THE RENNINGTON CHRONICLES: Book 1 - The Night Professor

[Scene]: City on Fire! …

It was mid-spring in the rustic, New England town of Rennington when a vast explosion thundered angrily in the dead of night. The dreadful blast woke nearly every resident in the vicinity. Mass panic ensued amongst the townsfolk as they frantically searched for answers whilst fearing for their safety. The poisonous smoke caked the air like a nuclear plant, belching into the night sky and permeating surrounding areas. As frightened citizens ran out onto the streets, they began to witness firsthand the blasts’ aftermath. Windows shattered; structures were demolished; car alarms were triggering throughout, saturating the air like a clamorous symphony, while nearby emergency systems slowly failed. Injured seniors and children, assaulted by the horrific night’s event, were laid out on the cold, hard concrete for comfort. As crowds started to gather in disarray, someone shouted, “LOOK! TURN AROUND!” The masses focused their attention down the street, where smoke billowed from behind the football stadium, abreast to the local school.

Mr. Wilson, a senior and pillar of the community, tremulously grabbed his cell to call for help, but the 9-1-1 Dispatch Line was blocked. Soon after, the crowd noticed several emergency sirens racing towards many affected areas. For many, the local school was a significant revenue stream for the region. The fear of possible devastation clouded the petrified citizens’ thoughts, as many students and families lived or worked on campus. What if they are hurt? several contemplated. What if the school was destroyed? Dreary thoughts ran through the minds of many, especially since the closest hospital was far into the next city. As the crowd stood in awe over the tragedy, Mr. Wilson started walking towards the hazardous area, whispering, “I hope nothing’s happened to our little Saints.” Those sharing his sentiment followed him blindly into the night.

Before this madness, the world knew nothing of Rennington; she was just another unindustrialized, middle of nowhere backwater with no landmarks worthy of recognition. As the years went on, many families left the antiquated city to start anew, anywhere they could find better opportunities. For those that stayed behind, the few acceptable options remained in farming, local businesses, government, the clergy, and lastly, the local school, “SAINT BARTHOLOMEW ACADEMY OF THE SACRED HEARTS” (SBA). SBA was the only school in the town, and because of its boarding status, all attendees were required to live onsite during academic periods. To guardians and parents, the fear of the unknown grew more daunting by the second. As residents ran closer, they saw the flames from the hillside engulfing the affected areas, especially in the southern region. Many onsite residents were evacuated as the flames were being extinguished. The scene was pure terror, so much destruction and chaos. Parents already were desperately trying to escape the atrocity, fleeing in the opposite direction of their advancing nosy spectators.

As rescued families were taken to overflowing, poorly prepared shelters, firefighters worked tirelessly throughout the wee hours to salvage what they could. By then, half the academy was demolished. The area looked like a battlefields’ aftermath, and the damage post a pandemic would undoubtedly place the region back under another state of emergency. Radio services remained inoperable; TV stations were now down as well. Many gathered in solidarity around law enforcement to hear what was going on. Screaming babies and the affected lamented through the night, scared with toxic fumes to fill their nauseated bellies. The town’s crown jewel was gone, and her support along with it, her beautiful classrooms, now ash. Labs, and recreation rooms, now reduced to cinder. All that was left was the administrative building, but it was deeply in need of renovations before the damage. Now SBA as a whole seemed beyond saving.

Many couldn’t believe that something like this could ever happen here. There was no doubt about it; this was no mere accident, many immediately suspected; it was JUDGEMENT. Media shots of the rescued students and staff tearing up from smoke inhalation or injuries while escaping were heart-rending. Only two-thirds of the population survived, as so many innocently trapped or sleeping lives died tragically in their stasis and were now being carried out in droves.

With so many now displaced, the town would indeed be devastated forever. Hope was moot at this point. After body IDs were traced, it later surfaced that the school’s Chancellor, Father Vilham D. Flynn, was amongst the dead, which was an immense loss. Father Vilh provided sponsorship for the town and even applied his own family holdings to keep SBA afloat during his tenure. His death was a message that all read loud and clear; they were doomed. Law Enforcement did not share many details except that his incident must have triggered the fire. He was knocked over a sea of chemicals nearby, exposed wires from what police could tell. They believe that the substances ate through the cables triggering the fire that ruptured within the Observatory and later throughout the estate, sending a chain reaction throughout the town. Forensics uncovered trails of a large animal’s footprints, nothing more. As reporters swarmed around the school, awaiting Sheriff Malachi’s statement, the community banded together in a prayer-like fashion as yellow tape decorated the school grounds like one gigantic crime scene. Groups of specialists moved in and out, collecting large barrels of bio-hazard materials and carefully carting them out of the building. A team of coroners and police began rolling out black body bags, tagging them in a military fashion. They were wearing PPE and bio-hazard coats which drastically stood out to the locals. The crowd gasped as this was an unfamiliar reality to them. Then suddenly, a tween boy in the gathering shrieked, “HOLY SHIT! LOOK AT THE PILES.”

Later, the Sheriff appeared very distraught and exhausted. Folks could see the terror on his face as he struggled to straighten himself before sharing his announcement. He officially declared that Father Vilh was killed at 2:40 am. by what appeared to be a large, wild animal. He further stated that the campus was now uninhabitable with a spooked and melancholy demeanor and would be closed indefinitely. The Sheriff refused to share the body count, just limited details about the devastation. As he trembly carried on, a hailstorm appeared out of nowhere, hail of all things, pouring heavily onto the mirky earth. As many rushed to find shelter, the sight of the unaccounted-for weather seemed biblically foreshadowing. “It's the middle of God-damn spring. What the hell could this mean?" one of the frightened townswomen lamented.

"Can't you see Jacqueline? It's a sign!" her friend warned. "We're in deep shit."