The Twelve Chimes of Maligna Manor

A Prisoner's Dilemma in the Study

Sara was right. It was all over now. A promise of life had been the only thing to hold back the worst of his guilt. An acceptance that he would do anything to survive if that was what you could call the last few years, and the growing terror at the true reprisal of Maligna. But now, there was no fear of reprisal because it had already happened. The excuses had all dried up, and the only choice was to try, however impotently, to do right by these kids or die wracked with guilt.

That second one might end up happening regardless, so why not give it a try?

Meek wasn't quite able to verbalise any of this, but he managed to give a sort of nod, and that seemed good enough.

"Alright," She said, "Then let's go."

As they re-entered the hallway, Meek found himself faced with a fresh terror at the old place. Ever since he had made the deal, there had been a level of security about the Manor that helped quell the worst of his anxieties. There was always a tension. Meek had never entertained the delusion that he had meant anything to Maligna beyond his use as a monster, and whilst they would mostly be left alone, the lord's presence in the manor was impossible to escape. Meek knew it well enough to recognise it here, and it was all the worse for knowing his wrath.

Meek felt the eyes on him as he followed on towards the grandfather clock. Four keys were present, with a fifth ready to join. In his better days, meek couldn't even get past the first, and he didn't know what would be waiting in the next room.

That might be it. The thing that truly terrified him most. For more of his life than he cared to admit, he was set on a definitive and unbreakable course. All things seemed cyclic in this Manor. A knock would come at the door, and a child would wander in. Lord Maligna would strike the bargain, and Meek would hide in the shadows observing. If they were lucky, then the child would falter at the first few challenges. In those circumstances, Meek's crime was one of inaction, and his guilt would be lesser than the alternative. If, in the end, they did have to intervene, then they would do so within the third challenge. At a push, it might be the fourth or once or twice the fifth. It was painfully easy in the moment. It was a simple matter of a thing left unsaid or a hand not given. The challenges were hard enough that even the smallest setback often proved fatal. He often wondered if the children ever figured it out. If, in those final moments, they realised that they had been tricked.

He always hoped not. Terrible as it was to put into words, Meek hoped they had a better impression of him in death.

The game would always end in its own way, and just like that, there was always another child outside. Sometimes, Meek could spot them rifling through the grounds. It was always night when he could see outside, and from within the house, the view was always distorted. It often reminded Meek of watching an old film. Just shades of grey crackling with the wear of time.

There was never any rest. Meeks' guilt was given no time to linger. Before long, there was another child, and the whole thing started again.

The cycle had been horrific, but it had been understood. Meek knew what each moment would bring and that whatever else, he would be there at the end of it to start all over again.

Now Meek knew nothing. His life may be over in an hour or a minute, and between then, anything could happen. And then there was always the possibility that he might actually win the game, that he would be free.

No, that was the thing that truly terrified him.

Jamie would have found it a blessing, but to Meek, it was a kind of hell. Meek belonged here. He was as much a monster of this house as The Wolf or The Serpent or Maligna himself. How would he go out into the village as the monster that had helped murder so many of its children?