Chapter 3
The Basement

Before long Sty was at the basement door. It was clearly old; the knob, which was probably at one point a brilliant gold color, was now rusted with age, a thin layer of dust accumulated upon it, which caused Sty to wonder, How did Hib communicate with the Head Master? however; this was something to ponder later.
Fatigue was heavy upon Sty’s mind. Ten years out in the Waste had certainly changed him. He was more calculating now, even now he was forming countless scenarios in his mind about his soon-to-come meeting with the Head Master. He was deep in thought when Hib spoke up and snapped him back into reality, “The Head Master is a very busy man and has set aside some very important work. So it would be very prudent of you to enter the basement now, please.”
Sty looked again at the door, which now seemed even more ancient, the paint peeling off in various places, the wood splintered here and there. And there was a smell. It was familiar, yet somehow completely foreign to Sty’s nostrils. Finally he reached out and hand and clutched the door knob and turned it, the creaks and groans of a protesting door and its hinges manifesting themselves loudly in Sty’s ears then, as if on its own accord, the door flung open and the smell assaulted Sty’s nose as if it were being held by a flood gate, then was suddenly released. It smelled of decay and of nature. Sty turned his head to look at Hib, who only nodded, and then proceeded into the basement for his meeting with the Head Master. The door slammed shut behind him.
It was almost completely dark at the head of the stairway were Sty was standing. Only a faint gloom that curled from the bottom of the staircase served as a guide to where he was meant to go.
Sty made his way down the spiraling stairway step by step, slowly feeling his way down with his foot to avoid slipping and falling. The basement was very hot, and Sty’s long unkempt hair stuck to his face as he descended. Finally he reached the bottom. He stood still for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Somewhere there was a click, a turning of gears, and then the entire room was flooded with intense light. Sty, blinking back tears and squinting from the sudden brilliance, shielded his eyes with the back of his hand. The room was large with machines like transparent coffins filled with green liquid lined the walls. Inside each coffin there were countless cords all connected to a mass of what appeared to be flesh. On the far end of the room was a single steel door. Sty, who was shaken by the odd machines, proceeded toward the door. As he passed each machine he couldn’t resist looking at the things inside of them. Some where very small, but others seemed more developed, almost human in appearance. When he reached the door he extended his hand to turn the knob when a voice came out from speakers that were hidden from view. The voice was horse and very raspy. At first Sty had trouble understanding what it was saying. It seemed to be saying the same thing over and over, finally Sty began to be able to pick out words and before to long the entire message became clear, “I am the Head Master. This is a recording. In my current condition I am unable to converse. This message will loop fifty times and then the second part will be conveyed.”
Sty reached again for the knob and turned it, opening the door. When the door was half-way opened a body fell out, very old, and very decrepit. Its white hair had grown so long that the end of it was still lost somewhere in the darkness of the room. Cables and wires were connected and wrapped all over the body. Sty fell to the ground in horror and shock. The SMELL of it! Sty covered his nose with both hands to try to block out some of the smell which had him on the verge of illness.
“My name was Victor Mossil. I was born April 26th, 1948. I died November 13, 2005. My body, if my servants have no disobeyed me, is within the room directly ahead of you. You are Stephon Hingsly, born December 4th, 1982, missing since May 12th, 1997. You are now in charge of this orphanage. Inside the room of my corpse is a journal. My journal. Inside of it you will find answers to many of your questions concerning what has happened and what you must do.
“Keep in mind that you have no choice in the matter of keeping the orphanage. It must be done. Hibs and Tiqs have already been pre-grown to, at the moment of this recordings beginning, to obey you. If you should, however, attempt to flee, the will terminate you.
“Have a good life Head Master Hingsly.”
And with that the recording cut off. Sty sat there for a moment. His mind reeling over what all had happened in mere moments. He became aware of a sound. He turned and saw Hib dragging the body away.
“Allow me to dispose of this for you, sir.”
Hib drug the body to a odd-looking machine and opened a hatch at the front, a awful grinding noise started from deep within the machine. Hib then lifted the body with little effort being that it was almost skeletal already, and tossed it in and closed the hatch.
“There now. That should last us for awhile,” he then turned to Sty, “I understand that you have some reading to do. The journal is right in there; you should have no trouble finding it. I’ll leave you be for now. This unit and the Current Tiq unit are good for another couple of days, so we’ll handle things for the time being until you get adjusted to your new position,” and with that Hib removed himself from the room, leaving only Sty, and the room.