Текст книги "The 8th"

Автор книги: Matt Shaw

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Matt Shaw
The 8th

PROLOGUE

Just like every other day I was the last one into the classroom. It wasn’t because I was late. Most days I was early as I opted to get the earlier bus to avoid the crowds and my fellow classmates. It was just easier that way – with regards to getting the earlier bus and being one of the last into the classroom.

With my heart pounding hard in my chest I stepped into the classroom just behind Mrs Price, the teacher, who paid me little attention as she briskly walked across to her desk, in her tight-fitting black pencil skirt and white blouse, in front of the pupils. I closed the door and pulled the window-blind down to stop people from being able to look in. This was something I didn’t usually do. Normally I was happy for other teachers to poke their noses in – to make sure we were behaving while our teacher had her back to us as she scribbled on the blackboard. Today, though, I don’t welcome their attention.

By the time I turned away from the heavy oak door Mrs Price was staring at me with a look of contempt on her face; an expression she regularly adopted whilst looking at me through no fault of my own. I’m almost positive she’s fairly pretty, with her curly shoulder length blonde hair, big blue eyes and full lips painted heavily in a seductive red lipstick…It’s had to be sure whether she is actually pretty or not…under that stern expression. It was fair to say she was one of the stricter teachers. I didn’t move. Part of me wanted to go and take my usual seat in the front row of the classroom; as far away from Piers and his friends as I could possibly get without sitting in the teacher’s lap. The other part of me wanted to carry on as I had planned.

Mrs Price folded her arms. You knew she was angry when she did this. First came the deathly stare which could penetrate the most hardened of souls and then came the folding of the arms. Next up she’ll speak in a tone which would send most sane men running for the hills for fear of spontaneously combusting at the sound of her voice. I pity her husband. After a few warning words, which were normally laced with sarcasm, she’d suddenly flip a switch and start shouting.

A quick scan of my fellow classmates showed they were all looking at me. Some of them looked worried for me and others just sat there with a sadistic look of glee upon their faces as they waited to enjoy the floor show Mrs Price and I were about to put on for them. All of them were thankful they weren’t standing in my shoes at this precise moment. I’m starting to wish I had waited for my second class of the day to do this. Mr Smart was a much friendlier teacher.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were teaching the class today,” said Mrs Price with just about the right level of sarcasm I was expecting. A few quiet sniggers from around the classroom. I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, blocking the doorway whilst wondering whether this was the right thing to do. Had I really planned it through? It’s too late now. There’s no turning back. With my left hand shaking I reached into my rucksack, which was one-strapped over my right shoulder. I froze. I could feel it in my hand but part of me was still screaming that this wasn’t the right thing to do; screaming there were better ways of dealing with things…

“Shut up!” I whispered under my breath to the part of me which was scared. I knew this was the right thing to do. It had been building for far too long. They had it coming. They all did. Everything that was to follow, when I pulled my hand from the rucksack, is deserved and I refuse to let the scared part of me, the quiet side of my personality, ruin the enjoyment I’m going to get.

“What did you say?” said Mrs Price; a tone of voice I had never heard before. Neither had the rest of the class. A quick scan of my classmates showed they had all sunk back, ever so slightly, in their uncomfortable grey plastic chairs. The ones who previously had gleeful smiles upon their faces were now sat expressionless so as not to attract the attention of Mrs Price. Their faces were white as they feared what they were about to witness. They have no idea. Today, it’s not Mrs Price they need to fear.

It’s me.

I pulled my hand from my rucksack, my father’s 9mm Glock, gripped firmly in my palm with my index finger on the trigger and my other fingers around the handle. Everyone screamed, even Mrs Price. Need to control them. Need to silence them. Don’t want to attract any unwanted attention. I don’t need this to be any worse than I already have planned.

“I said shut up!” I hissed. I pointed the gun at Mrs Price first. She fell backwards onto the floor. I couldn’t help but smile a little. All those years of her shouting the odds at us. All those years of her believing she was untouchable. It was nice to see her fall. I span the gun around to point at my classmates. Some of whom were cowering behind their hands, as though they had the power to stop a bullet should I choose to fire, whilst others were trying to get under their desks. The sadistic part of me was surprised no one tried to make a dash for me. No one tried to wrestle the gun away from me. No one tried to control the situation. I’m glad. I don’t want the sound of gunfire. Not yet. That would have ruined everything I have planned. The fact they’re all petrified. It should make controlling them that much easier…

1

It was weird seeing Mrs Price sitting in the front row, amongst the pupils who despised her so much. Not just because I was used to seeing her at the front of the class berating someone but…Her expression…Tears in her eyes, a pale complexion…Shaking…She’s shaking. I’ve never seen that before. Not from a woman who presents herself as being so domineering. Speaking of ‘domineering’ I had often heard Piers talking to his little gang, discussing whether Mrs Price would look good in skin-tight latex with a whip in her hand. The majority of the group said she would. Some of them even admitted to masturbating to the thought of her like that…One of the group said the bulge of her penis would ruin the overall look. Seeing her, sat here now…There’s nothing manly about her. There’s nothing domineering. She’s a nothing. Maybe I should get her to stand up and prove to Piers and his gang that she doesn’t have a cock hidden under her black pencil skirt. No. That’s not fair. This isn’t about belittling her despite what she puts us through on a day to day basis. At the end of the day she is just being strict to keep us in control. Outside of the school she’s probably a human. Deep down. Somewhere.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a meek voice. I have to confess, she surprised me. Most of the time there was a little masculinity in her voice but not now. Now she sounded like a scared little girl. Had you not seen who it was speaking you could have been forgiven for thinking it was one of the school’s many female pupils talking.

I didn’t answer her. Instead I reached across to her pile of folders, which she had placed on the desk when she first came into the room, and picked up the one labelled as ‘registration’. I flicked it open to the first page; a list of names of the boys and girls who should be sat in front of me for this lesson.

“When I call out your name,” I said, “please say here.” One by one I called out the various names from the list in front of me, not that I needed a list. I knew their names; my classmates. The people who had tormented me day in and day out for the past two years whether it was by name-calling or physical abuse. I won’t ever forget their names. And after today, people won’t forget my name either. Minutes later and the roll-call was done. No-one was absent for a change. Good. I’d have hated for them to miss this.

I put the folder down and cast my eyes around the class. It’s unfortunate some of them are here and have to witness this. In a class of twenty-five there are some who are like me. They don’t deserve to be here. They don’t deserve what’s coming. I don’t have a choice but to include them, though. If I let them go, they’ll no doubt inform someone what is happening in here. If I were in their shoes I know I’d go and get help if I was let out. My gaze fixed upon Rebecca Clarke who was sitting in the middle of the classroom, towards one of the walls. Rebecca was one of the louder girls in the class. She was more centered upon sleeping with as many of the boys as she could as opposed to soaking useful information. If the rumors are to be believed, and I have no reason to doubt them, she’s swallowed more cum than I’ve had hot meals. Of course she doesn’t struggle to attract the boy’s attention looking the way she does; long dark hair down to her petite waist and large breasts enhanced further by a tight-fitting school shirt. Unlike a lot of the other girls who chose to wear trousers, she always opted for the skirt. She even took the time, in lunch-breaks, to roll it up a little to show off more leg. Sometimes she rolls it up so much you can’t help but think of it as nothing more than a belt. Pregnant by eighteen, I reckon.

Rebecca had her mobile phone in her hand and was frantically pressing buttons. I picked the handgun off the table and pointed it directly at her, looking down the aiming sights. It’s a little scary how easy it is to end her little life right about now. A simple squeeze of my trigger finger and her brains will be all over David Barlow who was sitting behind her. Poor David. He’s one of the good ones. Whenever I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself, I’d be feeling sorry for him. Unlike Rebecca, we both at least tried hard in class. We just struggled to ‘get it’ most of the time. Our stupidity was a great source of entertainment to the other classmates – some of whom were just as baffled as David and I by what we were being taught. The only difference was, they simply didn’t care.

“Rebecca,” I said. My voice was calm. No sense shouting. There’s no need. Not all the time I have a gun. Rebecca looked up and froze when she realised she was staring down the barrel of a 9mm pistol, “be a good girl and pass your mobile phone to me…”

“I wasn’t doing anything…” she tried to tell me. How stupid does she think I am? Well, soon she’ll realise I’m someone to be reckoned with. She realised her words were of no use and slowly stood up. “Please don’t shoot…” she whimpered. She looks scared but it’s hard to feel sorry for her. Every time I look at her I just remember that night; her hand on my leg, her breath against my ear, the words she whispered, the glint in her eye as she gave my crotch a squeeze…

“I said give me your phone.”

She walked up to the front of the class and put her phone on the teacher’s desk where I was sat. I didn’t take my eyes off her. That night, the rare occasion I was actually invited to one of the many school parties, she thought it was a good idea to pretend to want me. Whispering sweet nothings into my ear she told me how she had always wanted to make love to me but was too scared to make a move. Part of me knew she was just winding me up but another part of me, the lonely part, wanted to believe her. I was stupid. Rebecca isn’t the sort of girl who enjoys ‘making love’. She just wants to fuck people. Trying to be clever, she got me aroused as Piers and his gang waited outside with their mobile phones at the ready…

“Is that everything?” she asked, her quivering voice pulled me back to the present. I shook my head. No, that’s not everything. “You can see, I didn’t send any messages…” I pushed back on the chair to put some distance between myself and the table – enough of a gap to allow her through.

“Get under the table,” I said.

“What?”

Rebecca’s punishment was easy to think of. Ever since that night it’s all I have really thought about. Forcing her to do what she teased. Now’s a good a time as any. “Get under the table,” I said.

“No…”

I stood up and walked over to her with the gun still raised. I pressed it against her skull and she made a funny whimpering noise. She sounded a little like a dog crying when you stand on its tail. “I said…Get…Under…The…Table…”

She nodded and stepped round me to get to the space under the table. As soon as she was under there I sat down on the chair again, and rolled myself closer to the desk. Underneath the table I had a leg either side of Rebecca. I could hear her crying but it didn’t bother me.

“Please…This has gone far enough…” said Mrs Price. I shot her a glare. I haven’t started yet. She fell silent.

With my spare hand I unzipped my trousers, out of sight of the rest of the class although they knew what I was doing, and pulled my penis out. Semi hard already. Not sure whether that’s because of the control I have over everyone or because of what I’m about to get from Rebecca.

“Did you know,” I said to Mrs Price, “I went to a party once and Rebecca was there. She was telling me how much she liked me and had always wanted to make love to me. She was being so kind. I’d never felt that from someone before…Kindness to that extent. A feeling of worth, you know. She was saying all sorts of nice things. She was touching me. Kissing me. Stroking me through my trousers. I honestly thought all my birthdays had come at once when she started to unbutton me…” I could hear Rebecca crying from underneath the table saying how sorry she was but I didn’t care, “…The next thing I know Piers and his little friends burst in on us…Laughing…Pointing their camera phones at me…Some of them videoing…I was just sat there exposed in more ways than one…I don’t know how many people saw that video…The video they were even kind enough to email over to me…You know, that night when I got home…I tied a noose round my neck and sat on the edge of my bed thinking it was the best thing to do…Hang myself…Only the thought of my mum and dad finding me swinging in the morning stopped me from actually doing it. You know how it feels to feel that low…Like you can’t go on living?”

“Think of your mum and dad now,” said Mrs Price.

I shook my head. “I’ll never be the son they want. I know that now. They want someone academically bright. They want someone who can make something of their lives. That isn’t me. I’m a nothing. I’m a nobody. If it weren’t for what’s to come today – no one would remember me when I’m gone. No one…Rebecca…put it in your mouth. If I feel teeth…I’ll shoot your friends.”

“This isn’t the way,” said Mrs Price, “we can suspend them all whilst we look into this…We can…”

“Rebecca…What are you waiting for?” I said interrupting Mrs Price from her desperate flow. A thousand jolts of electricity shot through my body as I felt Rebecca’s fingers brush against my hardening penis. Just as good as I had always imagined. I couldn’t help but close my eyes for the briefest of seconds as I felt her warm mouth envelope my shaft, sliding down to the base. Feels so fucking good. I knew it would. Slightly flustered, I addressed the rest of the class, “One by one, I want you all to bring your mobile phones to the desk…Starting with you…” I pointed the gun in the direction of Craig Clemo, a dark haired lad with big brown eyes who sat on the far right of the classroom, against the wall. I didn’t mind Craig. He’s a bit of a nothing like me. When the bullies are out in force he just keeps his head down and doesn’t get involved. I sometimes wonder how different my school days would have been if I had chosen his coping mechanisms too. Had I not stood up for David Barlow when Piers was picking on him would Piers ever have known of my existence or could I have just ghosted my way through his life?

Craig stood up and brought his phone to the front of the class. He put it on the desk and walked back to his seat.

“You,” I said pointing the gun to Rachel, who sat behind him. She too stood up and dropped her phone onto the desk. When she sat down the next person brought their phone forward too without having to be asked. I smiled and sat back. Whilst they’re doing that it affords me the time to enjoy what Rebecca is doing. A flicking sensation on the tip of my penis, with what feels to be her tongue. A gentle tickling around my scrotum. All those years of practicing have most certainly paid off for her. I couldn’t help but sigh as her mouth slipped down the shaft once more before sliding back up. Faster..Faster…Slower. Teasing. But nicely so. I wonder if the other girls in the class are as good as this. My eyes fix upon Mrs Price. I wonder if she’s as good…

A tingling sensation, not dissimilar to pins and needles, spreads through the tops of my legs. The pleasurable, familiar feeling of an orgasm about to hit. I tried my best not to show it in my face as I continued staring at Mrs Price, wondering what it would be like to fuck her. I moved my spare hand under the table and held Rebecca’s head in place. Just in time too. She tried to pull away from me as I ejaculated into her mouth. Hold her there. Listen how she chokes it down. Good girl. I released my grip on the back of her head and let her move away. I can hear that she’s crying. Was it really that bad?

A feeling of guilt rushed through me as I suddenly became aware of everyone looking at me. Watching my every move. Watching me cum. I pushed my cock, coated in Rebecca’s saliva, back into my trousers and zipped myself up. What have I done? What have I become? I don’t recognise myself anymore.

2

Another new school to find my way around. I love my dad but I don’t love what he does for a living. Constantly moving house and taking mum and I with him, leaving behind friends I’ve only just met…Having to start again from scratch. Catching up in classes I already struggle with because they’ve chosen different books to study from the last school I attended. I hate being the outsider. The one who can’t find any friendly faces amongst the crowds. It’s always the same. Go to school. Get lost looking for class. Arrive at class late, or with a teacher escort – which is far worse…Stand in front of the room and introduce yourself. Explain why you’re new to the town. Sit in the only spare seat, in the front of the classroom, and feel the gaze of every pupil fix upon you for the rest of whatever lesson it is, awkwardly share books with someone who’d rather you had your own…A pile of homework to catch up on; mainly reading assignments you know you’ll never be able to complete. Yes, I love my dad but I hate that we have to move around so much.

“Have a good day, honey,” my mum called out. I turned back to her, when I got to the school gates, and saw her waving frantically. I should wave back but it’s embarrassing enough that she just called me ‘honey’ in earshot of other people who may or may not be in my classroom. I gave her a faint smile and turned towards the school. Here we go again.

The first days are always the worst. At least by the end of the first day you have normally made one friend; someone to look out for on the second and third day whilst you establish new friendships. As I scanned the various faces in the crowd walking with me to the front door, I wondered whether any of them were likely to be my new friends. I have to say…On first impressions none of them look to be that friendly! Not even through the front door yet and I feel uncomfortable. Not the best of starts I think to myself as I hear the random mutterings of small groups that I pass all wondering who the ‘new kid’ is and how ‘weird’ I look.

How they can say I look ‘weird’ is beyond me. Across the car park, in the corner, I saw a group all dressed in black. Even the boys had make-up on from what I could see. Another group, in the same car park, all wore matching clothes with their hair styled in various multi-coloured spikes…And here I am dressed in faded blue jeans, a black hooded top with the hood down and newish white trainers – which, admittedly, are a little on the bright side but I expect that’ll change after a couple of days schooling here. My hair is the natural brown colour I was born with, I’m clean shaven. My eyes are the same dark brown colour as each other, unlike the girl I just walked by who seemed to have one blue eye and one green…Yet people are saying I’m the weird one. If anything, I reckon I’ll blend in here. Unless, of course, I decide to take refuge in the car park at any moment. Definitely a place to avoid going to by what I’ve seen.

I pushed the large double doors open and stepped inside my new place of supposed learning. The familiar smell of ‘school’ hit me as soon as I stepped over the threshold. I don’t know what it is about schools which make them all have the same old musty scent. Perhaps it’s the old text-books we’re to work from? Perhaps it’s those which smell of old-age and death and you just notice it more because there’s so many littered around the building. Perhaps.

The corridor in front of me stretched as far as the eye could see. The walls were lined with tall wooden lockers with occasional gaps between the lockers where the doors were to the various classrooms. What’s the betting this is like all the other schools I’ve been to and the classrooms aren’t in any particular order despite being known, on the timetable, as ‘class one’, ‘class two’ etc etc? The last school I was in, a few towns away from where I am today…The first door I came across was labelled number twenty-four. Days later I found number one stuck in a different wing entirely and even then it wasn’t by the main entrance. Instead it was tucked away on the top floor next to room sixty-five. The first time I noticed this, I can’t even remember what school it was, I thought it was because some bored student had simply gone around swapping door plaques around to confuse people. With all the different schools I’ve been to…I know this isn’t the case. Not unless the person responsible is in the same boat as me and doing it in every school he, or she, is visiting. I doubt it, though.

I stepped to the side of the corridor, to get out of the way of the never-ending sea of students, and reached into my pocket to find my timetable; a small piece of paper with my lessons and classrooms printed upon it which the school posted out to my house about a week ago.

“You new? Looking for somewhere in particular?” asked a quiet male voice from behind me. I turned around and saw a lad of similar age to myself. A mousey-blonde colour to his hair and freckles on his face. A cheeky smile with massive dimples on his cheeks. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a smile to be trusted or a smile because he was about to send me in the completely wrong direction just because he could.

“Is that obvious?” I asked.

“Well for starters you’re wearing your rucksack over both shoulders. No one does that in this school unless they’re new. And secondly, you’re looking at your timetable with a look of confusion on your face. You know…Putting two and two together…” he laughed. “Where you headed?”

I checked my timetable, “English with Mrs Jones,” I said.

He smiled wider. “Snap! You may as well follow me,” he volunteered. I thanked him and slipped the timetable back into my pocket. “What’s your name?” he asked after informing me his name was David.

David was looking at me, from his seat just behind Rebecca’s, with a look in his eyes which suggested he had no idea who I was. As I listened to Rebecca’s sobs as she took her seat, I couldn’t help but wonder who I was too. I’m not this person. I’m not. I’m a good person. Normally. I’m like my friend David. I’m one of the good ones. Who I am today…This isn’t me, usually. It’s not. They made me. They turned me into this. Sadistic. Hateful. Vengeful. This is their fault.

I looked around the rest of the classroom. They’re all looking at me with the same look as David. Mrs Price is looking at Rebecca. I can see, in her eyes, that she desperately wants to go and comfort her. She suddenly turned to look at me, as though she could feel my glare burning into the side of her pretty face. I don’t recognise the expression in her eyes. It’s as though she’s asking, ‘what have you done?’ without actually speaking the words. I forgot how much I hated myself, right now, to answer her with a look of my own. I look which told her – ‘I did what she deserved and that was only the beginning’.

I stood up, behind the teacher’s desk, to address the class. I feel as though I should say something. Whilst I am sure some of them know why I am here, I’m positive some of them don’t have a clue. After all, some of my classmates…I’ve hardly spoken to them and, in turn, they’ve hardly spoken to me. It’s only fair, given the circumstances, I give them a chance to understand what I’m doing here. And it’s only fair to let them know, they’ll come to no harm.

“If I call your name, I’d like you to stand up please…David Barlow…” the class went silent, “…Lindsey West…” One by one, when I called out the names, they stood up just as I had requested them to. Each of them looked just as nervous as the one who was called out before. They have nothing to be nervous about. Seven names in total – David, Lindsey, Elizabeth, Marcus, Samantha, Kate, Helen. Funny how it’s mainly girl’s names I’m calling out. I guess it’s more in boys’ nature to be cruel to one another. Not for much longer. Not by the time I’m done. And word of what’s to come will soon spread around the town too; a harsh warning to others who may be making similar mistakes as made by Piers and his little friends.

I looked around the classroom at the pupils still sat down. One of them was Craig Clemo. I considered calling his name out too but…I recall him being involved in one of the incidents where I was under fire. He kept his head down. He didn’t offer help or anything. Not even when the group left me alone and I was nursing a bloodied nose. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t offer to get help. Nothing. Just stood there watching me. He can stay sat down.

“If you’re currently standing up…I’m sorry you’re here. Had there been any other way, I would have taken it I can assure you. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve done nothing wrong to me or, as far as I know, anyone else. If you’d like to come forward…You can bring your chairs…You can sit to the side, near me; out of harm’s way…” There was the briefest of pauses before each of the seven came to the front of the class as I had requested. The rest of the class just looked nervous and confused. “I know you won’t but…Should any of you attempt anything funny…You’ll have to join the rest of your classmates. Understood?”

They nodded. David looked as though he desperately wanted to say something but no words came from his quivering mouth.

Mrs Price asked, “What about me? What have I done?”

I shot her a look, “It’s what you didn’t do…” I know I originally thought this wasn’t about her but Mrs Price is just as bad as some of the students who sit in front of me. The way she berated some of us, in front of the whole class, did nothing for self-esteem and embarrassed us. The more I see her, sitting there…The more I see her as another form of bully.