He sat alone, away from everyone keeping his head down, ignoring Freddie moving over to him.
Unaware they were being watched, Freddie sat beside him. He asked, ‘Where did you go last night?’
He didn’t answer, concentrating on his food, desperately trying not to acknowledge him.
‘What’s your name?’
Still no response.
‘The bread rolls are nice you know. Have you tried?’
The boy picked his up and passed it to Freddie.
‘Thanks.’ He took a bite and asked with a mouthful, ‘Why won’t you speak?’
‘Doug,’ he whispered. ‘My name is Doug.’
‘I’m Freddie. Why won’t you tell me where you went?’
Doug started crying. ‘Because I don’t want to stay here forever.’
‘Don’t be scared,’ said Freddie. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I can’t say.’
Freddie took another bite of the bread and waited.
‘They touched me.’
‘Where?’
A man stood up and walked over.
Doug moved his hand to show him when he was grabbed by the arm and dragged out of the canteen. ‘I don’t want to stay here forever!’ he screamed. ‘Please, let me go.’ He cried and yelled as he tried to kick free. Everybody was watching. Some other carers followed them out of the room which left Freddie alone in a fearful panic.
Walking back to his bed, Freddie was stopped by the same man who winked at him last night.
‘Hello, Frederick,’ he said with a hint of menace. ‘What were you talking about with Doug? You can trust me.’
‘We didn’t talk about anything.’
He grabbed Freddie’s shoulders and shook him. ‘I think you did.’
‘We didn’t!’ he shouted and broke free, running back to his room.
Freddie spent the next two days looking over his shoulder, just waiting for his turn. It didn’t happen and he hadn’t seen Doug since he was dragged away. That was until he found him in the canteen again, bruised and in even more of a sorry state than before. He sat alone with his head down like last time, reliving some horrors of the last two days.
Freddie wanted to move over and ask him where he’d been, thinking better of it when he saw eyes on him. He had to find the right moment.
He also knew he had to escape.
That night, when Doug had been returned, Freddie took his chance. He carefully climbed out of his bed and over to Doug, who was still awake and curled into a ball.
In a loud whisper, he said, ‘Doug? Are you all right?’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Doug, please tell me.’
He pushed him away.
‘Doug, please. I’m your friend.’
Doug shouted, ‘I said leave me alone!’
Freddie backed off and returned to his bed in case they came again.
For twenty minutes Doug cried, wailing loudly.
As he lay on his back, Freddie had no option but to listen and wait, knowing they’d hear.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor.
The cries were relentless. Freddie feared the worst.
Please stop crying.
A carer entered the room and looked around.
Freddie covered his face with his sheet.
‘No, please don’t,’ Doug shouted out.
The other children watched, some of them beginning to cry.
From under the sheet Freddie heard it all, covering his ears.
Doug screamed and kicked violently. ‘Please, don’t take me there again,’ he bellowed before letting out another ear piercing scream as he was yanked from the bed. Freddie heard the crack of the body hitting the floor and being dragged out of the room, eventually fading into the night.
For three days and nights nothing else happened and Doug was nowhere to be seen. Freddie went about his day trying his hardest not to bring any attention on him. No more children went missing either, but he still needed to know where he’d gone to.
After lights out, he waited until convinced it was safe and climbed out of bed, completely forgetting about the monsters in the dark, leaving the bedroom without looking back.
The floor was cold under his bare feet as he passed empty bedrooms. The main stairwell was silent. A carer spoke on the radio in an office farther along: ‘If the boss finds out about this we’re screwed, you know that?’
Freddie left him.
Five minutes later he ended up on the first floor in a part of the home he’d never been or knew existed. There was a large door with a small window in the middle showing boxes and crates stacked high, some with labels, and some without. Some of them were open, impossible to see into in this light. There were also briefcases and suitcases. A large shutter for loading and unloading was closed.
He tried the door. It was locked, so he continued with his slow trek through the maze.
The next door he found was called the staff room. Of all the places in this building, he figured Doug would most likely be in there.
After a quick check to see if the coast was clear, he looked through the keyhole. There was nobody inside, so with complete certainty, he went in.
The room was vacant with a wooden desk, some chairs, drawers, and filing cabinets.
Pushing the door to, he searched for answers.
The desk was empty, as were the filing cabinets. He tried some of the drawers, coming across a photograph album buried under some paperwork.
He figured it to be of pictures of smiling children, but as he flicked through it, he began to cry. Pictures of boys who had stayed there in the past moved passed his eyes. He recognized some of them. Some were tied up, some were naked, and most of them were crying.
Dropping the album on the floor, he ran out of the room in a panic.
Echoes of his sweaty bare feet rumbled through the corridors. He moved through the chilly air at a pace he had never done before, losing his footing and almost falling, the friction on his feet becoming painful and sore.
Through a window in the bleak emptiness where the overgrown garden touches the building, a moving light caught his eye as he passed. It was a torch light dancing around in the dark. He could just about make out two men: one digging a hole and the other holding the torch. The man digging was from the canteen.
For a better look, he moved to the Bridge, standing half way between the two buildings with his face pressed against the glass. The men were only ten feet away, hovering over a rectangle hole of about five feet.
Then the body was brought out. The torn clothes gave it away. The same clothes he’d seen Doug wearing. With a loose head and lifeless body, it was easy tell he’d been beaten to death.
Freddie’s heart raced and stomach churned. He felt he was responsible. Dropping to his knees, he vomited on the floor, the acidy burn in the back of his throat and foul taste only bringing up more. His vision went blank and he fell to his side, gasping for air. His head was spinning and he felt more vomit coming up. Climbing back to his knees, he let out what was left and leaned against the glass wall, panting and trying to think of a way out.
If he didn’t get out tonight, he figured he’d be next.
His thoughts were soon cut through by a voice from the staff quarters. ‘Hey, you. What are you doing down there?’
Instinctively, Freddie stood up and just ran anywhere he could without looking back. It didn’t matter that his feet hurt. He just had to get somewhere. He ran to the loading area he’d seen earlier and desperately tried the door, pulling and pushing, even hitting it, but it didn’t budge. Footsteps were closing in on him. Without knowing how far away they were, he ran farther into the bowels of the home and up on to the second story where he found an empty room, slamming the door behind him. Light headed, he used what strength he had left to block the door with some heavy tables while the world around him was spinning uncontrollably.
The tables wouldn’t hold for long.
He looked around; he was in an unused classroom. There was a large window. Beyond that, the garden fed towards the road. As he looked through, he could just about see the ground, which didn’t look too far away from here. But the window was locked.
There were more footsteps outside the door and he was adamant he wasn’t going to get caught and end up in the ground beside Doug.
Grabbing a chair, he flung it at the window. It bounced off leaving a smudge on the glass.
The man at the door banged his fist against it and tried the handle. ‘Open this door. Now!’ he shouted as more people joined the effort.
Freddie picked up the chair again, summoning up some strength and really went for it this time. The chair smashed through the window shattering the glass and disappearing in the undergrowth below.
The chaotic battering continued. ‘Open this door you little shit.’
The bitter cold surrounded him as he looked out. He decided to jump. He had to jump. The door behind him inched open with each body slammed against it until an arm reached in to push away the tables.
Doug’s dead body on the soil stayed with Freddie as he climbed on the windowsill, cutting his hands on the glass. He still couldn’t see the ground clearly. What did it matter? It was jump or die.
He jumped, landing on the soft ground and tumbling. His escape was in sight and could feel it. Climbing to his feet, he ran, but with the broken shards of glass digging into his feet, he was soon sent back to earth.
Behind him, the men had gotten through the door. At the window watching him, one of them yelled, ‘There’s no escape, boy.’
Adrenaline flowed through his body, taking over from the pain. Rising to his feet again, he ran along the driveway to the road where he could see the lights of the city.
For almost two hours, he ran, which felt like forever to him. He was exhausted. His throat was a cold and dry stabbing sensation and blisters were forming on his feet with dirt getting into every cut and scrape.
He ran to the city’s outskirts and through an industrial zone passing building after building until he couldn’t go any farther, arriving at a parking lot on a hill that belonged to Hellman’s Business Centre.
Four feet from the door, dizziness and darkness swallowed him.