Irene grabbed her mother’s hand harder than usual as they walked through the quiet lane. It was midnight and the streets were empty. Most of the streetlamps in their small town of Erringstone were out except for one lonely, flickering lamp that appeared to be the only lamp awake like Irene and her mother were the only humans awake.
Irene’s mother, Elizabeth, was a journalist who had just been kicked out of her lavish apartment after failing to pay the rent for three consecutive months. What could she do? There was no scoop to find! This was precisely the reason why they were out at night in this godforsaken silent and damp place.
Erringstone was an incredibly unremarkable town. It was a miniscule dot on the map of England and hardly anyone visited. The town was so disconnected from London that they hardly received any funds. Erringstone’s chief source of income was its coal mine where workers toiled day after day to earn some money. This unremarkable trait lasted for well over three hundred years until one strange man stepped out of a carriage and set up his factory. Every day, the factory churned out smoke and workers flocked to it. For a good fifty years, the factory ran until one day, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The beak-masked man vanished, and his workers moved out. Later when asked what had happened, their eyes would glaze over and they would say, “It was odd.”
Elizabeth had heard rumours surrounding the factory, rumours that she scarcely believed, being a woman of science, but nonetheless, found it fascinating. Elizabeth hoped to prove or disprove the rumours once and for all to regain lost glory and fame. She regretted dragging Irene along, but they had only a dingy apartment in which she felt uncomfortable leaving her ten-year-old daughter.
Irene was afraid. She always had a distaste for journalism but now she found the job even more despicable. What sort of job required her to travel to remote, dark streets for investigation of a madman’s factory? She had heard the rumours alright, and they had made her stay awake for nights.
The legend had it that the beak-man was an occultist, and his factory was a place he built to summon some dark mechanical demon. What rubbish! Irene tried with all her scientific mind to dispel those rumours but alas! Her childlike curiosity and fear preserved it. The rumour further said that after his demise, the factory shut down and his spirit lingers on, seeking a way to summon the demon. The pair continued travelling down a rough path that continued a bit beyond the edge of the town before stopping at the factory. It was a hundred times more imposing than she had imagined. Irene shivered.
“Mom… Mom!”
“What is it, Sweetie?”
“Can we please go home?”
“Not now, Sweetie… I’m so close to the truth.”
Irene was frightened. The factory door looked like the hole into a dark void. Elizabeth pressed on, not caring. The little girl followed her mother, holding her hand tightly. The two entered the factory and Elizabeth brought out a torch. The light flickered on as they traversed through the factory. All the while, Irene could swear she heard a low metallic grumble deep within the facility. Elizabeth disregarded this and started searching. A faint whisper reached Irene’s ears.
“Mom! I can hear something. Let’s leave!”
“Irene! Don’t disturb me!”
Another whisper. Footsteps drew closer. Irene practically whimpered in terror.
“If I get this scoop we’ll go back to our big house! Don’t you want that?”
Suddenly the wind howled and shifted. A hazy black figure stepped down out of a spectral carriage. It seemed insubstantial yet had a vague definiteness to it. There was a tall hat perched on its head. A raven-topped walking stick was in its hand and a beak-like mask upon its face.
“The Beak-man!” Irene cried out.
Elizabeth gasped and fumbled for her camera. A bright flash ripped through the air. The Beak-man snarled and turned to them. The soulless eyes of the mask stared at the pair.
The beak-man made some incomprehensible noises from the back of his throat like he was gurgling. It was a dull, raspy mumble.
Irene grabbed her mother’s hand and ran as a mechanical roar filled the air. The rumour was true. The master had awoken. The pair raced for the door as they heard the raspy screams of the beak-man. They reached the entrance and saw the gate collapsing. They raced over and skidded across and out the gate as it fell. Irene slammed the padlock down and jammed it so no one could open it. The beak-man let out a blood-curdling scream before the screams faded.
Irene panted and shivered. Elizabeth cried softly in relief.
“Thank God!” she said. “We are safe.”
Indeed. They were safe.
As it turned out, Erringstone was a remarkable town, but not for pleasant reasons.
– Neyah Rohit Kanukollu (10J)