𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 - 𝘕𝘦𝘸𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴

The Shrieking Shack

"Good that," Alby said, sighing. "First day. That's what today is for you, shank. Night's comin', runners'll be back soon. The box came late today, ain't got no time for the tour. Tomorrow morning, right after the wake-up." He turned towards Newt. "Get him a bed, get him to sleep."

I'm not a dog, he thought. He doubted he could ever close his eyes again, for a fact.

"Good that," Newt answered, eyeing him with curiosity.

"A few weeks, you'll be happy, shank. You'll be happy and helpin'. None of us knew jack on the first day, you neither. New life begins tomorrow."

Alby pushed his way through the crowd with an annoyed expression, then headed towards a slanted wooden building in the corner. Most of the kids wandered away, giving him a lingering — somewhat arrogant— look before they walked off.

He folded his arms, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Emptiness ate way at his insides, quickly replaced by a sadness that hurt his heart. It was all too much — where was he? What was this place? Was it some kind of prison? If so, why had he been sent here, and for how long? The words they used were odd, and none of the boys seemed to care whether he lived or died. Tears threatened again to fill his eyes, but he refused to let them come.

"What did I do?" he whispered, not meaning for anyone to hear it. "What did I do — why did they send me here?"

Someone clapped him on the shoulder, he turned his head to see Newt, wearing an apologetic smile and reassuring eyes. "Greenie, what you're feelin', we've all felt it. We've all had our first day, come out of that dark box. Things are bad, they are, and they'll get much worse for ya soon, that's the truth. But down the road a piece, you'll be fightin' true and good. I can tell you're not a bloody sissy."

"Is this a prison?" he asked, digging into the darkness of his thoughts, trying to find a crack of his past: but nothing happened. He couldn't understand; how could he speak and move? —Why did he know what the grass was, the sun, the concrete, but couldn't remember his own parents, where he'd come from! Not even his own name.

Everything inside him churned and hurt; the tears that had yet to come burned his eyes.

"Done asked four questions, haven't ya?" Newt replied. "No good answers for ya, not yet, anyway. Best be quiet now, accept the change — morn comes tomorrow." The warm smile on his face hadn't faded one bit, meaning he, truly, wasn't lying. Some part of him wished he were.

He said nothing in response, his head sunk, his eyes staring at the cracked, rocky ground. A line of small-leafed weeds ran along the edge of one of the stone blocks, tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the glade.

"Chuck'll be a good fit for ya," Newt said, thoughtful. "Wee little fat shank, but nice sap when all's said and done. Stay here, I'll be back."

Newt had barely finished his sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the hardly human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; every kid in sight turned to look towards the source. He felt his blood turn icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building.

Even Newt jumped as if startled, his forehead creasing in concern.

"Shuck it," he cursed. "Can't the bloody med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin' my help?" He shook his head and lightly kicked him on the foot, he found it strangely familiar. "Find Chuckie, tell him he's in charge of your sleepin' arrangements."

I want you to be in charge, he innadverently thought. But Newt turned around and headed in the direction of the building, running away before he could speak.