Cracks

A great warhorn blew, sending deep vibrations rolling over the hillside. Adam raised his sword high, and screamed furiously into the face of the enemy. His army was small. The enemy’s, large and monstrous. But that was always the case in his daydreams. In the vivid worlds he created inside his mind, Adam was always a hero.

His sword came sweeping down, cleaving the head of an orc clean from its shoulders, when a noise cut through the chaos of the battle around him. “Adam Ledger, are you listening?”

The battle vanished in an instant. Instead of the rolling hills, there were four walls, painted an off-white that bordered on yellow. Instead of facing an army of merciless orcs, he was facing the rest of his 8th grade class. All of them had turned in their chairs to look at him as he hunched over his desk in the back corner of the room, because that’s where their teacher, Miss O’Connor, was looking. “I said, are you listening?”

Adam couldn’t bring himself to look directly at her. He stared at a spot on the whiteboard off to the right instead. His peripheral vision captured most of the details for him. A tall frame, athletic, especially for a teacher. Jet black hair, worn in a short bob barely dipping below her jawline, which was as sharp as the rest of her features. Adam had heard many boys around the school call her beautiful, but he couldn’t see it. All he saw was what lurked beneath. The same way the beach near his school was beautiful, but below the surface there were only the currents, the cold indifference, willing to drag anything or anyone out into the deep. Inexperienced swimmers needed rescuing from them almost every day. They did not expect something so beautiful to be so cruel. Adam did.

“Yes,” said Adam, and he knew immediately that he should have said no. It would have been over quicker, if he’d just been brave enough to admit he hadn’t been listening to a single word. But this was not a daydream, and in the dreary reality Adam actually lived in, he was no hero. Now she would punish him twice. Once for not listening, once for lying about it.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Miss O’Connor, and she sounded so genuine Adam almost thought she believed him. “Would you mind giving the class a summary of the central theme of Macbeth’s third act then?”

Silence enveloped the room. There were many forms of silence Adam loved. The way a good book could silence the world, like an off switch for reality. Or how the trees could block out the noise from town when he ventured far enough into the woods at the edge of his backyard. But there were other silences that didn’t feel silent at all. The way his house felt late at night, when his dad still hadn’t come home from work and he was all alone. Or the numbness he’d felt the day his mum left. He’d sat on the couch clutching the note she’d written, unable to speak, unable to think, while his dad paced from room to room, like the movement was the only thing keeping the other side of him contained. The side that had yelled, and bullied, and pushed her away, just as her note had said. The silence of the classroom reminded him of that day. It was not really silent at all. It was deafening.

Miss O’Connor let it drag on and on, a serene look on her face, content with the mental torture she was inflicting. Some of the other kids began to snicker. With every passing second the gravity in the room grew denser, and the temperature climbed higher. Adam imagined them sitting there all day, his classmates growing bolder with their taunts, and the room growing crowded as the rest of the school caught wind of the show unfolding in classroom A19, while he was reduced to nothing but a snivelling, weeping mess on the floor. Adam began to see familiar cracks of light appear in the air around the room - No. Not now. Not here - The cracks grew, and he knew what would happen if they got too big.

He’d first seen the cracks in his bedroom. It was years ago, but the memory has stayed close, never seeming to age, never feeling further back than just the other day. He’d been anxious, like now, like every time. His dad’s shouts and mum’s cries dominated every corner of the house, and he was trying to escape it, to imagine himself somewhere else… someone else. But just like now, reality did not let him escape. It kept him there by simply being too horrible to ignore. That’s when the cracks appeared. Adam had tried to explain to himself what happened next so many times over the years that he’d lost track of what his current theory was. All he knew for certain was that the cracks were not normal. They were not a sign that everything was alright inside his mind. And they were not something that he could let happen in the middle of his English class.

So he snapped, as Miss O’Connor probably knew he would. “It was about a ghost!” The class laughed loudly. Adam felt like his skin was burning, but his outburst had made the cracks disappear, and he had nothing else to say. That sliver of information was all his anxious mind had managed to pick up during the brief moments between daydreams. A ghost had come to frighten Macbeth, though why, or what happened after, Adam hadn’t a clue.

“Well, that was hardly a summary, or a theme for that matter,” said Miss O’Connor, as composed as ever. “But at least it wasn’t wrong.” She surveyed him, as only a person with significant power over another could. Adam knew the second punishment was coming. “Consequences, Adam. The third act is where we start to see the consequences of Macbeth’s actions begin to reveal themselves. Seeing things that aren’t there, seeing ghosts, is a metaphor for his guilty conscience, and for his fear of retribution. For there are always consequences Adam, when we act for the benefit of ourselves alone.” She did not move any nearer, yet Adam got the sense of her closing in. “Perhaps a practical lesson will succeed to teach you, where I have clearly failed.” She sounded truly sorry about this too. “After-school detention. I’ll have the front desk notify your parents.”

Parent, Adam corrected instinctively. Miss O’Connor turned her attention back to the rest of the class, and heads began to swivel, one by one, away from Adam.

It was not fair. Adam could have pointed out half a dozen other kids around the room that wouldn’t have been able to answer her question either. But he didn’t feel angry. He’d long ago come to think of fairness as something lucky people used to justify why good things happened to them, and unlucky people used to blame everyone but themselves. Adam knew there was no such thing as fair. Things just happened to you, good and bad, in random order, and just because people like him got mostly bad things didn’t mean the world was unfair. It just meant the world didn’t care either way. That no one really mattered to it. That he didn’t matter.

Still, after-school detention was bad news. Not just because his dad would be angry, maybe even angry enough to finally let the other side out again - Adam hadn’t seen that side of his dad since the day his mum left, but he’d caught glimpses of him, lurking just behind tired eyes, or within the strained muscles of a clenched fist. But he’d had detention before, and it hadn’t gotten him anything worse than a stern talking to. No, the real problem was the time he’d actually have to spend in detention. Or rather, the people he would be in there with. That was what made Adam afraid. A prison was only as bad as its worst inmates, after all.

The rest of class slipped by quickly, with Adam drifting in and out of daymares about the bullying he’ll soon be facing. He’d been punched, kicked, pinched, poked, scratched, smacked and hurt in countless creative ways by the kids he’d be sharing the detention room with. But this was not one of those things where having lots of experience made it easier. He hated being hurt, and he feared it above anything else. Almost anything else.

A memory of cracks of light. Opening wider. Wide enough for them to make it through…

He tried not to think about it, tried instead to go back to his daydream about the battle on the rolling hills. But he couldn’t divert his mind away from what was waiting for him once the final school bell rang. The cracks only came when he was deeply afraid, and detention was the scariest place he knew. Would he be able to stop them? He’d survived detention before, why not again? But he knew each time he’d gone into that spare classroom in D block he’d been dangerously close to losing control. Closer each time it seemed. Had he finally reached the tipping point?

The school bell rang. It was not the final one for the day, but it seemed to be counting down as Adam drifted from class to class. A doomsday clock chiming just for him. Three bells left. Can it really be that close already? Now just two bells. Maybe I can talk to Miss O’Connor, apologise to her, get her to change her mind… Only one bell to go… If the cracks come, just get up and run out of there. They’ll probably suspend you… but that might be nice… to have a little break.

As the final bell rang, Adam’s classmates left in groups, talking to each other in high and loud voices, as they always did when they were feeling good about where they were going. Adam hadn’t talked like that in a long time. Sometimes, he would practise it in his daydreams, joking around with an imaginary friend, but his voice always sounded so exaggerated he would be forced to stop from sheer embarrassment. It was like trying to watch a movie with such terrible acting you turn it off before the end of the opening scene. He was the last to leave the classroom, and he left it alone, and silent.

The walk to D block was long, taking him across the school’s central courtyard, and around the cluster of red brick buildings that made up the bulk of the school. They held detention as far from the main entrance as possible, and Adam felt like he was walking into the lair of a monster. The deeper you go, the harder it is to get out. But this monster doesn’t need to come after its prey. They come to it.

D block looked like an old apartment building that was due to be demolished. Adam didn’t know whether the building looked sad, or it just made you sad to look at it, but either way, you couldn’t enter its frosted glass doors and take any happiness with you. The corridor made sure of that. Fluorescent lights flickered along the low ceiling, so low it gave Adam a mild sense of claustrophobia. Windowless doors led off into soulless looking classrooms on both sides. The cheap vinyl flooring frayed at the edges and cracked along the seams, making crunching sounds as Adam walked towards classroom D13. Not for the first time, he wondered which Headmaster had chosen this particular room for detention. Someone with a morbid sense of humour. Someone with at least a little imagination, and a whole lot of distaste for the students of Wakehurst High.

The ageing plywood door of classroom D13 looked like it had been beaten to within an inch of its life, both from inside and out. How many angry students had kicked or slammed it on their way past? Adam got the sudden urge to give it a solid whack himself, just to release a little tension before it began. The door was closed, but he could hear the commotion within. A full house today, but that was good news. There was safety in numbers, even amongst monsters.

Breathe. Just don’t think about them. They won’t come if you don’t think about them.

Cracks of light - wider than ever - opening, or being opened?

Do. Not. Think. About. Them.

Rolling hills, a sword in his hand, an army at his back. His men needed him. The world needed him. Adam the warrior. Adam the hero… stay right there no matter what, don’t let go, and everything will be okay.

He opened the door…

The scene before Adam reminded him of a Where’s Wally picture. Spot the character in the chaos. There was simply too much going on to take it all in. He had to zone in on one section of the room at a time, and slowly make his way around, before he understood the full scene.

Adam’s history teacher, Mr Shockley, sat at the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. A scruffy looking man with thinning grey hair and an impressively round belly, who looked just as unhappy running detention today as Adam felt attending it. He was also doing a heroic job of ignoring the mayhem taking place around the room.

At least two dozen students were scattered amongst the desks, though hardly anyone was sitting. Groups had formed, to gossip or play games or terrorise those unlucky enough to have drawn the wrong sort of attention. It was loud and intimidating. Adam wanted to run away as fast as he could. This was the worst possible place for him. There would be no escape into the safety of his own imagination from here.

Adam knew the type of detention depended heavily on the teacher running it. He’d been in one with Miss O’Connor before, and had spent the whole time pretending to do homework while actually enjoying a particularly vivid daydream involving a princess and a dragon, with only a few spitballs smacking into the back of his head when the more daring kids thought they could get away with it. But detention with Mr Shockley was a nightmare. He couldn’t control the students, so he didn’t even try. His job, as far as he was concerned, was to keep them here for the full ninety minutes, then let them go terrorise their own homes, or the rest of the neighbourhood more likely. Time served, then back to the streets. See you at the next detention.

Finally, Mr Shockley noticed him standing in the doorway. He gave Adam a lazy wave of his hand, calling him over to sign in at the teacher’s desk. Adam scurried along the wall towards the front of the classroom, wishing not for the first time that he could turn invisible.

“Adam my boy, was sorry to see your name on here,” said Mr Shockley in his placid voice. Adam just gave him a nod and stared down at his feet. Mr Shockley ticked his name off a printed list, then surveyed Adam with a sympathetic frown. “Why don’t you grab that desk near the front, I seem to be creating a proximity effect of sorts. The chaos gets worse the further out you go.” He nodded towards the back of the room, where two of the older students were now wrestling each other on the floor. “Quietly, please!” Mr Shockley called out to the room at large, which largely ignored him. He gave Adam a knowing wink and gestured towards the empty desk just a few metres away from his own.

Adam was grateful for what little protection he could get, but as he sat down at the desk and pulled out his homework, he felt a wave of anger towards Mr Shockley. If he really cared about Adam, or any of them for that matter, he’d do his job properly. Now Adam had to make it through an hour and a half without drawing the attention of the truly nasty bullies in the room. Considering that described at least half of the kids in here, Adam didn’t like his chances.

A paper wasp launched from somewhere behind him smacked into the back of his neck, making him wince with pain. He didn’t turn around though, or show any other signs that he’d felt it at all. It stung badly, but Adam knew whoever had shot him was watching. The less he reacted, the less interested they’d be in shooting him again. The next time they pull back the rubber band between their thumb and pointer, with a sharply folded piece of paper locked and loaded, it might be aimed at a different neck than his own. He could only hope.

Ten minutes passed. Adam continued his daydream, picking up right where he’d left off in English class. Killing orcs. The battle was a particularly brutal one, and his anxiety managed to creep its way in, making the enemy stronger than usual, and himself weaker. At one point, it almost seemed like he would lose. His sword was lost, he was surrounded by ferocious orcs, and he just didn’t seem to have the mental energy to imagine his way out of it. But Adam always had an ace up his sleeve. No matter what he was daydreaming about, whether it was a battle, an adventure, or even just a fantasy about having friends, he always had backup in the shape of a fluffy dog named Banter. Banter was Adam’s favourite type of dog - an Australian Shepherd, lean and athletic, with a thick, scruffy coat of black, white, and orange that reminded Adam of burning coals. His sharp eyes were icy blue, and full of intelligence. He looked like a creature that understood the very heart of the wild, and he was an indestructible force in Adam’s mind. Nothing had ever been able to hurt Banter, and Adam believed nothing ever would. Just as the orcs were about to carve Adam in half, Banter’s bark echoed over the battlefield, and he leapt into the fray, knocking down orcs the size of rhinos with a single swipe of his paws, tongue hanging out of his grinning mouth like this was the funnest game in the world. Adam found his sword, and helped Banter finish the job, unable to stop his own grin at the sight of his greatest imaginary friend. By the time the battle was won and he and Banter were standing over the slain body of the orc chieftain covered from head to toe in the dark sludge he always imagined would come out of such creatures, the first thirty minutes of detention was over. He’d been shot by a paper wasp another two times, but had otherwise been left alone.

This isn’t so bad, he thought for a moment. At this rate, he figured he’d probably have time to fit in another whole battle, from first charge to final kill. Maybe this time the enemy will have a few dragons with them. He liked a challenge. At least, he liked to think he did. The rational part of him was able to recognise that challenging himself was impossible in a world where he was invincible, but he knew how to bury that part deep down, enough to stop it getting in the way of the measly confidence boost the thought of a challenge gave him. Confidence was an extremely rare thing in his life. Lying to himself was the only way to get some, even if it was of the tainted, low quality variety.

He’d just finished giving his army a speech so rousing he thought they’d follow him into the gates of hell itself, when he was removed violently from the daydream and crashed back into the real world. He hit the musky carpet of classroom D13 hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. As he pushed himself into a seated position, he tried to force his disoriented mind to make sense of what just happened.

There was laughter, and tall figures standing around him. One of them was holding a chair. “You weren’t using this right? Mine’s got a busted leg,” said the tall, curly haired boy before him. More laughter. Adam glanced over at Mr Shockley, who had his eyes closed and head lolled backwards. Asleep, or pretending to be, it made little difference.

Adam got to his feet. Of the four boys standing around him, the closest one to his own height was still half a foot taller. Luckily, they seem to have gotten what they came here for. Still laughing, they headed towards the other side of the room, taking Adam’s chair with them. The curly haired boy barged his shoulder into Adam’s as he passed, unable to resist a final show of dominance.

Maybe he had knocked his head a little too hard on the floor, or maybe he was still feeling the residual effects of his daydream, where his own imaginary speech had made his blood rise and his fears subside. He had been speaking to himself after all - everything said or done inside his own head was to himself. Whatever the cause, Adam did something he’d never done before, and something he deeply regretted instantly. He pushed back.

Not hard, mind you. Barely a nudge, only one handed, and with roughly the same amount of force needed to swing open a loosely-hinged door. But it’s not the outcome of such an act that matters. It’s just the fact that he dared do it at all.

The reaction was predictable, and terrifying. The laughter stopped dead in its tracks. The boys turned, all together, back to Adam. The curly haired boy’s face was contorted with, what exactly? It didn’t look like anger. At least, not entirely. As the boy’s eyes shifted to his own friends and back, Adam realised what underlying emotion was making him look so unstable, so dangerous. He was embarrassed. The runt had pushed back. Adam had embarrassed him in front of his friends. And now they were looking at the boy, the obvious question plastered all over their faces, unspoken, but understood. Are you going to take that?

No, he was not.

Adam’s chair was thrust back at him, smashing into his stomach and making him yelp with pain. The curly haired boy closed in, fists raised, chin tucked, looking like someone who knew exactly what they were doing when it came to handing out a beating.

“MARCUS KIRK!” The shout froze the scene. Adam, hunched over in pain and clutching his own chair for support. Marcus, upright and angled, one arm pulled back with a meaty fist ready to explode towards Adam’s undefended face. “Go back to your seat.” Mr Shockley spoke with uncharacteristic authority. He was standing now, though that hardly helped. He was far too short and round for anyone to actually consider him intimidating. But he was still a teacher, and inside these gates, he had the power to bring down the full weight of the school’s disciplinary actions on top of any student’s head. Like an extremely limited and boring superpower, but a superpower nonetheless. Marcus lowered his fist.

“Catch you later,” said Marcus, then he and his friends went back to their desks on the other side of the room. Adam knew he had literally meant catch you later, but he gave Mr Shockley a nod of thanks before sitting back down. He had, at least, managed to keep his chair.

Adrenaline coursed through Adam’s body. He was tense, on-edge, and scared as hell. The look on Marcus’s face… there was no way he was going to let this go. Mr Shockley hadn’t saved Adam from a beating, he’d just postponed it.

Thin cracks began to appear at the edges of Adam’s vision.

No. He was okay. His stomach still hurt from having the chair smashed into it, but it could’ve been much worse. He would escape from Marcus, that’s all there was to it. He would run, or hide, or both. And everything would be okay.

Then why are the cracks getting bigger?

Adam tried to calm himself down. He wanted to disappear into a daydream again, but the harder he tried to do it, the wider the cracks grew. They hung in the air around him now, big enough that the students closest to him should’ve been able to see them, but of course, no one did. They were his, and his alone.

“Whatcha doing?”

Adam jumped. The fresh burst of fear made the cracks swell dangerously large, but they quickly shrunk again as Adam searched around him for the source of the voice.

There was a girl sitting one row behind him. She had short dark hair, a button nose, and a suspicious look on her face, more criticising than curious, as if she expected Adam’s answer to be a bad one. She wasn’t, however, looking directly at him. Her eyes moved through the empty space around him, like she was searching for something there. Like she’d seen something there.

“I’m not doing anything,” said Adam quickly, and turned back around.

There was silence for a long while, enough for Adam to think the girl had lost interest. Then suddenly, in a hushed voice, she spoke again. “Are you a maker?”

The question was so strange it had an oddly calming effect, as Adam’s brain tried to make sense of it. The cracks withered and popped out of existence as he spun back around. “Am I a what?”

The girl pulled back, like a young kid who had cautiously reached out to touch a hot stove, only to find out that hot stoves burn. “Never mind, just thought I saw… never mind.” She buried her face behind the textbook on her desk, and Adam turned his back on her once again. There were usually two types of students in detention. The obvious ones, here for fighting, stealing, or causing general mayhem. Kids like Marcus Kirk. Then there were the less obvious ones. The ones whose behaviour was harder to explain. The freaks. The weirdos. The losers. These were Adam’s people, but that didn’t mean he liked them. Like everyone with chronically low self-esteem, the people he hated the most were those who reminded him of himself. Adam made a mental note to stay as far away from the girl as possible.

The clock on the wall told him that he had just over half an hour of detention left. Adam felt that was plenty of time to come up with a plan for escaping Marcus, but as the minutes ticked by, the only “plan” he could think of was to run like hell. Now there was fifteen minutes to go… now ten… the cracks were back. When did that happen? They’d crept up on him, slowly at first, but gaining speed as Adam’s anxiety grew alongside the clock’s ominous countdown. With five minutes to go, Adam had a stroke of genius. The students wouldn’t be the only ones leaving detention. Mr Shockley would be leaving here too. All Adam had to do was stick right behind him all the way to the school gates, then hightail it to the bus stop that would take him home. He’d been in detention enough times to know there was a number 40 bus due right on time to pick up kids from any after-school activities (which technically includes detention). As long as he didn’t get caught between the gates and the bus, he’d be okay.

The countdown ended. There was no bell to mark the occasion. Mr Shockley simply checked his wristwatch, and loudly declared, “Alright, off you go!” A human stampede converged on the battered door, which took a few fresh kicks as the bulk of the students wrestled their way outside. Adam stayed where he was. Mr Shockley was packing up the papers scattered across his desk, clearly happy to let the students go first.

Hardly daring to breathe, Adam checked over his shoulder to see if Marcus Kirk was leaving.

He wasn’t. He was still sitting in his seat, staring right at Adam with a disturbingly calm look on his face. It was the sort of look Adam supposed you could get from being so sure of what you’ve got to do and how you’ll do it that there’s no room for any doubt to creep in. It was confidence. It was certainty. It was a look that had never been on Adam’s face, except in his daydreams. For a second, Adam was envious of him. Then he remembered what was causing such a confident look, and that envy was replaced by dread. There was no doubt in Marcus’s mind. He would not let Adam escape.

With another spike of fear, Adam realised Mr Shockley had finished packing up and was waddling his way over to the now passable door. Adam sprung from his chair, grabbed his bag and scurried to keep just a step or so behind him. The last of the students were heading to the door and Marcus stood up casually to join them. He kept his eyes firmly on Adam though. And just like that, they left classroom D13 behind, Marcus’s eyes locked on the back of Adam’s head, Adam’s eyes locked fretfully on Mr Shockley’s heels, and Mr Shockley paying no particular attention to anything or anyone.

It was a stressful walk through the school. Many different student clubs were finishing for the day, so the detention kids soon blended in with all the others making their way towards the main gates. Adam kept as close to Mr Shockley as he could, close enough that he was sure the teacher must have realised he’d picked up a shadow, despite the cloudy sky. But Mr Shockley either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Adam considered just telling him outright that Marcus was stalking him like a wild animal, but knew it wouldn’t help. Being in a teacher’s presence was keeping him safe while they were on the school grounds, but as soon as they left the rules would change. They were leaving the zoo, along with the safety of the enclosures and keepers, and entering the wilderness. Only the strong and the lucky survived out there. Adam was neither. Kids like him only seemed to exist to give kids like Marcus a foundation on which to grow. For winners, the path upwards in life was paved by those who had fallen down and never picked themselves up again.

Cracks of white light filled the edges of Adam’s vision.

He could see the main gate. Any moment now Mr Shockley would be turning off to the right, towards the teacher’s car park, and Adam would have to make a break for his bus. It should be parked a few hundred metres up the road running along the front face of the school. As long as it was on time…

Suddenly it happened. Mr Shockley turned off to the right, and despite having the entire journey through the school to prepare for it, Adam still felt like he’d been thrust into a raging ocean swell, losing all sense of control as that icy grip of panic squeezed his lungs and clouded his mind. The gate was just a few metres in front of him, and the heavy footfalls of Marcus Kirk went from a walking pace to an outright sprint.

The cracks ballooned until they were so large he only had a clear line of sight along a thin tunnel directly in front of him.

Adam ran like a coward. Fast as hell.