Raven's Gate

to visualize the metal bolts inside. He could move them. He could open the door with a key that existed only in his imagination. It was easy. He had the power.
    He reached out with his hands, trying to make the energy flow through them. “Turn!” he whispered. “Turn!”
    The handle turned.
    The door opened.
    Matt’s spirits soared – but only for a second. He had been cruelly deceived. Noah was standing on the other side. The farm worker had unlocked the door to bring Matt his breakfast. He was holding a tray with a mug of tea and a single slice of fried bread. What looked like a sickle hung from his belt. It had a wooden handle and a hooked blade that had been recently sharpened. The edge was raw silver and vicious.
    “Breakfast,” Noah muttered.
    “Greasy and disgusting,” said Matt.
    “You don’t want to eat it?”
    “I wasn’t talking about the breakfast. I was talking about you.”
    There was a gap in the floor. Matt had been aware of it from the moment Noah came in. But the question was, would Noah notice it? He had to keep Noah talking. Somehow he had to keep his attention diverted.
    Noah set the tray down on the bed.
    “I’d like a bath,” Matt said.
    “No bath.”
    “How about a shower? Or maybe you don’t know what that is. From the smell of you, I’d say you’ve probably never had one either.”
    The taunt worked. Noah was gazing at him, his attention diverted from the rest of the room. For a moment he stood there, breathing heavily. He took the sickle out of his belt and held it up to his lips. Then he ran his tongue down the blade. “I’ll enjoy watching you being killed,” he breathed. “You’ll scream like a pig. You’ll scream and you’ll cry, and I’ll be there!” He tucked the sickle back and walked over to the door. “No more food today,” he announced. “You can die hungry.” He slammed the door and locked it again.
    Matt waited until he was sure Noah had really left, then he gulped down his breakfast. The tea was cold, the fried bread soggy. But he didn’t care. Hot or cold, the food would give him strength and that was one thing he needed. He was secretly glad that Noah wasn’t going to bring him lunch. That gave him more time. It was obvious to him that he wasn’t going to open the door by magic – or any other means. There was only one way out of here and that was through the hole he had already made. It just had to be bigger, and now he could work uninterrupted all day.
    When Matt next looked at his watch it was just after three o’clock in the afternoon. His knees were sore. His back was stiff. His fingers were covered in blisters and one of his thumbs was gashed. But two more floorboards were free and only seven nails remained before the hole would be large enough for his purpose. He couldn’t jump down, or swing himself down at arm’s length. But he had another plan – and he would have only one chance to make it work.
    Six o’clock arrived and still the fourth plank refused to budge. Seven nails stood between him and success. Now he worked more feverishly, caring less about the noise. What would he do if this didn’t turn out the way he hoped? He smiled grimly to himself. The chisel was hardly the most effective of weapons but it would have to do. If he could at least give Noah something to remember him by, he would go more cheerfully. Picturing that moment, he stabbed down with the flattened bar of iron. Another nail came free.
    It was already dark when Noah returned. There was the familiar rattle of the key and the creak of the opening door. He stood on the threshold with the sickle tucked into his belt. There was no electricity in the room. He took out a torch and flicked it on.
    “Time to go.” Noah sang out the words. “They’re all waiting for you.”
    He was answered by complete silence.
    “What’s the matter?” he hissed. “Are you playing games?”
    From the far side of the room, where the bed stood, there came a painful groan.
    “What is it? Are you sick?”
    Matt groaned again and coughed – a hard, rattling cough. Anxiously, Noah held the torch at arm’s length.
    “If this is some sort of trick,” he threatened, “I’ll make you wish you’d never been born. I’ll—”
    He took two paces into the room and stepped on to the rug.
    The rug was covering the hole that Matt had spent the whole day making. Noah dropped the torch and disappeared without a sound. The rug went with him, sucked downwards like an animal trap.