The bloated corpse reading club

“Martin, you’re walking the same halls as ex-prime ministers!”

“I know Mum, like I’ve said I’m grateful to be here. I’m just not them.”

“I pay the tuition just like their parents! You’ve every right to be there.”

“And six months ago, I was at a regular school. These kids, their families have known each other for generations. Most of them are probably related.”

Mum grew quiet at that. I was trying to explain in my best I-don’t-want-to-piss-you-off-but that the gap between the students at my new school and me was far more than money. These kids came from a different world, a world laid out for them in which they climbed the ladders of business and politics as swift as an arrow.

“You’re just a smart as any of them. You deserve to have the chances they have.”

She was right about that, I still remembered how intimidated I had felt when I sat in on my first lesson. Surrounded by airs to fortunes and students with their family names on plaques all over the school. It wasn’t until a few weeks in, I realised most were more brash and assertive rather than smart. During an English lesson, some puffy cheeked boy went on a rant.

“No glover’s son could have written Macbeth.” He declared, earning thoughtful nods from those around him before insisting, iambic pentameter is deeply problematic.,

“Francis Bacon wrote it all anyway.” He rounded off before letting the teacher carry on.

Back in my old school if a kid said their dream was to be an astronaut or a footballer, it would always be strictly a pipe dream. Often followed by a joke or with eyes downcast, before teachers suggested something more realistic. In Meadowcroft academy there was no dream too ambitious. These posh kids strode the halls as if every goal they ever had was their divine right.

“I know Mum, I’m trying, when I speak to someone, it feels like I’m being sized up.”

“Sized up, what do you mean?”

“Not physically, they only want to know what school I went to before and what you and dad do. Nothing like, normal, like hobbies or something. I don’t belong mum.”

“Prioritise later son, I know your feeling alone. You’ve never been away from me and your father before and now you’re at a boarding school. It’s a huge step. But you’re future just got that bit brighter. Those barriers they hold up will come down, believe me.”

“OK Mum, I should really go.”

“I love you, son.”

“Love you.”

The line went dead. Each phone was in its own booth so there was no chance of me being heard, but still phoning home, especially amongst the boys seemed kind of taboo. Each of them trying to prove their independence.

Maybe I’m relying on them too much? I thought. The classes themselves we fine, with so much work to catch up on and learning the almost ritualistic etiquette of this place the days went by quick. After 4pm everyone was free for after school activities or catch up on schoolwork. That’s when I would feel the worst, completely alone I normally called mum or dad. I never thought listening to their boring shit would be the highlight of my day.

It was 4:15, nothing till 6 then dinner, but that only proved how out of my depth I was. Why would anyone need a specific fork for salad? Usually, I just grabbed some cold sandwiches and headed off to an empty classroom.

I wandered down the hall looking for a quiet space, thinking about calling my mum back when out of the corner of my eye, one of my teachers waved some paper at me from his office.

“Campbell.” He said, putting the paper down flat on his desk. Being called by my surname, another weird school thing. It always felt so impersonal, like these teenagers were little more than one cog in a huge clockwork dynasty. At least I didn’t have to worry about a legacy.

“Thank you, Professor.” I said picking up the paper. Professor Atatürk offered me a smile, his eyes already returning to his work. He had an intelligent face; it was lined despite being one of the younger staff and with eyes that sparkled at a right answer or an intriguing question. Out of all my teachers, he was the one I felt closest to even though we had never really talked. We had some discussions in class but never spoke one to one or anything.

Strangely I was quite jealous of him, it’s hard to describe but he seemed perfectly at odds with being alone. He walked the corridors alone and ate alone. I never seen him have so much as a quiet word with another teacher. Free from concern, bloody hell I wanted to be that.

He was well loved by the students for it, a kind of quiet charisma miles away from the uptight old men they were used to. It was obvious before he had settled into his teaching role, he had gone out and lived.

Leaving the office, I turned over the paper he had left for me. Across it in bold black letters above a golden sunrise read. “The bloated corpse reading club.” I laughed out loud at the name: it had more of a punch to it than chess club I supposed. Maybe a horror book club? It wasn’t my favourite genre but maybe someone there would want to make a friend rather than a “connection.” At the bottom of the page in small letters was written “Follow the small path behind the greenhouses, 8pm.”

I knew the place; I sometimes liked to help in the greenhouses. The earthy sweet smell of the tomato plants was always refreshing and reminded me of mum’s back garden. It was already getting dark now so by 8pm outside would be pitch black. I thought there was probably a spare classroom through the clearing, but I never heard of one.

A few alarm bells rang in my head, but I already knew I was going. If Professor Atatürk thought I’d be right for it then I needed to go to one meeting. I just hoped it wasn’t some prank.

I was still staring at the flyer when I heard loud flat footsteps echoing off the coved ceiling. I scrunched the paper in my fist and looked up. A heavy kid stopped in front of me. I recognised him, he had defended some point I had made in a class discussion once. Having a single person in my corner felt wonderful after having my entire argument dissected. I even approached him after class to thank him, accidentally oversharing how isolated I felt. He had spotted the paper in my hand, a small smile on his face.

“Alright? Do you know where I could get a torch?” I asked him before realising how weird of a question that was.

He pushed his glasses back up his nose, thinking.

“Oh, you’re going then?” he said, he flashed me a drawing on his wrist. It was small, a five-leaf clover with two arrow heads pointing to it either side, inside of a diamond shape.

“I’ll leave you one, on the bench just outside the greenhouse.”

He patted me on the arm with a nod before peering into Professor Atatürk’s office. The small gesture almost got me choked up after months of sniping comments or being outright ignored.

“Thank you so much, are you going too?” I must have sounded too overexcited about some after school club, but he laughed.

“I’ll be attending. Why not keep it to yourself. Let me take that off you.”

I looked down to see him pulling the crumpled flyer out of my hand before pocketing it. He looked me up and down before letting out a chuckle. The reassurance I felt dissolved, and the self-consciousness crept back in. Had I made some working-class faux pas he disapproved of?

“Apologies friend, it will be good for all of us if you were there, I’m Frater.” He reached out and took my hand in too solid of a grip. Even in a school full of unusual and old names I’d never met a “Frater” before. I shook his hand, matching the same strength he used.

“I’ll be there, thank you. I’m Martin.”

I couldn’t really decide whether I liked Frater. When he left down the corridor, I felt drained, like I’d sat through a lecture about nothing. I put it down to a long week, a cup of tea would perk me back up in time for tonight.

I grabbed a cup and sat down in a corner of the common room with it resting on my lap. Next thing I knew my tea was stone cold and on the verge of spilling. I managed to snatch it just in time and looked up. A half dozen boys let out sighs of disappointment, one handed over money to another.

“I’m sure it was going to soak him!” One said.

I set the tea down and brushed past my onlookers, halfway up the stairs to my bed I remembered the club. My watch said 8:10. I was tired and thought about just skipping it, but another evening alone felt crushing. I turned around and left for the greenhouses.

When I made it there, a torch was waiting for me just as Frater had promised. I clicked it on and found my way through the small path. It wasn’t long before my shoes were covered in mud. I had meant to change out of uniform, just another social screw up to throw on the pile I suppose.

Through the brush I could hear chatter, that made me relax a bit. When I got clear of the woods, I found the group of five boys sat around a campfire in the shell of what might have been a small chapel.

“Welcome to bloated man’s abbey!” Frater called over, I clicked off my torch and went to sit with him.

“Cutting the throat that should be obvious, no screaming.” One of the boys argued as I sat down.

“You’d be covered in blood!” A shorter boy shot back to the approval of the group. I nudged Frater and whispered.

“Which book are they talking about, should I have read it?”

Frater laughed.

“You here that fellas? Which book is it from?”

The five boys around me all laughed raucously, one even fell off the stone he was sat on holding his ribs, clearly just looking for attention. I could feel the blood rise in my neck, as usual I had blundered into another mistake rather than just keeping my mouth shut. I stood up.

“Were not laughing at you, Campbell.” Frater said, which only made me angrier. Why were first names so unmentionable in this place? Someone needs to tell them it’s not a seminary from the 1800’s. I walked back toward the clearing when torch light blinded me, I put my hands over my eyes and the light lowered. It was Professor Atatürk.

“Take a seat Campbell.” He strode past me; his disposition drew the attention of every boy there. They abandoned their talk about throat cutting, instead silently watching him take his place at the head of an old stone slab. I began to panic. Don’t explain yourself, just leave my mind kept telling me. I walked back to my seat and sat down next to Frater.

“The killer instinct,” Professor Atatürk began. “The ravenous hunger all great men possess. It’s not something that can be taught it must be awoken. That’s why your all here tonight. To wake.”

The boys all murmured their agreement. I caught a few glances in my direction before heads snapped away.

“You’ve been preparing for this night for a long time. I have chosen you because I believe you have this instinct. But it is not a monster easily awakened. However, once it is your ruthlessness will lead you to success, it’s a guarantee.”

My head felt light, I kept telling myself this is some bizarre hazing ritual, in a moment they’ll all shout boo and laugh as I sit there, red faced but relieved. That’s when the knife came out.

Professor Atatürk held it out above him, it didn’t glimmer or catch the moonlight, it looked black but plenty sharp. I leaned forward feeling bile climb up the back of my throat.

“You know what I’ve done, the world would call it monstrous, but it set me free in ways most never know. After tonight you be killers, all other obstacles you face on the way to achieving greatness will feel trivial.”

The professor locked eyes with me.

“Begin.”

For a moment nobody moved. I tried to process my next move, but I felt like I was being dragged underwater, red spots dotted my vision. To my left Fraters thick arm hooked my neck, before I could turn my legs were being lifted. I struggled a shrieked. Fighting for breath. I was lifted into the air. I thrashed my arms, managing to swipe at Fraters face before they were seized. There was a sudden splash of coldness against my back as I was dropped onto the stone slab. The other boys held me in place by my feet, arms and neck.

“Into my loneliness comes—” Professor Atatürk sang whilst slicing the buttons on my school shirt.

“The sound of a flute in dim groves that haunt the uttermost hills.”

I let out a bloodcurdling scream I didn’t know I had in me. The professor held out the knife to Frater, he took it in shaking hands.

“Please, I want my mum. I want to go home.” I pleaded through dread and tears.

“Even from the brave river they reach to the edge of the wilderness.”

Frater held the knife above my chest in two hands.

“And I behold Pan.”

A cry and a flash as the knife, cold and foreign, punctured my chest.