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TWO: Convictions of Rum & Gin
VAN DUKE PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL is a 54-year-old establishment that consisted of four buildings and a quadrangle where assemblies took place, although it only appeared to be outdated because of the substandard construction, leaky faucets, broken windows, and cracking tiles. Rain leaked inside the classrooms through cracks in the ceiling—a great pain in the ass especially during the months of August thru October where the monsoon sets inland.
The high school was publicly funded through generous alumni donations and a small provincial fund that barely gets anything fixed. In fact, if it wasn’t for the donations, Van Duke would have been a putrid abandoned mess that posed a biohazard. The comfort rooms reek of leaking pee and bleach as rats and pests ran amok in wall holes and floor gaps. An intercom system, generously set up free of charge by a PTA member, ran from the principal’s mi
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The Midnight Club Murders THREE: The Show Must Go On
MONDAY CAME, two days after that sorrowful night. A body was found with a slit throat in Eurydice-11, lying on a pool of blood and with a spilled, white and pink liquid everywhere, which appeared to be liquor. Two bottles of branded alcohol and numerous plastic cups laid around the body. A razor blade which was rusty and bloodied was in its hand. It appeared to be bloated postmortem as it started to decompose. It gave of a putrefying, sulphurous smell which mixed up with the pungent aroma of the liquor, making the cops who were on the scene nauseous. Two days into decomposition, blood pooled on the body’s back and feet, making the skin appear black. Bloating has set in, pushing forward the eyes and making the tongue pop out a little. The scene was horrifyingly grotesque. The monsoon started to kick in. The students were expected to
The Midnight Club Murders FOUR: Intangible Wildfires
Dusk sets in gradually to a night,Birds of dark feather now take flightCold blackness arises to feathery orange,Sleeplessness resonates in rageDawn erases footsteps like the beach,Eyes that fear are closed stitchedIN HIS ROOM lit only by the cold, cyber realms of his computer, Mickey wrote poem after poem. Remnants of scars on his forearms reminded him of years and instruments past. Typewritten poems became his liturgy and coping mechanism. Gone are the years that his only sense of calm was the sharpness of a rusty piece of metal.Yet Mickey found himself secretly longing for it. Petrarchan words in lines and sonnets stopped working. Why did it stop work
The Midnight Club Murders FIVE: Behind the Scenes
CLASSES RESUMED THE FRIDAY thereafter. Another chilly August day with light drizzle every now and then. While the cooking pot of opinions and gossips and commentaries at Van Duke boiled down into a simmer, it never quite disappeared. Mostly fueled by the poisonous silence a week after Dean Ramos’ funeral and shortly just a few days after what seemed to be a prank. While most accepted that Dean’s death was self-inflicted—although only for the reason of accepting something and not dwelling on death any longer—a small few are convinced that something is definitely sketchy about two suicides at Van Duke exactly a year apart. Some of Dean’s teachers and acquaintances that were quite dear to him simply dismissed these and found the conspiracies tasteless and absurd.What remains of the Midnight Club did not exist on our plane of existence. Isaac became a recluse, growing a five-day-old stubble that made him look
The Midnight Club Murders SIX: Fallen Angels
IN THAT CITY, no one is distant from another. In the dark recesses of someone else’s apartment, Isaac laid bare on the bed with some guy he goes to after-school tutor with. “Are you coming to my 18th?” Gio Mendel asked. “I don’t think so, Gio. And, I don’t want to.” He was silent for a moment. “Is it because of the other day?” “Because of what?” “Because I told you, you know?” “Because I told you, what?” “Jesus Christ, Isaac. Stop acting so obtuse. You are fucking hurting me.” Gio looked at Isaac directly. He did seem hurt. “I have nothing to do with your feelings,
The Midnight Club Murders SEVEN: Polaroids on a String
BACK WHEN EVERYTHING was slightly off the status of okay,“Shit! I got foundation on my shirt, man!” a heavily blushed and contoured Isa Marie whined.“Oh, girl…” Christie Claricel tried rubbing the brown liquid but it further smudged the suffragette white uniform they both donned.“One chance for a great juniors yearbook and I effin’ ruined it.”“Turn that frown upside down, girl, here I’ve got an idea.”Quickly, Christie grabbed Isa’s arm and ran through the red forest of metal lockers in the corridor up to the dingy restroom at the end of the hallway. She propped herself up on her knee, trying to catch her breath.
The Midnight Club Murders EIGHT: Irreligious Suffering
AGATHA LEON HAS ALWAYS been swallowed by forests her entire life.She was a baby Moses left in a nest on the ground in 2003 at the western ridge of town by Hailey’s creek. John Webcracker, who was a Parisian at the local church, was going on a week-long Lenten meditation in the forests with noting but a knapsack of non-perishables. One afternoon, he heard the cries of a lone infant in the wilderness of leaves and branches as the crackling of the river’s water crashing along the jutting rock outcroppings harmonized with the baby’s cries.The Parisian was at the brink of fainting upon the sight of a Moses as if God itself has sent an infant to salvage right in front of him. Like his Lenten rituals in the forest and his unexpected finding of the baby was no coincidence but a message from God in a bottle.Soon, the heavens started to
The Midnight Club Murders NINE: Melting Wax
IN A LUNCH SHADE in the furthest of the campus sat Isaac Acaban and Mickey Conan, both seemingly in a competition of who had the baggiest under eyes. Neither had enough sleep for the past weeks.“What do you need from me?” nagged Isaac.“I just wanted to apologize for whatever happened the other night. To be honest, I’m still all loose from you saying that…”Mickey paused for a moment, arranging his thoughts. He closed in.“…it could be one of us.”The two were silent for a while, picking at their lunches but not really eating any of it.“Could be. Listen, Mickey. I want you to go through this in the most rational way. Your fears won’t do anything. Your smarts would. Think about it.”
The Midnight Club Murders TEN: Syndromes of Fear
YOU’RE NEXT.Agatha showed Mickey and Isa a piece of cardboard with stenciled letters, a note which signified that anyone of them could be the next Dean or Gwy at any moment in time.In front of them is a plot of land in the courtyard of Agatha’s apartment that was recently dug up. A small bonfire made of sticks poked in the burial site lit their faces in oranges and yellows. The late afternoon breeze swayed the colors like waves in the ocean.Mickey, Isa, and Agatha stood in one row behind the bonfire.“They killed my fucking dog,” Agatha whimpered in grief.“I found this cardboard next to his body when I woke up. Someone must have slipped poison in his meal. Why did they have to include him? This is so fucking unf
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- The Midnight Club Murders SIXTEEN: Wilted Petals
- The Midnight Club Murders FIFTEEN: A Performance in Two Acts
- The Midnight Club Murders FOURTEEN: The Great Humming
- The Midnight Club Murders THIRTEEN: The Bryophytes
- The Midnight Club Murders TWELVE: This is Melodrama
- The Midnight Club Murders ELEVEN: Elm Street of My Own
- The Midnight Club Murders ELEVEN: Elm Street of My Own
- The Midnight Club Murders TEN: Syndromes of Fear
- The Midnight Club Murders NINE: Melting Wax
