This is the first chapter of a story I'm writing for my blog that's about our school careers counsellor, Mr. Bisdee. It's an exaggeration; he is not really the devil.
It’s Monday. The black crows are settling on the courtyard, beneath the looming white Cross which towers above. It’s silent, bar the whistling wind and occasional footsteps. There is a brief pause, a suspended moment of no motion, a deafening silence; and then, a sound. It’s a bell, a piercing, resounding and thunderous blast that resonates across the school. It’s cry is heard not three times before there is a tsunami of activity, as students pour out of the classrooms, filling the narrow, crowded walkways. They traverse in a myriad of directions, in complete chaos yet somehow maintaining some invisible structure to their frenzied movement.
I join the maelstrom. I ponder the morning; it is a dreaded one indeed. It’s period two, and time for my appointment. My appointment with destiny, and a horrible fate: An appointment with Master Bisdee.
I walk slowly, as if prolonging the agonizing moments in anticipation. It seems an eternity before I reach the final stretch, and yet, the journey was all too short. I’ve heard stories about Master Bisdee; all too unpleasant to recite. It seems others around me know, somehow, where I’m going; they cast brief, ominous glances as I pass. Their glares are not soothing in the least.
I approach the door. It appears massive, overwhelmingly huge, as if its top edge is disappearing into eternity. In numbingly-giant black titling, their darkness seeming to absorb all the light around it, are the words: ‘MASTER BISDEE: CAREERS COUNSELLOR.” I shudder. The wooden doorknob feels greasy beneath my trembling grasp, but in hindsight, it was probably fear-induced sweat that caused my slippery grip. I twisted the knob, and simultaneously, pulled the mighty heft of the door towards me. It released an immense creaking screech, and finally gave way.
I emerge in a dark hallway. When I mean dark, I mean absolute unflinching darkness; the kind of black beyond black that made the aforementioned doorknob appear bright pink. I couldn’t perceive any discernible familiar figures in the gloom. I managed to feel my way across the cold walls, until I found a box of matches on what felt like a small shelf attached to the wall. I strike a flame; holding it aloft, I swung it carefully around the shadow. I saw a narrow, long hallway, no furnishings or windows. There were unidentifiable pools of liquid, which would explain the musk which hung in the atmosphere. I ignored the fear this setting had caused in me, mustered up my courage, and proceeded.
After about ten minutes of eternity, stumbling awkwardly, makeshift torch dimly lighting the way, I find something. It was a small crevice, too small for a man, but just small enough for a boy; luckily, I am the latter. I crouch, and roll. I find myself in a different room; still dark, but not quite as so. There’s a pulsating red light, and as my eyes adjust, I see I’ve arrived in what appears to be the heart of Hell.
Screaming, shaking, I press up against the wall, only to be immediately repelled by the smell of the flesh on my back searing; it’s hot. Really hot. There are unbelievable infernos, their sources unidentifiable, surrounding the area. The ground is a rock, some kind of volcanic rock; it’s a disgusting brown, streaked with veins of crimson. I turn to the wall from whence I came, looking for the exit, but the hole has disappeared. I slowly look back at the nightmare. And there, where I could have sworn was empty space before, is a throne. It’s ivory, like bone. There are jagged spikes, like the points of fingers, protruding from it. And perched upon the throne, the seat of evil, is Him: Master Bisdee. I kneel.
‘Ah, sir, I believe I have an appointment for this period?’ I say, voice trembling. In the brief pause that follows, I dare to steal a glance at Master Bisdee. I am horrified and mesmerized at the same time. It’s eyes are like fire, twisted green flames that writhe in hollow darkness. And yet, there are pupils; they do not focus, they dart around, as if searching for something. They stare in opposite directions, and yet amazingly somehow I can tell he sees me very clearly. It’s skin is a deep red, like blood. It’s horns are like daggers. And it’s tongue is long, like a lizards, and darts in and out, snatching hellflys from orbit above his head. He speaks.
‘Ah, good evening, my boy. How goes it?’ He speaks soft, almost pleasantly, yet deceivingly. I am caught off-guard by his friendliness.
‘Umm… Yeah, not bad. You know, same old stuff,’ I reply. ‘Anyway, I was wondering about subjects for next y-’
‘SILENCE!’ He interrupts with a thunderous boom. ‘YOU’RE FATE WILL BE DETERMINED – NOW!’
Before I can react, a roulette wheel descends from a fiery chasm above. It lands with a crash on the rocky surface. It’s proportion is mind-blowing; you definitely wouldn’t find it in a casino. I peer in amazement. I see pictures, and words, instead of numbers. I make out the demoic letters; I can see ‘Toilet Scrubber,’ ‘Garbage Collector,’ and… I look in horror… ‘CAREERS COUNSELLOR!’
