I am gutted because of this, but not dispirited, I am already working a different story. I'm gutted because I felt, and still feel the story and the concept is good enough to get published, there's nothing much like it on the market as far as I'm aware. One day, perhaps the story will be published and the series, hopefully.
'Into the Ravens Nest' was going to be part of the 'Unknown' series, about a journalist called Reuben Elza who is the lead investigator of a magazine called 'The Unknown', which specialises in the supernatural. The setting of this story was an abandoned prison called 'Ravens Gate'. The story is a mystery with the undertones of the horror genre.
I hope you enjoy it, and please don't copy any ideas or any of it at all. Be original.
O, it was edited by me, but there may be mistakes, it was never professional gone over. But it should all make sense.
Into the Ravens Nest
Chapter one:
The gentle tapping sound of rain hitting the windows, along with the rickety movements of the carriage above the rail tracks, was oddly soothing and comforting. The first class carriage was half empty and the voices of those who occupied it were very silent, it was early evening and their faces were tired, some stared aimlessly at the dark violet skies which would soon break into dusk, while others were buried in their books, newspapers and tablets.
At the very back of the carriage, Reuben Elza was seated on his own at a table, although his eyes were closed he was still awake listening to the quaint sounds of the downpours outside. His comfort was disrupted when a young woman’s voice spoke towards him,
“would you like some more tea?”
He opened his eyes and to his side was a young female employee holding a snack trolley, she could not have been older than nineteen or twenty in age.
As soon as their eyes met, her docile face grimaced and she put her hand to her mouth and said “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you” her voice began to stutter and her body language showed signs of hesitation, “this is my first day, I am really sorry”,
“It’s no problem” Reuben replied, she was fortunate that she had done what she had to him, others might not have been so nice and forgiving if she had actually woken them from their sleep.
“I could do with a nice cuppa tea, if you don’t mind”
“”Yeah sure” now relaxed, she smiled and then served him the drink.
“I know I’ve said it before but I am really sorry that I woke you up”.
“It’s no problem, I wasn’t sleeping and I could do with a hot drink”.
“Would you like some sugar with that?”
“Two please” Reuben never took sugar with his coffee, but when it came to tea he did, he rarely drank coffee but could go through at least a dozen cups of tea a day.
Once more they shared smiles and she walked back up the aisle to serve the other passengers. With the tips of his fingers he rubbed his eyelids, and then moved them down to the soft half moon skin beneath his eyes. His eyes felt small and lethargic, he felt mentally drained, he knew that as soon as he got into bed, and his head hit the pillow, he would be asleep in no time.
He tore open the sachets and poured the sugar into the cup, stirred and immediately took his first sip. He rejoiced in its sweet aroma, the succulent taste relaxed him, he just hoped that the caffeine would not kick in and keep him awake later in the evening. For a few moments he leaned back into his seat and stared out of the window, as his mind began to empty of thought once again. He watched as the raindrops poured down the glass from one streak to another, criss crossing into one another. Reuben took frequent sips of his drink, until he picked up his work bag and placed it on top of the table, leaned forward, and took out its contents.
Reuben worked for a magazine by the name of ‘The Unknown’, it was a monthly print magazine which was primarily focused on anything related to the supernatural. As contributing editor and lead investigator, it was up to him to produce a front cover
investigation regarding a well known or lesser known story associated with the supernatural. The results of these investigations were varied, some were far more interesting than others, these were the one’s that drew out the best evidence from his investigations, which in turn made for the better articles, which would then make for a far better eye catching front cover. The magazine was one of a kind, and its strong circulation and website traffic was evidence of this.
He separated his work, and then pieced together what would be useful and what might not be, these included his shorthand and longhand notes, tape recordings, photographs, among a few other things. The investigation he had just returned from had taken him to a place in an old castle in Scotland, the subject was one that involved the ghost of a little girl who haunted its grounds. There was no doubt that the castle was haunted by a young girl, he had sound recordings and eyewitness accounts to back this up, but it was hardly front cover material. To put it simply, it was not going to provide the regular reader with something they had not read before, and it was not going to entice a non reader to buy the magazine.
He wrote his final articles with three things in mind, the location, the history, and above all, primarily, his own experience of the supernatural during his investigation, if there was any to write about. If all of these components were achieved the article would be much easier to write. The location and history was important because it made the article interesting to read, it helped to build up the drama before the main body of text which detailed what had happened in his investigation.
With all of the information placed into different groups he put everything back into his bag, separating those that would be used and those that would not be. He began to gulp down the last half of his tea when his phone began to ring from the inside of his jacket pocket.
Above the call sign, the name Mark appeared on the screen. Mark Jones was the owner of Raccoon Press, the publishing house which put ‘The Unknown’ to print, although he was a businessman, Mark had a very hands on approach to the magazines his company published. Paying particularly close attention to ‘The Unknown’, and Reuben’s work was the main reason behind this. There could only be one reason why he had chosen to call him at such a late hour, and that was to check up on whether his investigation was good enough to make the front cover. The irony being that it was never Reuben’s idea to investigate the castle but Mark’s.
“Hello” he answered
“So tell me, how did the investigation go? Do we have another front cover lead?”
Mark was a man in his late fifties to early sixties, Reuben had been told once but couldn’t remember the exact number. His deep croaked voice was an indicator that he was a heavy and persistent smoker, and probably had been for a very long time.
“I’m afraid not, the whole investigation was a disappointment, as I suspected, I really shouldn’t have taken your word so seriously, but with that said the whole experience wasn’t a complete waste of time, I will do my best to write as good as an article as I can”.
There was a short pause where all he could hear was the long winded breaths on the other end,
“well never mind” he replied, failing to hide the disappointment in his voice “just put the article together and we’ll see where we get with it. But before I go I’d appreciate it if you could come and see me in my office as soon as you arrive for work tomorrow,
“Is there any particular reason?”
Never before had Mark phoned him to tell him to specifically meet him in his office, no matter what time of the day it was.
“You just have to come and see me, would be far easier if I explained it to you in person”.
They soon said their goodbyes, Reuben could only think of one reason why Mark would want to speak to him so early in the day, and it was certainly in regard to a new investigation that he wished to assign to him. Whatever it was that he had to offer him, he would not accept it unless it was really worth his time.
As contributing editor and lead investigator, unlike most other journalists who worked for Raccoon Press, Reuben had a lot of freedom in regard to his employment with the company, unless it was insisted upon him he could pick and choose where his work took him. There was an understanding between the two of them that Mark needed Reuben, more than Reuben needed Mark. With ten minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive at Kings Cross he leaned against the window, with his eyes closed he listened to the rain hitting the window.
It wasn’t often that Reuben commuted on public transport, it was only when his work took him to long journeys that he did so. He was thankful that it was not rush hour peak time, with it being late evening most of the trains on the London Underground were only scantily populated. One noticeable change between the years that he’d used the underground service was the ever increasing price of the fares, which had never once been met with a higher standards of service. With that said, the underground service was a strange place because it was one of the few places where people from all ranges of background mixed amongst one another.
He tried hard not to sleep to the clanging sound of the tracks under the carriage, it would have been nice to have had the chance of a lay in the next day, but with the meeting in the morning, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t long before he got off at Liverpool street station to catch his next train, it felt peculiarly strange to see such a large space so quiet, previous visits were during the day when there were so many commuters and so few considerations for social etiquette and politeness.
Once the train had left the platform it took a further thirty minutes to get to Romford, a market town on the outskirts of East London. He could afford a place in a more central part of the city, closer to work, but he had been settled in the area for a number of years, although it could be a bit of mission to get into the centre of the city in the morning, getting to work was on the whole, trouble free most of the time. It wasn’t yet the right time to move out from his flat, which had become a sanctuary from the outside world.
His flat was situated in a modern eight storey high rise just a short walk away from the town hall and market. Reuben moved in three years ago, he was its first and so far only its occupant, the building was oval shaped and from a bird’s eye view would resemble the shape of a human eye. He took the elevator up to the eighth and highest floor, where he lived at number thirty two, the interior of the halls was still clean with white walls, although the fresh smell of paint had faded long ago, the marble floors were still pristine and shiny.
He keyed himself in and closed the door behind him, on entering the flat was a small foyer, in front of the small foyer was a hallway which spined through the flat, where two doors on either side and a large living room at the end. He took off his dark blue scarf and black suede coat, tossed them above the small telephone stand where the landline phone (which he never used) was placed on top, he slipped his shoes off and immediately made his way into his small office where he put his workbag on top of the desk, and then made his way into the living room.
The living room like the rest of the flat was decorated with a simple colour scheme, the few ornaments he had were black, a small glass round table was located in front of a small leather sofa facing the television, which was attached to the wall. Reuben watched as little television as he possibly could, and whenever he did it was usually just to sound out the silence, and if it was on, it was usually switched onto one of the news channels. He would watch the main headlines and take little notice from there on. Although the news cycle changed, the same things were always discussed, only in a different context. Most of it depressing and much of it trivial.
At the back of the living room was a set of glass French doors which led to the outside balcony. He switched on one of the two lamplights in the living room, he rarely used the ceiling light, because even in the evening he didn’t like it being too bright. The soft shades of light from the lamps helped him relax, and the outside streetlights could be seen from the inside.
It was too late to drink a tea or coffee so he made himself a boiled lemon juice, he was tired and intended to go asleep earlier than he usually would. He took the drink with him into his study room, the warm flavour of the lemon was luscious, his throat felt less constrained and dehydrated because of its warmth. His office was the only room in the flat which was cluttered and untidy, with stacks of paperwork piled up in various points in the room, in one corner was his flute case. He had been an accomplished musician since his infancy, and the flute was the instrument that he had carried on playing throughout his life, he tried to practise as much as he possibly could, it was another way for him to escape the constraints of reality.
On one wall was an almost full bookshelf, and another was one sheet posters of some of ‘The Unknown’ front covers, all taken from his own investigations.
He sat down at his desk where a few unfinished cans of coke, various leaflets, stationery and sweet wrappers were lying around, he opened his work bag and took out the contents of the investigation, skimmed through everything one more time and then put them back. He hoped that whatever it was that Mark was going to offer him would be worth his time, if it wasn’t, he was not going to oblige to his request.
Reuben logged onto his computer, for work purposes he always used his tablet, but he had a far more powerful computer in his home office. He checked through his email, there was nothing of any importance so he readily logged off and shut it down. He took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and went outside on the balcony. The heavy breeze smothered his face, and created purple blemishes on his knuckles as he held the cigarette. It was perfect autumn weather, the rain had stopped but there was still a damp mist in the air.
He lit up the cigarette and began to breath in and exhale the lucid blue flumes, as he looked out onto the streets below. It was a good view from where he was, in the distance he could see the lighted spire of a local church which overlooked the market. In the background was the faint sound of traffic and the local railway track that ran through town, it made for an extraordinarily calm atmosphere.
It was only on the rare occasion that he smoked, a pack of twenty could last him a whole month, the only reason he would ever do so was in effect to relax and empty his mind of any thought. He had never once become addicted and he could never understand why it was so hard for people to give it up. When he did smoke, he liked to do so on the outside balcony of his flat, so he could watch the streets below, it helped to hoover out his thoughts. As soon as he was finished he stubbed the cigarette out on the glass ashtray sitting on a small table, and went back inside. The time had passed 10.00pm and Reuben was tired, the long train journey had taken its toll on him, with the morning start he had a reason to get in bed at a time he usually didn’t.
As soon as he undressed he climbed into the bed and laid back, the back of his head resting against the soft feathered pillow, the cold sheets were welcoming. For a short while he stared up at the ceiling, looking into the darkness, he thought about what he had experienced in Scotland and how he was going to put that into a decent article. It was not long before he fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter two:
The horrible sound of the two tone alarm droned out from the bedside cabinet at dead on 7.00am. For fifteen minutes he lay awake staring out of the window, outside the sunlight was high and beautiful, in the far corner the sun shined like a golden marble, the light beamed into his room, the sky was electric blue. It was a perfect early autumn morning. The weather had been consistent in the last week, the day would start sunny but towards late afternoon and early evening, dull grey clouds would close in and the rain would pour down, it was a sign that summer had passed, and winter wasn’t too far away.
With tradition, Reuben got out of bed and immediately showered, the scolding hot water felt good against his flesh and un-tightened the muscles in his upper body, as he stood underneath the shower he massaged his face, particularly around the skin under his eyes and eyelids. He dressed into a new change of clothing, black trousers and a dark blue shirt, he never wore a tie and thought they were pointless, he never felt the need to tuck his shirt in, and his shoes were simple, taupe coloured design, which he had bought from a supermarket. He dressed smart but not overly so to draw attention to himself.
He sat down in front of the television with a cup of coffee (the only time he ever drank it), with two slices of toast, one plain and the other with marmalade. As he watched one of the news channels, the weather forecast made for depressing viewing, light showers were to begin to fall by 3.00pm and carry on through most of the evening, and it was going to continue in the same way for much of the following week.
When he was ready he left the flat just before 8.00am, it would take just under an hour to get to the other side of the city. The offices to Racoon Press were located in Camden, North West London. It was one of the nicest parts of the city, and it was not too far from Enfield, Reuben’s town of birth.
The publishing house was based in an old three storey Victorian house, much of its elegance had been kept in place, it was the kind of building which would stand out on any street, a reminder of when much more thought and artistry was put into architecture. At the entrance was an arched passageway which led to the black front door, sitting above it was a gargoyle monument with the year of the building’s foundation.
Each floor was home to different publications, The Unknown team was housed on the third and top floor, it was also where Mark’s office was located. Reuben made his way inside the building by swiping his key card on the meter to the side of the front door. On entering, Rebecca, the front desk receptionist, noticed him right away. She was only in her early twenties, like many graduates who enter the labour market, she was working in a job that her studies had nothing to do with and one she was probably overqualified for, she had only been in the job for a couple of months. She was a happy soul, always smiling and interested in other people, her personality fitted her job perfectly. She rose from her chair just as Reuben walked into the foyer, she greeted him with a smile, of which he returned the gesture.
“How was your time away?” it was the same question she always asked when he returned from being away on work duty, despite their friendly chats not once had they ever discussed the specifics of anything related to his investigations.
“Fine, but it wasn’t what I wanted to do, I certainly could have done something better if I had chosen the investigation myself, but Mark was insistent and I couldn’t resist”.
“Well” she said “he told me to tell you that he wants to see you in his office as soon as you arrived”,
“We’ve already agreed on a meeting, I don’t see why he thinks I’ll forget”
With a sly smile she said “It must be pretty important”
“Well whatever proposition he has I’m not going to listen unless I know for a fact that it’s going to be worth my time”.
They quickly said their goodbyes and Reuben headed for the stairs. The inside offices were a vast contrast to the outside exterior of the building, the décor was brightly lit and fitted with all new office furnishing and fittings, the large windows allowed the daylight to breathe into the room, it was a comfortable place to work in. Hanging on the third floor walls were the different magazine covers, including all of ‘The Unknown’ front covers, all were framed, and many of them were stories which Reuben had investigated, it was a testament to his importance to the magazine. The Unknown team consisted mostly of freelance journalists, graphic designers, staff writers, a column written by a medium, and a short fiction section, which consisted of two supernatural short stories written by various writers, one would be contemporary the other a classic.
Despite the smiles and greetings from his colleagues as he walked to his desk, which was at the back of the floorplan, he was not overtly close to any of them. Despite his interest in the supernatural, Reuben was first and foremost a journalist, he would regard himself as ninety per cent journalist and ten per cent supernatural investigator. Even with all of the findings in his investigations, so little of it could be explained, an example of this was this was with the subject of ghosts, Reuben had been witness to their existence in many forms, but the explanation to that existence was still illusionary and enigmatic.
He was not too interested in the science behind them, it was not his job or in his interest to do so, but the theory he most believed was that the existence of ghosts were a re-recording of either a traumatic moment or the repetition of an action which was frequent at the location of where the haunting had taken place. So much of what he had investigated was unexplainable, which was why so many people were drawn to the Supernatural.
it was also why The Unknown magazine was so popular.
He sat down at his cluttered but otherwise tidy desk, it was just as he’d left it, and as usual, he was happy that Rebecca had watered his small plant while he was away, as he requested. Nothing appeared as though it had been tampered with. He took all of the content out of his work bag, spread them out, choosing which pictures to use was the easy part, it was just a case of picking those that fitted in with the narrative of the article, and gave out the most dramatic effect. The hardest part was sorting through his shorthand notes, and recordings if there was any. The next issue of the magazine was due for the printers in a week’s time, his first job was to write up and produce the article, and then move on to helping the rest of the team to put the magazine together.
He logged onto his computer, opened a document and typed the opening header, which had been in his head on the drive to work. He didn’t have to wait long before Mark called him on his work phone, requesting for him to be in his office for the meeting that had been arranged. He left his desk immediately and made his way to the very back of the building where Mark’s office was, he knocked twice before being called in.
The office was big and rectangular shaped, two arch ended windows were on the north wall on entering, overlooking the back car park. To the east wall was a glass cabinet with numerous accolades that the publishing house had won over the years, many of which belonged to The Unknown magazine. Mark was seated behind his desk to the right wall on entering, Reuben stepped through and took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Mark’s old mahogany desk. It was the only object inside of the entire building which could be considered antique.
Mark was seated with both his elbows planted on top of the desk, he was leaning forward, which meant that Reuben was given the awful sight of his large breasts tight around his plain white shirt. Mark had a large figure, his bulky frame was deceiving because it made him appear shorter than his actual height. Like Reuben he wore glasses, but the similarity between the two stopped there.
Mark was an astute businessman who had come from a privately educated background, vehemently upper middle class. Whereas Reuben upbring wasn’t quite as privileged, and averse to anything money related, and stood at a below average height of five foot eight.
“So tell me, how did the investigation go?”
“As I told you last night, it will make a decent article but nothing more, nothing that I would regard as front cover material”.
Mark leaned back into his chair with a huff, the disappointment clearly evident in his eyes, which was altogether the difference between the two of them. While Reuben could keep his emotions closed when he wasn’t expressing them, Mark’s body language always gave the observer a hint as to what his thoughts might be.
After a few moments of thinking he leaned forward again, looking directly at Reuben, and said “well what I am about to propose to you, should get you excited”.
“And what is that may I ask?”
He leaned back into the chair again “have you ever heard of a place called Ravens Gate?”
Reuben thought for a moment, the name was peculiarly strange, but on second thought he was sure that he had not come across it before.
“I can’t say I have”.
Mark leaned forward into the desk once again, “It’s an old, abandoned prison in the west of the country, Wiltshire to be precise, ten miles from a small town called Forest Meadows. The prison has long been out of use and left to rot since the latter part of the nineteenth century”.
Mark paused for a short moment and then said “to cut a long story short, it’s renown for supernatural activity, the inside of the prison as well as the areas surrounding it”.
“What kind of activity are talking about?” Reuben interrupted,
“Witnesses, many of them hikers and unbeknownst passers bys, have spoken of all kinds of strange activity in the forests around the prison, of a night it is said that the forests are haunted by white eyed apparitions who attack those unfortunate enough to cross their path. And those who have explored the prison have spoken of it as being haunted. In fact, ten years back a group of paranormal investigators, working for some website, went to Raven's Gate and never returned, no sign of them was ever found at the prison so it was just assumed that they got lost in the forests somewhere. The police officers who went in search of them were too scared to go back, and one officer even had his face nearly ripped off by these apparitions".
Mark reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a newspaper article and slammed it across the desk to Reuben.
The headline read,
'police officer suffers facial injuries in search of missing group'.
Reuben read through the article, the gist of it went like this, a filming crew intending on going to the abandoned prison never returned, the police officers involved in the search went to the prison but found nothing,
'police officers entered the prison to the never ending sound of crying and screaming, with no one in sight...'
'A scant search of the prison found no results, and the officers were quick to leave, Officer Martyn Ward said it was the most horrifying experience of his life "All we could hear was constant crying, loud banging against the cell doors, all of us were terrified. I just hope that they turn up at some point".
It was an interesting article, Reuben had investigated many places that had similar back stories to them, some were more genuine than others, of course those that were most frightening and revealing made for the best investigations, and finished article. The most interesting part of the story was to do with the headline,
'A search party made their way through the forests outside of the abandoned prison, where they were attacked by a number of white eyed shadows...'
Police Officer Kevin Hamilton was left with his face badly scarred and bleeding, from where one of the white eyed shadows had attacked him, a member of the search team who did not want to be named said,
"We were looking through the forests, when suddenly we caught sight of these bright white eyes in the dark. They were small, shaped like a humans, at first we didn't know what to do as they approached us, it was too dark to see what they were. Officer Hamilton was caught, as one leapt up behind him, it grabbed the side of his face and it began to pull at his skin".
The last passage of the article was also interesting,
This has not been the first time that White eyed shadows have been seen in the forests behind the prison, the earliest example of such sighting occurred as early as the end of the nineteenth century, when travellers and known highwaymen spoke of all kinds of strangeness.
It was certainly a fascinating article, it was hard to completely diminish the story, there seemed to be plenty of eye witnesses involved, and there was some historical context to it. Reuben was surprised that he had not heard of the prison before, perhaps as logic would seem, the disappearances and the bizarre attack on the police officer were attributed to the location of the prison, while its apparent haunting was just a sideshow to carry on the spook story. Which is why it might not have such a renown following within supernatural folklore.
Reuben tossed the newspaper back onto the desk and asked,
"How did you come across this information, because I can't say I have in all of the time that I have been working here".
Mark got up from the desk and walked to the back of the room and gazed out of one of the windows, the sky was still cloudless and blue.
"I was contacted by the journalist who wrote that article, he was an employee of mine in the distant past, he must have found out about the magazine and got in touch with me. I know Dean very well, he is a good journalist and I believe what he has written in that article".
Mark turned round so that both of their eyes met, and just from the drool expression on his face, Reuben could tell that he was enthusiastic on what he had been told about Ravens Gate.
"There is another reason why I think it could be a good investigation to pursue. It has been ten years since the disappearance of those ghost hunters, it would give your investigation a bit more purpose and a possible angle to take on the story".
"And he contacted you personally?" Reuben enquired
"He said he came across the magazine, and thought it would be something we would be interested in".
Mark now moved away from the window and sat on top of the desk so he was closer to Reuben,
"I did my own research and everything certainly seemed legitimate, the prison is known to be associated with the supernatural, and Dean seemed generally interested in what we could do".
Mark stared at him, waiting for a response. Reuben said nothing and got up from the chair, walked to the other side of the room where the glass cabinet was. He leaned his lower arm on top and gazed at the awards and certificates. For a moment he stood where he was and then looked back at Mark, and candidly said “I’m not sure, this is the first time that I have ever heard of this prison, and anything related to it”.
He paused to gather his thoughts, before continuing “I just get the feeling I could just be on a wild goose chase, there were a few other options I was considering to pursue for next month’s issue, they have a bit more history and gravitas to them”.
Mark peered down to the floor, the disappointment was evident in his demeanour, he placed his right hand thumb and index finger to either side of his chin, and rubbed against the skin.
Guilt sunk into Reuben’s stomach, so to ease his conscience he said “Just let me get the work on this month’s issue out of the way and I will then think about it, but I am not promising anything”.
“There is one important circumstance, if you’re to investigate Ravens Gate prison you will need to go by tomorrow, if you’re to spend at least three days there, it will allow you to get the investigation and then the article written up before the deadline for this month’s issue is released. And to perhaps play on the ten year anniversary theme of the missing investigators, so far this month’s issue is feeling a little light, and I get the feeling that this is the perfect moment for you to take this opportunity”.
“Well if that’s the case, you may as well get someone else to do it, I have only just got back and I have still got to piece everything I have from the investigation I have just returned from”.
Mark spread both of his hands out to his side and said “Don’t worry, I will make sure that your article is in place for the next issue, put whatever you have together and I will help out with the magazine while you’re away”
After he had spoken he stepped off of the mahogany desk, looked across at Reuben, his brow potent, his aging eyes focused, “do you remember what I told you when you first came to work for me?”
“Whenever you get an opportunity, take it”.
It was indeed one of the first pieces of philosophy that Mark had given him. There was some logic in it, but different opportunities and choices presented themselves everyday, and bad decisions could only ever be made in hindsight. But on this occasion Reuben knew that Mark was just trying to butter him up, to influence his choice by presenting it as the only one. The opportunity was enticing and if the timing of it was different he might have accepted the proposition without a second thought.
“If you take this, you can have a few weeks holiday off as soon as you get back”.
Reuben knew he could do with a few weeks off, it would be nice to get away from the cold English weather as autumn bloomed and winter was arriving. He’d always wanted to spend a couple of weeks traveling around the ancient cities of Greece, it was something he had just never got round to doing.
He recollected the article, and what Mark had told him about Ravens Gate prison, and decided to take up the offer, but only under certain conditions.
“Okay I will do this for you”, the expression on Mark’s face lit up with childish excitement that he couldn’t hide, “but I’m not promising you that I will stick around for the entire week if I feel the whole thing is a waste of time, and don’t count on me still being here if that’s the case”.
His last remark was a flippant joke, but it was mutually agreed that Reuben would set off the next day, he would stay for a couple of nights, to check whether there was anything substantive enough to write an article about. If there wasn’t he would leave immediately without a moment of thought.
Reuben left Mark’s office with a friendly handshake, and for the remainder of the day he stayed within the third floor offices, working on the first draft of his article, by collocating all of the information together, as well as generally helping with the content of the next issue of the magazine. The day passed by quickly, the workload kept him busy, so he didn’t get the chance to do any research on Ravens Gate prison.
When the final draft was finished he sent it to Mark via email, he kept the details of the investigation for himself, which he would keep in his office back home. Every ounce of information would be stored into a thick leather folder, the photos, transcripts, places, names; everything that he had come across would be logged into it. Like a memory bank.
When five o’clock came and passed, the building rapidly began to empty, Reuben stayed behind, the outside sky was a beautiful opaque shade of purple as nightfall was beginning to set. He switched the lights off, leaving only his desk lamp on. He sat down at the computer and searched for Ravens Gate prison on the internet.
It was flimsy research, the internet was filtered with more obsolete fiction opinions than it was with hard facts and reason, but he had been thrown in at the deep end, so it would do for now.
The information he gained was limited but important, due to the rapid rise of criminal offences in the middle of the nineteenth century, when Industrial Britain and its empire was at its peak, more and more prisons were built. Unlike contemporary prisons, those in the victorian times were there to provide a punishment for the detainees rather than any form of rehabilitation. He wasn’t surprised to learn that prisons were very unpleasant places either, and those who were locked up were made to face up to their faults, and they were forced to do hard and very boring work.
He couldn’t locate a time and date from the moment the prison was in use and from the point it was left abandoned. But there was one photo that he found, it was the same one which was used for every one of the websites which had some scanty material related to the abandoned prison. It was an old black and white photo, the background lacked any detail but it was just about seeable. It was of a tall stone tower, its shape had a strong resemblance to a lighthouse, it was completely different to what he had expected. Compared with other victorian prisons its size was very small and unimposing, it was also different in that it was located in the middle of nowhere, and far away from any major city or town.
In regard to the prison being haunted, he came across a lot of names who had disappeared from the surrounding forests, he found two newspaper stories which described the accounts of out of town hitchhikers who claimed to have heard constant crying, only to see the white eyed figures in the dark, before fleeing in fear. Other stories of old tilly lamps appearing with no one seeming to hold them, and constant screaming coming from the perimeter around the prison.
Many of these types of eyewitness accounts were frequent in apparent places which were haunted, he had first hand experience of them. Despite his strong belief in the supernatural, and from his own experiences in his investigations, there was no doubt in his mind that many people who claim to have come into contact with the supernatural, are often just visualising pieces of their own fragmented imagination, their senses playing tricks with them.
While Reuben had reason to believe that the supernatural was left over existential spirits reenacting past patterns or actions that were important to that particular beings physical presence. There were aspects to the supernatural that were just unexplainable no matter how far he investigated them, which was one of the reasons why, although people are often frightful of the supernatural, the subject of it will always be of great fascination and intrigue. Its mystery was certainly one of the reasons why Reuben was drawn to it.
As an investigative journalist he wanted to go beyond what was always told at face value, his aim was to get a better understanding of the places and the story behind such phenomena. How it affected people’s lives, and then share those stories with others.
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