MMA - Part 6
MMA part 6
September 29, 1896
There is something dreadfully wrong here. I don’t know what it is and I don’t know why I am the only one who seems to be affected by it. I suppose it is possible other boys feel it and much like myself, refuse to tell anyone. Still, the rest of the Cadre marches on. Examinations are given. Punishment doled out. Rifle practice bragged about. These things all seem trivial to me, and yet I must participate in them.
I did play hooky this morning during Latin. Playing hooky has such a childish sound to it, but the truth was I had been up all night and I just couldn’t bring myself to participate in a class that seems so irrelevant.
There is not much information available regarding the sights I have been privy to here. The things I have seen could not be found or researched in the library. Then again, why should they be? Perhaps I am going insane. That would be one reason for hallucinations. And that is what this must be. Then again, what if that is not the case? That is why I have written my Grand Da in Ireland as he some experience with similar things. Or at least that is what Father said in the past. Not in those words really, more that Grand Da is momma’s Da and that he is feeble minded. I am not sure exactly what type of ailment he has, but if it has something to do with the things I have seen of late, then his feeble-mindedness might well be madness. I feel as if I am going ma too. Perhaps I am genetically predisposed to madness. I don’t know. Still, I hope that he might have some information for me.
M
October 28, 1896
I have received word from my Grandfather. He is too ill to travel here but the tone of his letter was adamant. Grand Da says that the things I have been experiencing are real and dangerous and that All Hallows Eve or Samhain will be the time when things become even worse. I don’t know how much worse they can get! I don’t sleep, I barely eat and I feel as if I am in a fog most of the time.
I have been sent to the Commandant’s office on four separate occasions, the last three culminating in thrashings. Being whipped for doing something wrong is one thing, I on the other hand, am being whipped for inattentiveness. I am inattentive because there is something terrible happening and I don’t think I can figure it out, nor do I think I can talk to someone about it. Except my Grand Da and he is a world away.
I shall give it a few more days, that is all I have anyway. Rabbie has promised not to write Father and I am appreciative of that. He is a good man and a good father but he will not be happy to learn of my trips to the Commandant. They are likely to result in a trip to the woodshed when he next visits. As much as I wish to avoid that at almost all costs, I’m afraid if I don’t resolve the problem here, I shan’t even be around to feel the licking.
M
The nape of Jamie’s hair prickled. Whatever was happening with M might be coming to a head at Samhain. Suddenly the somewhat interesting subject matter of M’s diary was becoming more likely to be an actual lead than just a kid’s journal from the 1800s. He made a mental note that it was now November and that Samhain had already passed. But for M, the kid was heading into the time when the Celts believed the veil between death and life was at it’s thinnest. They believed that ghosts and spirits could come and go at will. Sometimes, it was said, people in this world could travel to theirs. Jamie knew that the dead didn’t need Samhain to walk the earth, but the fact was that increased paranormal activity was a given and poor M would be right in the middle of it. Jamie struggled for a moment trying to think of the Celtic Calendar and what time they would be in during November, for it was November now. Beltane was in the spring, October was Samhain. Both were fire festivals and linked with the dead. But November and December were known as…Dumannios - The Darkest Depths. He offered a silent prayer to Uncle Sam who insisted on all arcane knowledge associated with anything supernatural. When Jamie had been nine and irritated at having to learn the Celtic Calendar he could have kicked the man in the shins.
“I always thought of the “Darkest Depths” as deep winter or something like that…I mean it makes sense, the darkest depths of the year,” Jamie wondered out loud, but maybe the name was far more sinister. What if the “Darkest Depths” had something to do with a supernatural situation. The lore didn’t state that, at least not to his memory, but leave it to the Celts and Druids to throw a spin on their own freakin’ festivals.
“River,” Jamie turned to his cousin, “this kid M could somehow be involved in this hunt.” Jamie tapped the leather bound book and glanced at his cousin.
“It’s a damn diary Jamie. From the 1800s no less. Milk the cows, rope the goats, go to the privy to take a crap…what could it possibly have to do with the ghost we may or may not have here.”
Jamie scowled, “First of all, smart ass, there were bathrooms in 1896, probably here at MMA too because this was a pretty fancy school then. Secondly, what’s wrong with the supposition that the ghost has been around for over a hundred years? We’ve both seen ghosts as old or older.”
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe because this is the first we’ve heard of it? Doncha think an over 100 year old ghost would have made some kind of dent in the paranormal normal?”
“Just take a look okay?” Jamie slid his rolling chair in River’s direction, thrusting the diary at him with little preamble. River scanned the entries quickly and then stared at Jamie with a blank look.
“Okay, so we’ve got a kid who says he’s afraid of the dark and his admittedly ‘feeble-minded’ Grand Da from the old country has some stories about something supernatural that he believes is real. That’s not a lot to go on Jamie.”
“But it’s what we got. - Besides, he should be afraid of the dark, you and I both know what’s out there. “Jamie’s voice had an edge to it, he couldn’t help it. River knew better than this.
Jamie took another deep breath trying to slow his breathing down. Gramps did that often. Sometimes River was the recipient of the what they both thought of as “I’m gonna breathe before I kill ‘em” exercise, other times it was Jamie. Oddly enough, once in a while it was his father or Uncle Sam who got the stink eye from Gramps. That made Jamie smile just a bit; it was sometimes hard to believe that Gramps was still the patriarch of the Winchesters. It wasn’t just a title either; Gramps could make you follow orders with just a look, very seldom did he have to move into the realm of threat or promise.
As cousins, it wasn’t very often that they did it to each other.
It didn’t work very well anyway. Still agitated Jamie spoke low, “We are here to check on a ghost dickhead. Someone - Dad or Uncle Sam or Gramps got wind of something through the grapevine and in case you are having a brain fart, that is why we are here checking this place out. There could be an old ghost here. There could be something else. How do we know? Besides this journal mentions Samhain. There could be a tie in.”
“Samhain? Now we are going back to 16th century Druids?” River spoke disdainfully, “Samhain is over. All the little kiddies have finished TPing the yards and eaten enough candy to make themselves puke. It’s November now so if Samhain had something to do with it, well it’s a done deal.” Then lower and almost as an afterthought, River muttered, “If there is a ghost in this craptastic school and I sincerely doubt it, it probably has to do with creepy Fraser and his closet of horrors.”
That caused Jamie to eye roll River, “Dude, are you still holding an ass whippin’ against the man, because you freakin’ need to move on.”
“Oh, that’s riiight.” River sneered, “Jamie Winchester, soldier supreme and teacher’s pet would naturally be on the side of Commandant Klink.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side River, but you are plucking my nerves and I like you.” Jamie glared at River then added. “Usually.” Jamie continued his tirade, “And if you would get just get your head out of your ass, you would realize that this kid M, is quite possibly the only lead we have. Hell, it is the only lead we have”
River furrowed his brow, “How can it be a lead if it is a hundred years old?”
Jamie wanted to smack him.
River flounced, literally flounced on his rack, obviously irritated at Jamie’s insistence that they continue to give any credence to M and his stupid diary. They were both wearing the sleepwear provided by MMA. Boxer shorts and T shirts, army green and ugly but functional. True it was November but November in Georgia was not really all that cold and neither boy wanted to put on the “winter” sleep wear which consisted of the same under clothes but scratchy woolen pants and shirts. Jamie could care less about his night time “uniform” but River was obviously sick of at least the T-shirt and maybe sick of Jamie too. He pulled the green t-shirt over his head, balled it up and threw it on the floor.
“Seriously? You are having a temper tantrum? Would you like a pacie?” Jamie jeered.
River glared at Jamie balefully then jumped to his feet. Barefoot and shirtless he headed toward Jamie with intent.
“Bring it.” Jamie said and it was on.
Both boys were well versed in fighting and killing. They very seldom tried to kill each other but they did fight frequently. Often it was under the guise of sparring but this was nothing of the sort. River threw a solid upper cut aimed at Jamie’s chin. Jamie dodged but still felt the impact as River’s slightly curled fist caught the corner of his brow. River had a longer reach but Jamie had long since learned how to deal with that. River knew it as well as Jamie and he stood well back bouncing on his toes. Jamie was faster than Riv though, he’d always been athletic and while River was no slacker in that department, he didn’t have the speed and agility that constant hours of football, baseball and soccer had taught Jamie. River swam, Jamie thought feeling childishly superior. Still, River was a really good swimmer. Yeah and that was great if they were in the water, River could outswim Jamie, that was true, but on land he was the proverbial fish out of water. Well, maybe not a fish, more like a crocodile - fast when he needed to be and just as dangerous and deadly.
Still, Jamie moved in lightening quick and made a quick jab at River’s abdomen, followed by a solid round house that hit River in the face. River seemed to ignore the belly punch but spun back at the impact of the blow to his head.
Both Jamie and River fell, Jamie with the strength of the punch and River for the same reason. They hit the desk that was tucked up neatly on one side of the room. It was an old desk with dovetailed drawers and worn from years of boys working on and around it. Apparently though, it met it’s match when it came to fighting Winchesters because it splintered under the collective weight of River and Jamie.
They both sat in stunned silence.
A moment later the door to their room opened and the DS walked in, “What the hell?”
They scrambled together like a six legged colt, arms and legs struggling to stand amongst the desks’ rubble.
“Sir!” Jamie croaked.
“Drill Sergeant” The DS amended.
They stood at attention, Jamie and River as rigid as poles. Jamie felt the small trickle of blood from where River’s punch had landed in the place where bone and skin had little in the way of flesh. Jamie knew too that River’s eye had to be red and was probably already starting to deepen in the dark plum and purple that signified a black eye.
They were so screwed.
September 29, 1896
There is something dreadfully wrong here. I don’t know what it is and I don’t know why I am the only one who seems to be affected by it. I suppose it is possible other boys feel it and much like myself, refuse to tell anyone. Still, the rest of the Cadre marches on. Examinations are given. Punishment doled out. Rifle practice bragged about. These things all seem trivial to me, and yet I must participate in them.
I did play hooky this morning during Latin. Playing hooky has such a childish sound to it, but the truth was I had been up all night and I just couldn’t bring myself to participate in a class that seems so irrelevant.
There is not much information available regarding the sights I have been privy to here. The things I have seen could not be found or researched in the library. Then again, why should they be? Perhaps I am going insane. That would be one reason for hallucinations. And that is what this must be. Then again, what if that is not the case? That is why I have written my Grand Da in Ireland as he some experience with similar things. Or at least that is what Father said in the past. Not in those words really, more that Grand Da is momma’s Da and that he is feeble minded. I am not sure exactly what type of ailment he has, but if it has something to do with the things I have seen of late, then his feeble-mindedness might well be madness. I feel as if I am going ma too. Perhaps I am genetically predisposed to madness. I don’t know. Still, I hope that he might have some information for me.
M
October 28, 1896
I have received word from my Grandfather. He is too ill to travel here but the tone of his letter was adamant. Grand Da says that the things I have been experiencing are real and dangerous and that All Hallows Eve or Samhain will be the time when things become even worse. I don’t know how much worse they can get! I don’t sleep, I barely eat and I feel as if I am in a fog most of the time.
I have been sent to the Commandant’s office on four separate occasions, the last three culminating in thrashings. Being whipped for doing something wrong is one thing, I on the other hand, am being whipped for inattentiveness. I am inattentive because there is something terrible happening and I don’t think I can figure it out, nor do I think I can talk to someone about it. Except my Grand Da and he is a world away.
I shall give it a few more days, that is all I have anyway. Rabbie has promised not to write Father and I am appreciative of that. He is a good man and a good father but he will not be happy to learn of my trips to the Commandant. They are likely to result in a trip to the woodshed when he next visits. As much as I wish to avoid that at almost all costs, I’m afraid if I don’t resolve the problem here, I shan’t even be around to feel the licking.
M
The nape of Jamie’s hair prickled. Whatever was happening with M might be coming to a head at Samhain. Suddenly the somewhat interesting subject matter of M’s diary was becoming more likely to be an actual lead than just a kid’s journal from the 1800s. He made a mental note that it was now November and that Samhain had already passed. But for M, the kid was heading into the time when the Celts believed the veil between death and life was at it’s thinnest. They believed that ghosts and spirits could come and go at will. Sometimes, it was said, people in this world could travel to theirs. Jamie knew that the dead didn’t need Samhain to walk the earth, but the fact was that increased paranormal activity was a given and poor M would be right in the middle of it. Jamie struggled for a moment trying to think of the Celtic Calendar and what time they would be in during November, for it was November now. Beltane was in the spring, October was Samhain. Both were fire festivals and linked with the dead. But November and December were known as…Dumannios - The Darkest Depths. He offered a silent prayer to Uncle Sam who insisted on all arcane knowledge associated with anything supernatural. When Jamie had been nine and irritated at having to learn the Celtic Calendar he could have kicked the man in the shins.
“I always thought of the “Darkest Depths” as deep winter or something like that…I mean it makes sense, the darkest depths of the year,” Jamie wondered out loud, but maybe the name was far more sinister. What if the “Darkest Depths” had something to do with a supernatural situation. The lore didn’t state that, at least not to his memory, but leave it to the Celts and Druids to throw a spin on their own freakin’ festivals.
“River,” Jamie turned to his cousin, “this kid M could somehow be involved in this hunt.” Jamie tapped the leather bound book and glanced at his cousin.
“It’s a damn diary Jamie. From the 1800s no less. Milk the cows, rope the goats, go to the privy to take a crap…what could it possibly have to do with the ghost we may or may not have here.”
Jamie scowled, “First of all, smart ass, there were bathrooms in 1896, probably here at MMA too because this was a pretty fancy school then. Secondly, what’s wrong with the supposition that the ghost has been around for over a hundred years? We’ve both seen ghosts as old or older.”
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe because this is the first we’ve heard of it? Doncha think an over 100 year old ghost would have made some kind of dent in the paranormal normal?”
“Just take a look okay?” Jamie slid his rolling chair in River’s direction, thrusting the diary at him with little preamble. River scanned the entries quickly and then stared at Jamie with a blank look.
“Okay, so we’ve got a kid who says he’s afraid of the dark and his admittedly ‘feeble-minded’ Grand Da from the old country has some stories about something supernatural that he believes is real. That’s not a lot to go on Jamie.”
“But it’s what we got. - Besides, he should be afraid of the dark, you and I both know what’s out there. “Jamie’s voice had an edge to it, he couldn’t help it. River knew better than this.
Jamie took another deep breath trying to slow his breathing down. Gramps did that often. Sometimes River was the recipient of the what they both thought of as “I’m gonna breathe before I kill ‘em” exercise, other times it was Jamie. Oddly enough, once in a while it was his father or Uncle Sam who got the stink eye from Gramps. That made Jamie smile just a bit; it was sometimes hard to believe that Gramps was still the patriarch of the Winchesters. It wasn’t just a title either; Gramps could make you follow orders with just a look, very seldom did he have to move into the realm of threat or promise.
As cousins, it wasn’t very often that they did it to each other.
It didn’t work very well anyway. Still agitated Jamie spoke low, “We are here to check on a ghost dickhead. Someone - Dad or Uncle Sam or Gramps got wind of something through the grapevine and in case you are having a brain fart, that is why we are here checking this place out. There could be an old ghost here. There could be something else. How do we know? Besides this journal mentions Samhain. There could be a tie in.”
“Samhain? Now we are going back to 16th century Druids?” River spoke disdainfully, “Samhain is over. All the little kiddies have finished TPing the yards and eaten enough candy to make themselves puke. It’s November now so if Samhain had something to do with it, well it’s a done deal.” Then lower and almost as an afterthought, River muttered, “If there is a ghost in this craptastic school and I sincerely doubt it, it probably has to do with creepy Fraser and his closet of horrors.”
That caused Jamie to eye roll River, “Dude, are you still holding an ass whippin’ against the man, because you freakin’ need to move on.”
“Oh, that’s riiight.” River sneered, “Jamie Winchester, soldier supreme and teacher’s pet would naturally be on the side of Commandant Klink.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side River, but you are plucking my nerves and I like you.” Jamie glared at River then added. “Usually.” Jamie continued his tirade, “And if you would get just get your head out of your ass, you would realize that this kid M, is quite possibly the only lead we have. Hell, it is the only lead we have”
River furrowed his brow, “How can it be a lead if it is a hundred years old?”
Jamie wanted to smack him.
River flounced, literally flounced on his rack, obviously irritated at Jamie’s insistence that they continue to give any credence to M and his stupid diary. They were both wearing the sleepwear provided by MMA. Boxer shorts and T shirts, army green and ugly but functional. True it was November but November in Georgia was not really all that cold and neither boy wanted to put on the “winter” sleep wear which consisted of the same under clothes but scratchy woolen pants and shirts. Jamie could care less about his night time “uniform” but River was obviously sick of at least the T-shirt and maybe sick of Jamie too. He pulled the green t-shirt over his head, balled it up and threw it on the floor.
“Seriously? You are having a temper tantrum? Would you like a pacie?” Jamie jeered.
River glared at Jamie balefully then jumped to his feet. Barefoot and shirtless he headed toward Jamie with intent.
“Bring it.” Jamie said and it was on.
Both boys were well versed in fighting and killing. They very seldom tried to kill each other but they did fight frequently. Often it was under the guise of sparring but this was nothing of the sort. River threw a solid upper cut aimed at Jamie’s chin. Jamie dodged but still felt the impact as River’s slightly curled fist caught the corner of his brow. River had a longer reach but Jamie had long since learned how to deal with that. River knew it as well as Jamie and he stood well back bouncing on his toes. Jamie was faster than Riv though, he’d always been athletic and while River was no slacker in that department, he didn’t have the speed and agility that constant hours of football, baseball and soccer had taught Jamie. River swam, Jamie thought feeling childishly superior. Still, River was a really good swimmer. Yeah and that was great if they were in the water, River could outswim Jamie, that was true, but on land he was the proverbial fish out of water. Well, maybe not a fish, more like a crocodile - fast when he needed to be and just as dangerous and deadly.
Still, Jamie moved in lightening quick and made a quick jab at River’s abdomen, followed by a solid round house that hit River in the face. River seemed to ignore the belly punch but spun back at the impact of the blow to his head.
Both Jamie and River fell, Jamie with the strength of the punch and River for the same reason. They hit the desk that was tucked up neatly on one side of the room. It was an old desk with dovetailed drawers and worn from years of boys working on and around it. Apparently though, it met it’s match when it came to fighting Winchesters because it splintered under the collective weight of River and Jamie.
They both sat in stunned silence.
A moment later the door to their room opened and the DS walked in, “What the hell?”
They scrambled together like a six legged colt, arms and legs struggling to stand amongst the desks’ rubble.
“Sir!” Jamie croaked.
“Drill Sergeant” The DS amended.
They stood at attention, Jamie and River as rigid as poles. Jamie felt the small trickle of blood from where River’s punch had landed in the place where bone and skin had little in the way of flesh. Jamie knew too that River’s eye had to be red and was probably already starting to deepen in the dark plum and purple that signified a black eye.
They were so screwed.