The Samhain Chronicles

A young boy crashed through the heavy brush, his lungs burning as if they were on fire. The dense forest was pitch black, and an eerie, chill wind gnawed bitterly at his flesh. Branches and thorns tore at his clothing and skin, causing numerous deep scratches on his arms, legs and face. His heart thundered against his ribcage and hot tears of absolute terror poured down his thin, flushed cheeks but still he ran, never slowing for even a second. He glanced back over his shoulder repeatedly as he ran, putting on an extra burst of speed as the crunching and creaking of the underbrush behind him steadily grew louder. A loud, angry brogue directly behind him made him quiver with fear. "Get back here, ye rotten wee brat! Ye'll be sorry ye e'er tried to escape when I get me bloody hands on ye!!"

The boy was utterly exhausted, but sped up again. His lean, lanky arms and legs pumped the air furiously with every ounce of energy he had left, steadily widening the gap between him and the hulking figure pursuing him. His heart swelled with hope as he could see a patch of road at the very edge of the forest less than a hundred meters away, illuminated like a beacon of refuge by the silvery-blue light of the full moon above. A relieved sob left his throat, mingled with a small laugh, but both were short lived. The thunderous crack of a rifle shot rang out overhead a moment later, drowning his hope with a fresh wave of pure fright. His legs ached from sprinting so long, and his lungs felt as if they were filled with molten lead but he couldn't stop now...not when freedom was so tantalizingly close.

Despite his best efforts he stumbled a little over the muddy, uneven ground, causing his bare foot to quite suddenly become snagged on a knobbly tangle of thick roots. With a loud cry of shock and pain he fell forward, sprawling face first into the mud. He skidded across the ground for another meter or so from his momentum, groaning softly when he finally came to a stop. He sat up as quickly as he was able, wiping his mud-soaked, straw-colored fringe out of his eyes and spitting to clear the taste of wet leaves and plowed earth from his mouth. Within seconds however, a huge meaty fist grabbed the back of his white cotton t-shirt and shoved him back down flat onto the ground. "I told ye, Boyo," the same deep, sinister brogue growled, "ye're the property of The Iron Boar, and ye'll ne'er escape us!" The boy was rolled over onto his back roughly by the toe of a heavy boot, then he held up his hands to shield his face as the butt of a rifle slammed against his skull.

Danny MacDougal sat up in bed with a deep gasp. His naturally tanned skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat as he looked around, trying to catch his bearings. The nightmare faded from his mind the instant he'd awakened, as it had virtually every night for the past fifteen years. The digital alarm clock on the spindly table beside his bed chirped naggingly, reminding him it was time to get up. With a sigh, he slapped it and wiped his face, reaching for his gold wire-framed spectacles beside the clock a moment later, "Another day begins..." Once his glasses were securely perched on the bridge of his nose, he stretched and got out of bed, then walked three steps to the small kitchenette that occupied the right wall of his one-room apartment. He set the kettle on the hob to boil for his morning tea, then rounded the foot of the bed to open the sliding glass door that led to the balcony.

Danny stepped out onto it and breathed in deeply a salty breeze that ruffled his hair, warm and gentle like a kiss from a lover, then stared out at the sun rising over the glittering sea in the distance. His long, thin fingers curled around the polished metal railing as he peered down towards the figures bustling back and forth across the courtyard below. Most of them appeared to be other faculty members, milling about like army ants performing their morning exercises and readying for the long day of classes ahead. He quickly became lost in thought as he watched them from his fifth floor balcony, mostly pondering on the nightmare he had. It was always the same, ever since he was a boy; he never remembered a single detail of it, yet the fear lingered for several hours after every time. This time though something felt...different somehow. He couldn't quite explain it; something in his gut simply told him that a great, Earth-shattering event was on the horizon, which was utterly ridiculous to be sure. Still, nothing seemed able to quell the large pit he could feel opening at the bottom of his stomach.

"Good morning, Daniel! How are you today?" A lilting feminine voice with a soft British accent from the next balcony over to his left brought him back to reality with a jolt.

He hurriedly ran a hand through his windswept, stark white locks as he turned toward his neighbor, trying to get the fluffy, unkempt tufts to lay down neatly, "Oh, ah, g-good morning, Miss Penelope. I'm well, thank ye for asking. And how are you faring on this fine morning?"

The young woman giggled as the breeze ruffled her mouse-brown pixie cut hair gently, "Fantastic, thank you! It's the start of a new year: new students, new books, new minds eager to learn... aren't you just tingling with excitement?"

Danny smiled at the slim, petite brunette warmly, a soft blush coloring his cheeks, "Aye, I suppose so."

Her smile began to fade a bit as she stepped closer to the edge of her balcony, her soft brown eyes studying his features with curiosity and a bit of concern, "You don't seem your usual vibrant self today, Daniel. Is anything the matter?"

Nosy little trollop, isn't she?

Danny tensed at the harsh, snarling voice in his ear, but chose to ignore it. "Ah, n-no, nothing at all, Miss Penelope... I, erm, had a wee bit of trouble sleeping last night, but other than that, I'm fine."

Liar.

He snapped his head towards the voice this time and whispered sharply, "I'm not in the mood. Go away!"

Penelope frowned, narrowing her eyes with confusion, "Daniel, do you-...? Do you have company? This early in the morning?" Danny was perplexed by what seemed to be a hint of jealousy in her voice; he liked Penelope very much and considered her a dear friend - one of his only friends as a matter of fact - and it was because of that treasured friendship that he couldn't bear for her to find out the truth about him.

He smiled amiably and shook his head, trying to conceal the slight anxiety in his voice, "Oh, n-no, I'm quite alone. I...found a sickly cat outside the dormitory last night, and...it's mewling to be fed. Yes. That's it."

Penelope's frown changed at once into a sympathetic (and slightly relieved) smile, "Oh...? The poor thing. You know the Academy's policy on pets in the dorms though, Daniel. I won't out you, but I suggest you take it to the shelter in town or find a home for it off campus very soon. It would be simply devastating to have you chucked out over something as silly as a cat."

A pet am I now?! That's pathetic, even for you.

Danny hissed at the voice again, "I told ye to be quiet!" He turned back to Penelope with a chuckle and a wave a moment before his kettle began whistling inside, "Yes, I'll be sure to do that. Thank ye for the suggestion! I'll, ah, s-see ye about campus, Miss Penelope." Quickly but not too quickly as to seem rude, Danny ducked back inside his apartment and closed the sliding glass door with a heavy sigh. "That was close...too close."

For the record, ye said "go away", not "be quiet".

Danny snarled at the rough, chuckling phantom voice as he moved the kettle off the hob, then walked briskly to the bathroom, "What bloody difference does it make?! Ye ne'er listen to me anyway!" He yanked open the medicine chest over the pedestal sink and plucked a vial of pills off one of the shelves inside. An instant later there was a pale green capsule in his palm, which he then swallowed immediately after with a sigh. Once he was sure the Voice had gone silent, he drank directly from the tap and removed his glasses to splash some cold water on his face before replacing the vial with another deep exhale, "There... That should hold ye for a while."

He grabbed the fluffy charcoal-hued towel hanging on a hook nearby as he shut the medicine chest and began drying his face, studying his blurry reflection in the mirror as he did so. He was barely twenty-eight, at least by his best estimation, and yet the weight of his soul made him feel much older. Dr. Horace was quite sure of his age however, and Danny trusted him implicitly. After a moment he slipped his glasses back on, then stroked his stubbly chin gently with his fingertips, "This won't do at all. It's high time to make myself presentable and start the day off right." Danny made quick work of his morning shave and dressed himself in his usual unofficial uniform - khaki trousers, a crisp, white Oxford shirt, a bowtie, and his one and only blue tweed suit jacket - before making up his tea in a travel mug and starting out the door with it and his briefcase in hand.

It was unseasonably warm for a September morning in Brighton; the sun beat strongly on his back in between the clouds as he strode across the main courtyard towards his classroom. He politely fielded greetings from the other faculty members and returning students as he passed by, responding with a quick yet polite "hello", or "good morning". Despite his best efforts to appear cheerful however, the nightmare still weighed heavily on his mind, as did the Phantom Voice. He had heard the voice for as long as he could remember, filling his head with dark thoughts and pressing him to commit vile deeds ever since he was a child. Dr. Horace prescribed medication to quiet it - and the drugs had proven quite effective at that - yet for the past several weeks it plagued him nonstop. That, and he still had that deep, inexplicable feeling of dread lingering in the back of his mind... "I must bring this up with Dr. Horace at our next session," he decided, "perhaps he may have some answers...or, at the very least, a new treatment plan."

When he finally reached his classroom, Danny immediately opened the three large windows in the very back of the room to let in a bit of fresh air. A smile curled his lips as he studied the neat rows of desks fondly, and the colorful, inspirational posters he had lining the walls. Suspended from the ceiling were tufts of cotton wool painted and glued together to simulate cloud formations - projects from his previous students that he proudly displayed - along with several crystal prisms on monofilament lines angled just right to catch the light and cast countless rainbows all about the room. On the window sills and his desk sat several species of potted plants, and on a table in the back left corner was a wire cage containing a very fat, sleepy-looking guinea pig. "Good morning, Darwin," Danny smiled, scratching the rodent between the ears with his fingertip before feeding a piece of lettuce through the gaps in the cage, "We've got a busy day ahead. I hope ye're ready."

Danny chuckled softly as he grabbed a feather duster and began fluffing it over the desks and low bookshelves under the windows, humming a merry little tune to himself as he did so. Most other boarding schools he'd taught at - of which there weren't many - were quite strict and stodgy about how he could and could not decorate his classroom, but Brighton was different. Here, they encouraged creativity in both their teachers and students, and as such no two rooms were exactly alike. Dusting didn't take long at all, because there honestly wasn't a lick of dust in sight. Danny spent quite a bit of time in his classroom even when there were no classes to teach. He had very few close friends - if any - and did hardly any socalizing off campus. In fact, he rarely left campus at all except to purchase groceries or to visit with his therapist. Dr. Horace often encouraged Danny to go out and socialize at least once a week as part of his treatment, but because of the Voice his social interactions were usually very short-lived and quite anxiety-inducing.

Danny put his duster back in its place on the bookshelf near the blackboard behind his desk when he was done, then picked up the small copper watering can that rested beside it. He was still humming softly as he walked to the boy's lavatory across the hall to fill his watering can, but stopped dead in his tracks when he found two of the senior staff members in the midst of a raucous conversation in front of the sinks. They were chortling and carrying on about something or other - perhaps their exploits over the weekend - so Danny thought it would be best if he just slipped away before he was noticed...but it was too late. "MacDougal!" One of the teachers boomed, "Morning, Old Chap!"

Danny froze and cringed deeply at being caught, but forced a smile as he turned back around, "Good morning, Prof. Thorpe; Prof. Morgan. I apolgize for the interruption. I'll come back later."

The older, fatter gentleman who addressed him, Prof. Thorpe, hooked his thumbs behind his lapels with a loud, barking laugh, "No need, Old Boy! Please, don't let us get in your way." He stepped aside then and swung his thick arm out, bowing a bit at the waist as he gestured to the sink behind him. Danny hid a nervous gulp with a smile and nodded his thanks, stepping in between the two older men. He tried to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible, which was difficult with his lanky 187 cm frame, as he filled his watering can up to the brim.

Prof. Thorpe clapped him on the back suddenly with a grin, causing Danny to tense up and the water to splash a little over the rim of the can, "It's actually quite serendipitous, Lad, you being here; Morgan and I were just talking about you, as a matter of fact!"

Danny smiled politely as he balanced the small copper can to prevent any more spillage, "Oh? Really? All good things, I hope?"

"Of course, Daniel, of course," the younger professor smiled warmly, making the corners of his bright blue eyes crinkle. "More specifically, we were debating on whether to invite you to come to dinner with us Friday night. Would you be interested?"

Danny cleared his throat nervously, "This Friday? Oh...ah...no, I-I donnae think I can. Thank ye for asking though. Good day."

Prof. Thorpe waggled his bushy grey eyebrows and elbowed Danny's ribs gently, "That so? Pity. Would you change your mind if we told you Miss Whitehall will be joining us?"

Danny swallowed hard, cupping the top of the watering can to keep the water in at the slight jostle, "M-Miss Penelope Whitehall...? I... I don't know. I'd have to think about it."

Prof. Thorpe barked out another laugh and slapped Prof. Morgan's shoulder jovially, "What did I tell you, Morgan?! The lad is sweet on the dear lady!"

Danny felt his face flush hotly with a deep blush and stared into his watering can, clearing his throat indignantly, "I'm not quite sure that is the proper terminology, Prof. Thorpe, but...I do have a great deal of respect and admiration for Miss Penelope... as an educator and... a-a friend."

Prof. Morgan chuckled softly and patted his shoulder, giving it a friendly little squeeze, "Come now, Daniel; there's no shame in admitting you fancy her. Half the men - and women - in our department do. Even I must admit I find her attractive, even though I'm over twenty years her senior."

Prof. Thorpe poked his colleague pointedly in the ribs, rumpling his full grey moustache into a playful frown, "...And happily married! It wouldn't be a bit proper, Morgan, you know that! Now, a handsome, young bachelor like myself, well..." He ran a hand over his balding head with a cheeky grin, "...it would only be natural."

"Young?!" Prof. Morgan scoffed good naturedly, "Look in the mirror, Old Friend! A pretty young waif like Miss Whitehall needs a stronger, younger beau; someone who can look after her and keep her well... like Young Daniel here, for instance."

Danny gripped his watering can tightly, reddening with anger and disgust over the talk of his seniors. "Miss Penelope is quite strong, capable and intelligent on her own," he snapped, "She does not require a beau, myself or otherwise, to 'look after her', and the fact that the two of ye would e'en suggest otherwise is archaic and chauvinistic to the highest degree!" His anger dissolved into a mixture of panic, regret and fear at the looks of wide-eyed shock on the faces of the two senior professors. Both were completely aghast at his outburst, stunned into silence by the usually meek Scot's sharp words. Danny cleared his throat softly, lowering his eyes as he dropped his voice back down to his usual quiet level, "M-My apologies... I dinnae intend to speak harshly or out of turn."

"No," Prof. Morgan smiled, breaking the long, awkward silence at last, "no, you're quite right, Daniel... That was rather oafish of me to say. Miss Whitehall is indeed a fine young woman who requires no special treatment from her male counterparts. I meant no offense, only to say that you two would make quite a handsome couple."

Somebody needs to mind his own damn business.

Danny straightened up at the Voice, his heather grey eyes flicking over his right shoulder towards the direction it had come from, "That is, ah...very kind of ye to say, Prof. Morgan. Our relationship however remains strictly professional and platonic. If ye excuse me, I erm... must get back to my classroom now. The new students will be arriving soon, and-"

"Now, MacDougal, there's no need to rush off," Prof. Thorpe gripped Danny's arm firmly as he tried to walk away. "We have plenty of time before that. Come, walk with us now to the Lounge and chat some more! It's quite refreshing to see you show a bit of pluck and spirit for once!"

Dirty old codger... It would be so satisfying to put him in his place, don't ye think?

Danny's body was as tense as a drawn bowstring and his pulse began to race, his stomach roiling with a sudden wave of nausea, "Please take your hand off me, Prof. Thorpe."

The older man complied, knitting his bushy brows together with concern at the droplets of sweat collecting along his junior colleague's hairline and nape, "Of course. Are you well, MacDougal? You seem awfully pale and out of sorts all of a sudden."

And you seem far too old to be ogling beautiful young women, ye filthy, decrepit lump of lard! Slam his head into the sink... Drown him where he stands!

Danny swallowed hard against another wave of nausea and retrieved the blue and white spotted handkerchief from his breast pocket with a shaking hand, "Y-Yes, I'm... I'm fine... just a wee bit tired. Excuse me, please!" He bolted out of the lavatory as quickly as he dared and hurried back to his room, closing and locking the door securely behind him. He set the half empty watering can on his desk and dabbed his brow and upper lip with his handkerchief, trying to control his thundering heart and quaking limbs, "I donnae understand... I took my medication this morning... didn't I? Perhaps I'm developing a tolerance for it again. I shall take another, just in case! Having an outburst like that in front of the students..." He trailed off with a shudder, refusing to entertain the thought at all, and began digging around in his briefcase for his spare bottle of pills. A sigh of relief escaped him after a second pale green capsule slid down his throat, "That's better... I hope." As he returned the vial to his briefcase, something at the bottom of the worn leather bag caught his eye, "Hold on... what's this?"

Curiously, he produced the object from his briefcase, which turned out to be a thick, yellowed and slightly bent piece of card, and examined it. It appeared to be an old postcard from Glenmore National Park in Scotland, sporting a photograph of the forest on the front. Danny frowned at the object and turned it over, "I don't remember seeing this before. Where on Earth did it come from?" As he turned it over, his blood chilled and his breath caught. On the back of the postcard was a stamp bearing the emblem of a triquetra, an ancient Celtic knot symbol made up of three pointed overlapping ovals arranged in the shape of a triangle, with a circle connecting the three outermost points. Directly below the blood red symbol was a crude drawing of a boar's head in pencil. The postcard was otherwise blank, except for the date written in swooping cursive in the upper left corner: October 31st.

Painful flashes began ripping through Danny's mind, visions of a past he hardly remembered: a bonfire... a stone table... people in dark robes, chanting... a searing pain between his shoulderblades... "No," he murmured, sinking into his chair and holding his head, "No, not again... It's impossible... I don't believe it... I shan't believe it!!" Before he realized what he was doing he'd torn the postcard to shreds and raked the pieces into the wastebasket under his desk. The painful memories trying to break through made his head throb and he started hyperventilating, requiring him to put his head between his knees until the panic attack fully passed. He took deep slow breaths to calm himself, repeating the mantra Dr. Horace had taught him, "I am not a captive... I am free... They cannot harm me... I am not a captive..." Once he could breathe properly again and had sufficiently calmed down, he sat up with a deep sigh and wiped his nose.

"A cruel hoax," he sniffed, scowling at the wastebasket with stoic resolve, "that's all it is. Nothing more." Even as he voiced the words, however, the icy chill of doubt filled his veins. There was no one at the Academy who knew of his past, not even the Headmistress. The only one who knew at all was Dr. Horace himself, but he would never do something as base and callous as this. How then did this postcard find its way into his briefcase? Danny chose not to think about it, as his head still ached from the memories he'd repressed all those years ago. Instead, he lit one of the aromatherapy candles on his desk and burned the scraps of paper one by one to ash, breathing the soothing scent of eucalyptus and sage deeply every time a fragment went up in smoke. As he burned the last piece, the one that contained the stamp, he felt a pricking, itching sensation between his shoulderblades. Danny dropped the burning bit of card into the flame to avoid singeing his fingertips, then gave the spot on his back an absent-minded scratch. "Good riddance," he murmured, blowing out the candle when he was done.

He jotted down a quick note on his desk calendar to call Dr. Horace that evening and report what had happened, then strode to the door again to unlock it. As he threw the heavy wooden door open wide once more the first bell rang, bringing a smile to his face as he heard eager young voices and running footsteps echoing spiritedly down the hall, "And so, it begins."