The Chrysalis Key, page 5
The blurry, wide, box shape that Henry assumed was the nurse bustled into the room again.
“Hey — uh—” but whatever Henry was about to say got stuck in his throat because the hazy form advanced towards him and roughly grabbed his hand, placing something small and heavy in it. Electricity shot up his shoulder, and Henry jerked back as he was released. The blurry shape bolted out of the room. Quite suddenly, the pressure around him returned to normal, making his ears pop unpleasantly. His vision sharpened, and everything returned to pinpoint accuracy. Henry rubbed his eyes with the heel of his left hand, squinting at the heavy object in his right. He brought it up to his face in alarm.
The key was an old-fashioned antique and sat heavy in his palm. It was as long as his entire hand, and the tarnished gold shone in the bright halogen light of the sick bay. Heavy scrollwork decorated the bow, and the long bit ended with a small flat gold square. There were strangely no cuttings on the end of the key that indicated what type of lock it would fit. It was uncut and it sat in his palm, majestic and at odds with its location. It belonged somewhere far away in a medieval castle or somewhere important. It definitely did not belong here in the unassuming sick bay of Breakfast Creek High.
A shuffling by the door made his head jerk up, his hands closing around the key on reflex. The nurse bustled in through the door with equipment in her hand. For some innate reason, Henry knew no one else should see this key. He hastily stuck it in his shorts pocket and placed his hand on top of it.
Behind the nurse, Seren’s blonde head popped from the side of the doorframe.
“Henry?” she said, a deep frown on her face. She was as white as a sheet and her grey eyes were wide.
Despite his own predicament Henry found himself asking, “Seren, are you alright?”
The nurse looked at her sharply. “Is there something in the air today? Are you unwell, love?”
Seren stepped sheepishly into the room, her arms tight around herself. “I saw them…. bring in Henry through the lab windows…” her voice trailed off before she asked quickly. “Was it just you two in here just now?”
Henry’s eyebrows shot up. He tried to get out of the bed, but the nurse whipped around and gave him a stern look of warning. Henry hastily swung his legs back onto the plastic mattress.
“There’s been no one else, dear,” she turned to look about at Seren, shaking her head. “Just us. But you look a little pale. Sit here.”
Seren obliged, sitting on the chair. “I just wanted to see what happened to Henry given—” she stopped short, and Henry was sure she was going to reference yesterday’s party. But instead, she said. “But we… have an illness that runs in our family, so… I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t that.”
“I’m fine.” Henry shook his head as the nurse checked Seren’s pulse, fussing over her. “Low sugar probably.” He pointed to the apple juice on the table next to the bed.
“Good,” Seren said, grimacing as the nurse stuck a thermometer in her ear.
“A little iron will do you good, young lady,” the older woman said sternly. “Or a steak a few times a week. Have an apple juice.”
Seren gingerly poked the straw into her apple juice as the nurse left. She took a sip and gulped. “I just—”
“What happened Seren?” Henry clutched at the key through his pocket, wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing.
Seren frowned, pursing her lips, but a little colour returned to her face. “I’m just… whatever.” She laughed awkwardly. “You know how sometimes if you have a really vivid dream you can get it confused with reality?”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “Maybe we need a different type of nurse in here.”
She scoffed as Henry laughed. “Only kidding,” he said quickly. “You looked like you’d seen—”
Seren stood abruptly and threw the half full juice box into the bin. It handed with a thud. “Nothing. I didn’t see anything. Did you see anything?”
The word flew out of Henry’s mouth before he could think. “Nup.”
Seren exhaled slowly as if calming herself. “Well, if you’re alright… I’ll get back to Bio now.”
She waved as she strode out the door, and Henry patted his pocket absently. He felt the heavy outline of the key. The bell rang for recess. He pushed himself up and swung his legs onto the floor. He had double English up next, he might even get a nap.
* * *
But after recess, Henry quickly learned that there was no napping to be had in double English. Instead, for their deep analysis of Macbeth, they were required to write a dissertation on the significance of hand washing. Mr EmericTallingway was an irritable, middle-aged man who never seemed to enjoy the great works he presented them with. He critiqued them ruthlessly, condemning Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and Tolstoy in a bored, flat voice, stroking his salt and pepper beard. While they wrote their essays in class, he would read quietly at his desk. Once, Henry had caught him reading a kid’s book called Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone nestled within a thick English textbook. His respect for Mr Tallingway had risen markedly, not because Henry had read that book, but because the old man had gone to great lengths to conceal it.
Henry cast his eye out the window, staring out at the school grounds, wracking his brains about Lady Macbeth and her mad ramblings. Out, out, black spot! Perhaps she and Jeffery Beaufort would get along. He imagined the two of them chatting angrily over a pot of tea, listening to each other’s ramblings and pretending to know what the other was talking about.
A dark figure shot across the asphalt. Henry sat ramrod straight in his chair, staring out the window as blue metal flashed in the light of the sun. With a pang of horror, he realised that the small form of Arnold was sprinting towards the old school ruins at full pelt. Henry watched in shock as Arnold paused, casting a wary glance behind him. He had the unmistakable air of a boy about to do something he shouldn’t.
Henry threw his hand into the air. Mr Tallingway looked up.
“Sir, I need to go to the bathroom.”
Tallingway bobbed his head. “Be quick.”
Henry shot out the door and down the corridor. He threw himself down a set of stairs that led out to the front yard, hoping that whatever had caused his fainting before didn’t happen again. Arnold would get expelled if he was caught. It was the first thing they all got reminded of every new term. It was the one rule no one crossed. Ever. No one was stupid enough to try. Even Hugh Carter, who had zero boundaries about anything never went there. Even if you had a penchant for rule breaking, you wouldn’t enter that place — the derelict building stood precariously on its foundation, and could quite possibly, with the wrong gust of wind, collapse. Henry had nothing else in his mind except his baby brother who bore the burden of Henry’s own mistake. The amputation of Arnold’s hand had been, undeniably and entirely, Henry’s fault. Henry had thrown the ball that Arnold had run after. And he had not been able to get to his brother in time to stop the car from running him over. And there was no way Henry was about to let anything like that happen again.
And so Henry bolted across the asphalt, with the mad panic of a person with a singular motivation, hoping that no one else was looking out the window at just that moment. His legs were longer than Arnold’s, so he gained on him quickly. But not quickly enough.
Ahead of him, Arnold ducked under the yellow hazard tape and dashed up the stairs. Henry dared not shout his name. Inwardly swearing, Henry reached the yellow tape and didn’t hesitate, ducking under it and bolting up the crumbling stairs and through the partially open broken front door. Henry reached out and grabbed Arnold by the collar.
“What are you doing, Arn?” he hissed angrily, pulling the younger boy around to face him.
Arnold jumped in wide-eyed shock, then sheepishly looked at the ground. “One of the seniors said he’d give me fifty bucks if I ran into the ruins,” he panted.
“Which senior?”
Arnold cast his eyes down. “They call him Toad.”
Henry scoffed and gave Arnold a little push. “He was never gonna give you the money, idiot, he was trying to get you into trouble.”
Arnold opened his mouth and abruptly closed it, realising the truth. He hung his head. “Oh.”
Henry’s anger came down a notch. “With a name like Toad you should’ve guessed he was bad news.” Henry patted his shoulder. “You’re lucky I saw you.”
Suddenly, the sound of adult voices wafted towards them from outside.
“Teachers!” Arnold pulled at his hair with his good hand. “What do we do?”
If they were caught beyond the tape, both of them would get expelled.
Thinking quickly, Henry looked around for their escape. The shadows of the teachers could be seen through the dirty, frosted glass.
“Yes Principal,” said a nasally, high-pitched voice. “I saw him go in. Right there.”
Cursing Toad’s name, Henry realised there was only one thing they could do to get out of this.
The only way out of this was to go in. There had to be another exit point in this place—a fire exit or a door that would lead to the other side. If they could just find one, they could get out of the building and rush around the edge of the school and back to class without anybody seeing.
Henry pulled Arnold by the sleeve of his bomber jacket and ran. Down the darkened corridor they pelted, kicking up dirt and debris behind them. Rotten beams loomed dangerously low above them, charred black and grey from the old explosion. The place still smelled faintly of smoke and burnt wood.
They came to an intersection. Henry led them left… and came to an abrupt halt. He released Arnold who skidded to a stop on his sneakers. The corridor was blocked where part of the ceiling had caved in, debris and rubble completely cutting off the corridor.
“The other way!” Henry hissed, and they turned and pelted down the right arm of the intersection.
They were met with a warm gust of wind as they ran down this corridor. Beams of light streamed through one of the doors down the end. Henry’s heart leapt into his chest, and he looked back at Arnold, pointing at the light coming from the door on the righthand side. Arnold grinned at him and nodded enthusiastically. They reached the door just as deep voices echoed into the building.
Frantically, they pushed the door open and stumbled through, closing it behind them. Henry noticed that there was a lock on the door. Without hesitating, he slid the latch and locked it.
When he turned, he bumped into Arnold, who was staring at what lay beyond them. They had come into a tiny room, lit with the golden rays of the afternoon sun streaming through the open door on the left. Beyond it, Henry could see a crumbly grey pathway overgrown with weeds. But Arnold was not staring at their escape. He was staring at another door that sat on the wall directly opposite him. This door was tiny and square, but it stood out like a flower amongst weeds. Oddly, it was just large enough for an adult to crawl through, and bright green lacquer made it look like it had been painted yesterday. It was complete with a sparkling bronze doorknob and matching lock.
Suddenly, Henry’s right thigh began to burn, and he yelped, reaching for his leg. Arnold spun around in alarm.
“Shh!” Arnold said as the sounds of voices became louder. Henry pushed Arnold through the open door.
“Go!” he hissed. “Go around the building and get back to class. Pretend you had gastro or something.”
As Arnold bolted through the door, the burning in his thigh stopped Henry from following. He frowned as he rubbed his leg and felt an irregularity.
It was the key. And it burned in his pocket burned with a heat that should have been impossible. He grabbed it out of his pocket and stared at it in amazement. The antique brass key emitted a bright glow and buzzed gently in his palm. Before his eyes, it changed shape, shrinking and becoming darker. The square on the end formed grooves and ridges as if it were now cut to size.
The door handle behind him rattled violently, and Henry jumped in alarm.
“This one is locked,” came the voice of Principal Eversong. Henry’s heart pounded in his chest, but the door remained closed. “Search down the back passage.”
The sound of footsteps became fainter with each second. He blew out air from between his cheeks. Hopefully, Arnold had made it back to the school without being seen.
He looked at the key once more. And then he lifted his gaze towards the lock on the green door.
The key was unmistakably, ridiculously, and confoundingly now the exact same shade of old, speckled bronze as the lock on the door in front of him.
The coincidence in appearance was far too real and far too frightening. The implications of what he was seeing gave him goosebumps.
He took a step toward the green door and cocked an ear. No noise came from behind him. It seemed the teachers had moved on or given up their search. And here the key was, impossibly still warm in his hand. It… surely wouldn’t hurt just to see if it fit? He looked at the key again. Was it his imagination? No, he thought, this key was not the same key that he had found in his hand earlier today. But at the same time, it was. He shook his head and took a step backwards, anxiety sizzling through him.
But the pull of curiosity was strong, and it moved his feet back towards that green door and led him to crouch down before it. With sweaty palms and mad thoughts running through his mind, Henry put the key to the lock.
It slid in like a well-oiled part.
He paused just a moment before turning it. His breath caught in his throat, and he ignored the part of him that thought he was mad; the thought that right in this moment, the whole world was mad.
He pushed the door, and it swung smoothly and soundlessly forward.
Poking his head through the door, he looked around.
He was in somebody’s house.
Henry’s hand felt varnished floorboards. Through the bannisters directly in front of him, he could see the beginning of a wooden staircase leading to a lower level. Narrowing his eyes in confusion, he poked his head further out and to the left saw an airy corridor leading towards what looked like a series of rooms. To the left was an expensive-looking lounge set and a coffee table under a large window. Further rooms extended from a corridor on this side too. The only light coming from the window was the sliver of a crescent moon shining over the tops of trees. Henry looked up. The chandelier lights were on above him.
Why was there a living space inside the derelict building? Who would live there? The place was remarkably quiet, as if there wasn’t anybody about, and yet the ceiling lights were on. He strained his ears and couldn’t hear a thing. He pushed the door open and crawled through entirely, peering down through the wrought iron banisters across from him.
He stopped dead.
There was a man standing at the bottom of the stairs with one foot placed on the first step. He could only see brown hair as the man was looking forward but unmoving, as if listening for something. He was tall and dressed in an all-black suit.
A heavy, dreadful feeling winded its way through Henry’s body and took root in his stomach. In that moment, Henry knew two things with an unequivocal certainty. The first thing was that this man stood with the stillness and acute sharpness of a predator.
And the second thing was, that this man had heard him.
A creaking sound came from below and Henry, who had not moved a muscle since realising he was not alone, saw that the man had shifted his other foot onto the next step. And if at any moment the man looked up, he would see him directly. Creak again. He was making his way up the stairs, slowly but surely. Feeling like he was going to vomit, Henry rapidly crawled backwards and withdrew back the way he came. Creak creak creak. Just as he was closing the green door, he saw brown hair rising up through the bannisters. Quickly and silently as he could, he pulled the door closed, shoved the key in the lock and turned it, removing it immediately. Heart pounding, he backed away from the door. His breath came in shuddering gasps. He felt like he’d just swam fifty feet and come up for air.
Wiping sweaty palms on his pants, he put the key back in his pocket. Bright light streaming through the open side door stung his eyes. The moon, he thought, blinking. In that place, the sky was dark, and he had seen the moon. He looked out the side door and saw a bright blue sky. He looked back at the green door.
Then he turned on his heel and ran through the open door.
His sneakers hit the concrete in a reassuring way. The solidness of the motion grasped at the corners of his mind that were flailing wildly.
That man, that place, it was a house, his house? Complete with bedrooms, a lounge, and a staircase. And the night. It was night there.
With a start, he realised he didn’t know where he was running. He had come to the back corner of the ruins. He peered around the corner and saw nothing but a dense jungle of untamed bushes and trees. A moth flew at him. He batted it away realising there was no way of getting through this way. He cursed and ran back the other way.
Leaving via the front of the ruins was risky. Arnold should have gotten away if the teachers had all entered the building, but he now had no idea what awaited him out there. He came to a halt as he reached the front corner of the building. He peered towards the main school. The bell rang for lunch and the coast looked clear. In minutes, the walkway would be flooded with teachers and students. He could blend in nicely. It was perfect. He sidled out from the side of the building and ducked below the hazard tape.
“Henry Jolt!” barked a voice.
Henry froze and looked up. High from a second-floor office, his gym teacher, Mr Stanway’s red face jutted out an open window.
He pointed a thick finger from Henry’s red, sweaty face to the derelict remains behind him.
“You’re in big bloody trouble!”
