The Chickadee Girl

Another Way Out

In her dreams, she'd played hide and seek with Malcolm, bare feet slipping over old cottage floorboards. It had been a frustrating game - no matter where she looked, she couldn't find him. He'd tormented her by calling out her name repeatedly, always seeming to be just in the next room. Now, as she sat on the edge of her bed, she debated what to do. If she was honest with herself, she knew she hadn't fully expected to survive the night. And now? Was she going outside? And with a view to doing what? 

Escaping. She must get out somehow, but... she looked down at her meagre weapons, and knew that an upgrade in artillery was necessary. The Dining Hall would be full of knives, of course, and potentially other things which could be used if it came to defending herself. But how to get there, without being seen?

Again, she asked herself: was it possible that this Thing had been some sort of delusion? A hallucination brought on by anxiety? It seemed at least possible. But then she thought back to the naked, demented rage on the creature's face, and her breath caught, fists clenched. No. She needed a real weapon, and fast.

She pocketed the tiny blade and fork, snatched a small canvas shopping bag from under her bed, and briefly debated showering before heading out, which made her want to laugh. For whom was she showering, exactly? 

"Don't need to be clean to die." She spoke the words aloud, and jumped a little at the sound of her own voice. 

It was at this point that she noticed the absence of her book bag, and she mentally combed through it, assessing what she'd lost. All of her important documents were locked in the school's safe, along with her credit card, ID and phone. She'd never get at them, either - only the headmaster and three or four other faculty members had access to the room-sized safe. The administration did this to prevent students from taking "unexcused leave" (ie. making a run for it). For a moment she panicked, thinking she might have left her little golden chickadee pin (a gift from her brother) pinned onto the bag's flap, for it had occupied that position for over a year. But no - she remembered that she'd detached the pin a few weeks ago, and set it in her jewelry box for safe keeping. She checked, and there it lay. She unclenched a little. Right. Knife.

She ducked out of the room, and crept towards the door at the end of the hallway, reminding herself to breathe. By the time she arrived at the front door, her entire body was rejecting the notion of leaving the relative safety of the residence. Gritting her teeth, she lay both hands on the push bar, and pressed in as quietly as she could. The ker-chunk sound of the bar was as abrupt as a slap in the face... but nothing moved outside. She paused in the door frame and scanned, remembering how suddenly the Thing had appeared from the brush.

The play structure that the staff children monkeyed around on in the evenings stood before her, the empty swings a stinging sort of accusation. Where had those children gone?

Hesitantly, she tracked across the common, and ended up at the dining hall. She pushed inside, made her way through the rows of empty chairs, and into the kitchen. Not daring to stay long enough to cook anything (but also recognizing that Kate's junk food stash would eventually give out) she raided the walk-in fridge. She shoved a brick of cheese, a box of crackers, a loaf of bread, and a small sack of cheerfully green apples into her canvas bag, and made for the knife drawer. Had she known anything about knives, she probably would have selected something small and sharp, easily concealable and light to wield. But she was frightened, and had never spent much time in any kitchen, so she simply seized the largest and most impressive-looking blade she could find. The handle grip was made out of a spongy cork, and the edge had been recently sharpened. She attempted to pocket it, realized it was far too long, and instead placed it inside the bag (where, she would later discover, it stabbed straight through the canvas).