My laptop lost the Wi-Fi connection half-way through the cave scene, just after Charlie's poem! I had to re-write that part from memory, always, always, always, save your work after every other sentence. That's what I've learned today. Anyway, I think this chapter drops a few hints about the plot despite its comparative shortness.
'When a sedate content the spirit feels,
And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals;
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something, too high for syllables to speak;
Till the free soul to a composedness charmed,'
~ A Nocturnal Reverie by Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1713)
Chapter four - I went to the woods
As the clock struck midnight, Kathleen slid out of bed. Her feet danced on the icy floor as she pulled on her socks, oxford saddle shoes, and finally her winter coat. She pulled the thick material tighter with a shiver as she fumbled for her flashlight. With her pockets laden with hard boiled sweets, she pulled open her door and crept out. Wind howled around the impenetrable stone, contrasting with the silent interior. She could see nothing but inky darkness, only slivers of floorboards were illuminated by the little moonlight let in by the grand windows. She did not dare to turn on her flashlight and risk getting caught, so she put her hand onto the wall and edged her way down the corridor, wincing at every creak or squeak of the floor. Finally, she reached the staircase, where she saw dog biscuits littering the floor, and Nolan's dog eating them contentedly. She silently thanked whoever thought of that and made her way down the stairs towards the backdoor. Its location marked the start of their adventure.
"Kat!" A hushed voice arose from the shadows beneath, "we're over here." She ducked beneath the carved wood in search of the muffled voices. Todd welcomed her into the fold as the unit tiptoed towards the bolted door.
Meeks lifted one end, while Charlie guided the metal scraping harshly against its metal fixings. "Lead the way, Neil," whispered Meeks, greasing the hinges before opening the door.
One by one, they crossed the threshold into the night. They sprinted across the lawn, dark coats billowing out in the gale. Soon, they hit the treeline where the school grounds met the woods. Fallen leaves crunched under their shoes, their footsteps light and bouncy on the moss. As the foliage grew thicker the group slowed to a jog, flashlights guiding them alongside Neil's map reading skills. He led them deeper into the woods, they climbed over fallen trees, stumps, and large rocks. A small brook was crossed before a clearing came into distant view.
They were nearly at the cave when Charlie jumped out from behind a tree. "AHHHH, I'M A DEAD POET!" He cackled manically as he grabbed onto Kathleen's shoulders, who shrieked.
"Charlie!" She whirled around to face him, "you almost gave me bloody heart attack!"
"Quit it, Charlie," Cameron chided, recovering from his own shock at Kathleen's sudden scream, "someone will think she's being murdered."
"Who's going to hear us out here," he muttered, "besides she knows I was only teasing, right?" He glanced at Kathleen who nodded.
"GUY'S OVER HERE!" At Neil's shout, the trio followed the sound of his amazement, and found themselves at the mouth of a cave.
"Ladies first," Charlie said, gesturing to the cave. Kathleen rolled her eyes at his sudden display of manners and climbed into the cave. Inside was bigger than she had been imagining, the ceiling gradually got higher until it was possible for even Pitts, the tallest member of the group, to stand in the centre. Logs had been moved into a rough circle, and in the centre the boys were trying to light a small fire. Kathleen, Charlie and Cameron sat on a large log nearest to the entrance. After five minutes of heads hitting the lower parts of the rock ceiling, and several failed fire lighting attempts, Neil called for the meeting to open.
"I hereby reconvene the dead poets society," he read, eliciting cheers from the small party. "The meetings will be conducted by myself and the other initiates now present, and Todd Anderson, because he prefers not to read will keep minutes at our meetings. I will now read the traditional opening message by society member, Henry David Thoreau."*
He cleared his throat,
'I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately,
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life"
"I'll second that!" Charlie called.
"To put to rout all that was not life;
and not, when I came to die,
discover that I had not lived.'
"And err, Keating's marked a bunch of other pages," Neil said as he flipped through the book.
"All right, intermission. Dig deep, right here, lay it down." Charlie took control of the food supplies.
Kathleen took the sweets out of her pockets, holding them in her gloved hands instead of dropping the paper bags onto the dirt.
"On the mud?" Meeks queried, appearing every bit as disgruntled as she felt.
"Meeks, put your coat down. Picnic blanket," Charlie responded, "don't hold anything back either. You boys are always bumming my smokes."
Kathleen chucked the sweets down, earning an approving nod from Charlie as they landed among the pitiful pile of food. It became abundantly clear that food would not be a source of comfort in the cold, disused, and damp cave. The members of the society shivered, eyes brightening only when Charlie produced a flask from his pocket, throwing it in with a huff. They may not have managed to light a fire, but at last there seemed a chance of achieving some warmth.
Cameron glared at the flask with disapproval, but his expression darkened further as he prodded at a red box with a stick, "raisins?"
"Yeah, I like raisins," Knox shrugged.
"Me to!" She piped up, seeing the defensive set in his shoulders.
"Wait a minute! Who gave us half a roll?" Charlie demanded, directing the beam of his flashlight at the offending half-eaten roll, hidden among the cookies.
Breadcrumbs littered the ground as Pitts held up his hands, "I already ate the other half."
Kat picked up a cookie, merely brushing away the lumps of bread mingled in the with pile. Laughter echoed around the dripping walls, seeming to wash away the damp smell and disuse as their body heat permeated the frigid air. Eventually, Neil called them to attention. He pushed aside the list of poems he had decided upon with Todd, giving his roommate control of the notes while he pointed his flashlight up under his chin. His eyes gleamed in its white light, illuminating his face into a grotesque caricature in the shadows.
"It was a dark and rainy night," he began, his voice dropping deep into a dramatic whisper. "This old lady who had a passion for jigsaw puzzles, sat by herself in her house, at her table to complete a new jigsaw puzzle. So, she pieced the puzzle together and realised, to her astonishment, that the image that was formed was her very own room. And the figure in the centre of the puzzle as she completed it, was herself. With trembling hands, she placed the last four pieces and stared in horror at the face of a demented man. The last thing that this little old lady heard, was the sound of breaking glass."
"Scared yet?" Charlie whispered, nudging Kathleen.
She shook her head, "it takes more than a summer camp ghost story to get to me. You should know, dead poet."
"I've got one that's even better than that!" Cameron interrupted, "I do! Okay, so there's this young married couple and they are driving through the forest at night, on a long trip, and they run out of gas and there's a mad man on the loose-"
"Is this the one the mad man bangs on the car and kills the couple when he-" everyone asked, repeating different variations of the same story.
"I love that one!" Cried Cameron.
Charlie pulled a face, "I told you that one."
"You did not! I got that from summer camp in sixth grade-"
'In a mean abode on the Skankill Road
Lived a man named William Bloat;
He had a wife, the curse of his life,
Who continually got his goat.
So one day at dawn, with her nightdress on
He cut her bloody throat.'*
Pitts finished the stanza and looked up, "It gets worse further down." Knox took the book next.
"You want to hear a real poem?" challenged Charlie.
"Sure," Knox began to pass the book to him, but he pushed it away, "did you memorise a poem?"
"An original piece by Charlie Dalton?" Chuckled Neil as he clambered over Todd to be able to see, "do you know what this is? It's history."
Charlie stood up and unfolded what looked like a magazine article.
"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?" Cameron's mouth along with the rest of the boys hung open. He looked up at Charlie with more admiration in his eyes than Kat had ever seen. Todd was blushing and Meeks looked sheepish.
"What is it?" Kathleen demanded, Charlie held it at an angle where she could only see the writing on the back and the beams of the boys' flashlights as they stared at whatever was on the other side.
"Nothing you want to see," Neil laughed "God, Charlie!"
Charlie cleared his throat dramatically and began;
'Teach me to Love? go teach thy self more wit;
I am chief Professor of it.
The God of Love, if such a thing there be,
May learn to love from me,'*
"Charlie, did you write that!?" Kathleen exclaimed. He folded the article down until only a few words were visible. They were scribbled down in his own handwriting.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"It's amazing, I didn't know you could write like that."
The boys gave him a wild round of applause and Charlie bowed to his audience. He took a moment to bask in the praise before he sat down with a smile. He slipped the paper into his pocket, replacing it with his flask.
"So, now will you tell me what was on the other side of that article?"
"Not a chance." He took a swig of whiskey, offering it to Kat.
She glared at him but took a sip anyway. "Please?"
"No."
"Is it dirty?
"You're relentless, aren't you?" He laughed, handing the drink to Pitts.
"Is that a yes?"
He fixed his gaze on the small, silver string of moonlight cutting through the dimness. If Kathleen leaned back, she could discern the gap in the rock it originated from, and even catch a glimpse of the full moon. She let him stare unflinchingly at it for a moment.
"There is no point praying to Selene or Artemis." Her statement caught his attention. "Artemis especially would take my side."
He chuckled, "I'm protecting your delicate mind from filth, isn't that what a guy is supposed to do?" He paused for a second, his stare catching on the moon once more, "wouldn't Artemis understand the value of that?"
"My knight in shining armour," she replied drily.
"Stop flirting and pay attention, you two" Cameron snapped. His voice projected so loudly that it echoed around the natural structure. Neil shot him a disapproving look, continuing to gesture for silence, the meeting book open in his lap.
"We're not flirting."
"Aw, Cameron are you jealous?" Cooed Charlie.
Knox shushed the bickering trio as Neil began the next reading of Alfred Lord Tennyson,
'Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset,
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."*
"And women swoon...I'm not swooning yet," Kathleen joked, "are you sure Keating was right?"
"Come on Meeks, it's your turn," Neil threw the book to Meeks, "make the lady swoon!"
The gang laughed at Meek's mildly horrified expression, they had been getting sillier as they grew more tired, yet more awakened to the magic of verse. It was the witching hour, and when later asked, the supernatural aspect combined with the early hour was Meek's excuse for his quite sudden and out of character desire to cause chaos. He flipped quickly through the pages, deciding on a more musical poem. It had been quite a shock when he had let out the shout,
'THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision.
I could not turn from their revel in derision.
THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,
CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.'*
It didn't take the others long to adapt. Delirious with rhyme they pounded the floor and clapped along, chanting, singing and screaming with joyous abandon. Meeks led the lively procession through the woods, their reckless merriness faded as they approached the school grounds and was replaced by the thrill of the nights events, unspoiled by being caught.
The perilous journey through the silent halls was made successfully and the students crept back into bed. A mere few hours later they emerged from their blanket cocoons at the last minute. Helios' rays seemed too bright, burning and reckless. As he illuminated the bruising bags under their eyes which were just as prominent as their smiles, a further intangible change became evident. As faint as moonlight was the new bond forged by the secrecy and knowledge of the club, and of the sheer, reckless power of being truly alive.
* 'I went to the woods...,' Walden, Henry David Thoreau (1854) - a book detailing Thoreau's experiences and thoughts while living in a cabin by Walden Pond.
* 'In a mean abode on the Skanhill Road...,' The Ballad of William Bloat, Raymond Calvert (1926)
* 'The Prophet,' Abraham Cowley (1663) - This is not actually a poem by Charlie, but for the sake of the plot please pretend it is an original Charlie Dalton masterpiece.
* 'Come, my friends...,' Ulysses, Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1833)
* The Congo, Vachel Lindsay (1914)