To think that during the summer season, the summer air was a cruel and cold irony.
It carried the scent of blooming jasmine and the sweet, heavy warmth of a South African evening—the kind of weather that promised happiness and the freedom of the long holidays.
But at the prestigious St Jude’s Academy, the change of season brought no joy.
It only signaled that the calendar had turned to the 10th of May and as the day progressed, a shadow fell over the school.
Just like the 10th of April before it, this Friday evening held a jagged edge as well.
In the prestigious halls of the main campus, students walked with their heads down, counting the minutes.
They knew that somewhere on the East Mountain, in the “murky” abandoned hall that had long ago been surrendered to dust and cobwebs, the lanterns were being lit.
This was the playground of “The Man Eat Man.”
The organization was a secret to the faculty, or perhaps a secret the faculty was paid to ignore.
It was a predatory system designed to turn suffering into entertainment for the elite.
Tonight, the air inside the old hall was thick with the smell of damp stone and the sharp, metallic tang of fear.
And at the center of the room stood the four Mayfair siblings, the sixth-generation heirs to the very ground the school was built upon.
They were the law.
Andrew Mayfair, the eldest son and the chosen successor, stood at the front.
He didn’t need to shout; his silence was heavy enough to crush the lungs of anyone in the room.
Beside him were the twins, Bryan and Bryson—two halves of a dark whole, one leaning against a pillar with a bored smirk, the other staring intensely into the shadows, a total contrast of chaotic energy and cold calculation…he was warm.
Then there was Molly.
The eldest sister moved with a predatory grace, her white blazer shimmering in the low light like the sole bulb in darkness, an angel engulfed in darkness.
Usually, the “Man Eat Man” rituals claimed a “commoner”—a scholarship student whose disappearance wouldn’t make the evening news.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, the victim bound to the chair in the center of the hall was one of their own: Malfoy McGuire, the heir to a famous Bishop’s fortune and a Rivalry family of the Mayfairs.
Molly leaned in close to Malfoy, her voice a poisonous whisper that cut through the silence.
“You’re being very difficult, Malfoy,” she murmured, trailing a finger along the line of his jaw.
“All this for a brother who isn’t even here to save you?…I thought you were smarter than that but I guess not”
Malfoy’s breathing was ragged, but he didn’t look away.
He knew why he was there.
He was the bait for Harry McGuire, Andrew’s former best friend and the only person to ever truly vanish from the Mayfairs’ grasp and his twin brother.
Molly’s eyes flashed with a complex, aching hunger.
She hated Harry for running, for hiding, for being the one thing she couldn’t own—and yet, she was consumed by her love for him.
To her, Malfoy wasn’t just a student or an elite; he was a map.
And she was prepared to burn every inch of him until he showed her the way to where Harry McGuire could be.
“The 10th is almost over, Malfoy,” Andrew’s voice rang out from the shadows, cold and final.
“Tell us where Harry is, or become the entertainment the school has been waiting for.”
Outside, the summer flowers continued to bloom in the dark, unaware that inside the East Mountain hall, the “Golden Age” of the St Jude’s Academy was beginning to rot from the inside out.
Malfoy spit a mouthful of copper-tasting blood onto the dirt-caked floor.
He let out a dry, jagged laugh that echoed too loudly against the high rafters of the East Mountain hall.
“You think Harry is hiding because he’s scared of you, Andrew?” Malfoy’s voice was thin, but it held a sharp edge.
“He’s hiding because he can’t stand the smell of this place anymore. He’s the only one of us who actually made it out of Sodom before the sky even turned red.”
The smirk slid off Bryson’s face.
He stepped forward, his knuckles white as he gripped a heavy trophy—a relic from the school’s trophy case used as a makeshift weapon—but Andrew held up a single, flat palm.
The room went dead silent.
Andrew walked into the light, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically on the stone.
He looked down at Malfoy not with anger, but with the terrifying pity of a king looking at a broken toy.
“The sky isn’t red yet, Malfoy,” Andrew whispered, leaning down so their foreheads almost touched.
“It’s a beautiful summer night. But for you, the sun is never coming up.”
He turned his gaze to Molly.
She was staring at a silver locket she had snatched from Malfoy’s neck—a locket that Harry had given him.
Her thumb traced the initials engraved on the back, her expression flickering between the girl who loved a boy and the monster who wanted to break him.
“Molly,” Andrew said, his voice a cold snap.
“The time for sentiment is over. If he won’t speak, the Man Eat Man protocol proceeds. The students are waiting outside the doors. They’ve paid their ‘tribute’ to watch the McGuire heir fall. We should open the doors”
Molly looked from the locket to Malfoy’s defiant eyes.
She knew that once those doors opened and the “elites” flooded in to participate in the torment, there was no going back.
This wouldn’t just be a grudge anymore; it would be a declaration of war against the Bishop, the church, and the McGuires.
She tightened her grip on the locket until the metal bit into her palm.
“Open them,” she said, her voice devoid of any warmth.
“But leave his tongue for last. I still want him to scream out Harry’s name until his lungs bleed.”
The atmosphere in the hall shifted from a predatory hunt to a cold, organized spectacle.
The silent air inside the dull hall was filled with heavy thumping of the table and the rhythmic, cruel sounds of groans and banging that acted as a dark heartbeat for the room.
The audience of the elite students and a few trusted commoner students were seated across the stage, the Mayfairs at the front row all of them snickering and murmuring in pleasure as they attentively watch the ‘former elite’, Malfoy’s frail body being swayed side by side by the other senior boys right in the heart of the hall, on top of the creaking wooden table that has carried dozens of victims like himself before.
Lucas felt the bile rise in his throat as the torture was thoroughly etched on his bare body, unmasked, humiliated and all eyes on him.
He was an elite—he belonged in the front row—but his silk tie felt like a noose.
Every clap from the audience felt like a physical blow to his chest.
He had spent his whole life wanting to be part of the Mayfair inner circle to protect Harry, but now that he was here, all he could see was the salt and the fire.
Those he called his friends were now grinning in satisfaction and pleasure with his misfortune.
His resolve faded slowly and he just shut his eyes tightly, because he couldn’t stand the scrutinising stares.
“Raise your head, Lucas,” Andrew repeated tapping Lucas’s shoulder next to him,
Andrew glanced at him his voice dropping an octave, losing its warmth.
“A leader doesn’t flinch. If you can’t watch a friend break, how will you ever have the stomach to break an enemy?”
Beside Andrew, Molly didn’t even look at Lucas.
Her eyes were fixed on the stage, her pupils dilated.
She wasn’t seeing a teenage boy being humiliated; she was seeing a message.
She was sending a signal through the bloodline of the McGuires, hoping that wherever Harry was, he would feel the phantom pain of his brother’s suffering.
Malfoy’s knuckles were white, his fingers digging splinters out of the ancient wooden table.
He stopped fighting the boys above him.
He realized that they wanted his struggle—it was the spice for their “meal.” Instead, he became a statue of salt, cold and unmoving.
He stared at the ceiling, at the cobwebs and the rotting timber, and imagined himself floating far above the East Mountain, far away from the “Man Eat Man” and the scent of expensive cologne mixed with sweat.
“He’s stopped screaming,” Bryan whispered, leaning toward Bryson.
“It’s no fun when they stop screaming.”
“He’s not stopped,” Bryson replied, his eyes narrowing as he watched the tears disappear into Malfoy’s hairline.
“He’s just moved the screaming inside. That’s where it lasts longer.”
Andrew stood up slowly, the movement drawing every eye in the room.
The boys on the table paused, looking to their King for the next command.
The “practice” was reaching its peak, but Andrew looked bored.
He walked toward the stage, stepping over the discarded clothes of the boy he used to call a peer.
He reached out and grabbed Malfoy’s chin, forcing the boy to look at him.
Malfoy’s eyes were glassy, reflecting the flickering lantern light.
“You’re a McGuire,” Andrew murmured, loud enough for the front row to hear.
“You should have been a pillar of this school. Instead, you’re just… debris.”
He turned back to the audience, his arms spread wide like a priest finishing a sermon.
“Tonight, we remind the school that wealth is not a shield. Blood is not a shield. Only loyalty to the Mayfair name keeps the fire from your door.”
He looked directly at Lucas, who was trembling.
“Lucas. Come here.”
The room went silent.
The only sound was the wind howling against the locked doors of the hall.
“Give Malfoy the ‘final mark’,” Andrew commanded, pointing to a branding iron sitting in a small coal brazier near the table.
“Show us that your loyalty to the 10th of May is stronger than your memories of childhood games.”
Lucas hesitantly takes the Iron to save himself.
Malfoy gets dragged from the table only to be tossed at the floor across the audience, right by Lucas’s feet.
Everyone looks down at the helpless Malfoy as he falls on his knees and he crawls towards Lucas with his face flooded with tears and they all just laugh at him, kicking him down and dragging him back by his legs but Malfoy remains hugging tight on Lucas’s legs, locked on them as if pleading for help and mercy from him and now all eyes remain on Lucas watching for his next move.
Lucas gulps down the lump of saliva from his throat.
“Get him away from you,” Andrew commanded
“Malfoy…hey Malfoy get up, get up please.”
Lucas pleaded not knowing what to do after all Malfoy is everything to him more than a friend, but in this situation what was he supposed to do?
“You are being too soft on him Lucas, push him away.” Andrew’s voice resonated once again
Lucas swallows hard hesitating, he looks down at Malfoy and they lock eyes with tears flooding both their eyes because this moment suddenly feels like an overwhelming goodbye.
“LUCAS PUSH HIM AWAY AND MARK HIM!”
Andrew’s voice roared across the whole room causing everyone to startle and stiffen up including Lucas, Lucas shakes his head biting his lower lip and clenching his fist as he hesitates doing as told.
Just then a rope gets wrapped around Malfoy dragging him back like a dog on a leash.
“No!…no stop please!”
Lucas cries out rushing after Malfoy but Andrew holds Lucas back and makes him watch as the others hang the rope on the pillars to hang Malfoy.
Andrew takes the hot iron and guides Lucas to hold it, Andrew doesn’t let go of Lucas’s hand as he forcefully guides him to mark Malfoy on the forehead.
Malfoy’s scream resonated in the hall and so did Lucas crying his eyes out.
Malfoy struggled on the rope grasping for air and Andrew held Lucas’s face to watch the entire spectacle and after a while Lucas trembles losing his strength and he falls on his knees and his eyes tearing up as he looks away but Andrew persistently holds up Lucas’s head for him to watch Malfoy’s last struggles.
Malfoy eventually lets loose of his body, his arms yank down and his mouth closed with a sigh and his head also drops unconsciously and his final tears streaming down his reddened face.
His eyes still glued at his best friend Lucas, no longer pleading for help but had slightly smiled at him.
Lucas look away, guilt eating at him.
The whole hall fell into deep silence, and Lucas remained looking up with his mouth hung open, his voice failing to come out as his body shakes and quakes as if feeling cold.
His eyes immediately bawl out tears underneath his glasses and his voice crying from inside.
“Let us go back, party’s over….and wipe those tears off your face and forget about him.”
That was Andrew’s voice coldly addressing Lucas as the rest of the students make their way out of the hall.
“Punishment awaits you Lucas for hesitating and defying my orders earlier.”
The silence that followed Malfoy’s final breath was more deafening than the screaming had been.
In the “Golden Age” of St Jude’s Academy, the sun had officially set, leaving behind a darkness that no amount of wealth could illuminate.
The “Man Eat Man” organization filed out like a funeral procession for a ghost.
The elite students, who only moments ago were cheering, now moved with a hushed, frantic energy, suddenly desperate to get back to the safety of their dorms and pretend this Friday was just like any other.
Lucas remained on the floor, a broken mirror of the boy hanging above him.
The branding iron had rolled away, hissing as it cooled against the damp stone, but the smell of scorched skin—the mark he had been forced to give—was seared into his senses.
Andrew stood over him, adjusting his cuffs with the meticulous care of a man who had just finished a mundane chore.
He didn’t look at Malfoy’s body.
To Andrew, Malfoy was no longer a person; he was a finished lesson.
“Get up, Lucas,” Andrew said, his voice a low, vibrating hum.
“You look pathetic. You’re mourning a traitor’s brother. That makes you a liability.”
Lucas didn’t move.
His glasses were fogged and cracked from the fall, blurring the world into a smear of grey and red.
“We killed him,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat like shards of glass.
“Andrew… he’s dead.”
“No,” Andrew corrected him, leaning down to grip Lucas’s chin with a hand that was terrifyingly steady.
“He is erased. There is a difference.”
Andrew’s eyes moved to Molly.
She was standing by the pillar, her hand still ghosting over the locket.
She looked at Malfoy’s limp form, and for a split second, a flicker of horror crossed her face—not for Malfoy, but for the realization that the only bridge to Harry had just been burned to ash.
She had lost her leverage.
“Molly, take the others,” Andrew commanded without looking back.
“Clear the East Mountain. I want this hall locked by midnight. If a single scholarship student or townie finds their way up here before the cleaners arrive, it’s on your head.”
Molly nodded stiffly, her heels clicking a sharp, lonely rhythm as she led the twins out.
Bryan and Bryson walked out in silence, the weight of the “10th of May” finally settling on their shoulders.
Andrew turned his full attention back to Lucas.
“As for you,” Andrew murmured, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You think the iron was the punishment? No, Lucas. That was the initiation. Your punishment begins tomorrow. You will sit in the front row of the chapel, right next to the Bishop, and you will offer him your deepest condolences. You will look him in the eye and tell him how much you’ll miss his son.”
Andrew stood up, casting a long shadow over Lucas’s trembling frame.
“And if you drop a single tear that isn’t for show, you’ll find out exactly what the 10th of June has in store for you.”
Andrew walked toward the exit, the heavy iron doors groaning as he pushed them open.
He paused, looking back one last time at the boy hanging from the pillars of the school his ancestors built.
“Welcome to the inner circle, Lucas. It’s lonely at the top, isn’t it?”
The doors slammed shut, the heavy bolt sliding into place with a final, metallic thud, leaving Lucas alone in the dark with the ghost of his best friend.
As the doors slammed shut, the heavy bolt sliding into place with a final, metallic thud, leaving Lucas alone in the dark with the ghost of his best friend.
The heavy, suffocating silence of the hall was broken not by a sob from Lucas, but by the soft, rhythmic scrape of leather against stone.
From the deepest corner of the East Mountain hall—a place where the lantern light couldn’t reach and the cobwebs hung like funeral veils—the darkness itself seemed to exhale.
A figure detached from the soot-stained wall, moving with a fluid, haunting ease that suggested he had been part of the room’s architecture the entire time.
He pulled his dark hoodie up, the fabric obscuring his face until only the sharp, dangerous glint of his eyes remained.
He had seen it all.
The lust, the brand, the rope, and the final, quiet surrender of Malfoy McGuire.
”Elite Students, huh?” he whispered, his voice a low, melodic rasp that didn’t carry a hint of the horror he had just witnessed.
He tilted his head, watching the way Lucas’s shoulders shook in the dark.
”The Mayfairs really have some good shit going on around here.”
A cold, dark smirk played on his lips.
He wasn’t a victim, and he wasn’t a witness seeking justice.
He looked at the scene like a gambler looking at a winning hand.
To him, the tragedy of the McGuire boy was simply a shift in the market—a new opening in the power vacuum of the school.
He turned toward a small, rotted service door at the back of the hall, one so overgrown with ivy on the outside that the Mayfairs had likely forgotten it existed.
He paused for a heartbeat, eyeing the devastated Lucas one last time.
He didn’t offer a word of comfort; he simply memorized the boy’s broken form, a hunter noting the weakness of his prey.
With a final, mocking huff of breath, he pushed the back door open and vanished into the summer night, leaving the “Golden Age” of Mayfair Academy to burn in its own silence
******
Lucas was dragging his feet back to the dormitory when Andrew’s car slowly drove next to him as if guarding him until he arrived at his place since it is pretty clear that he won’t appreciate the ride.
“Baby get in the car and I will take you to your room.”
Andrew rolls down the window but his pleading falls into deaf ears as the dazed Lucas continues to drag his feet slowly.
“Why did you do that infront of me, why did you make watch that?…. what were you hoping to gain Andrew huh?….you know how much Malfoy meant to me and you know how much I valued him but yet you still did that. And yet you claim to love me so much.” Lucas finally speaks up, his voice raspy and tired.
Andrew didn’t flinch.
He didn’t even slow the car.
He just leaned slightly toward the open window, his expression shifting into something dark and dangerously sincere.
“The fact that he meant so much to you is the reason why,” Andrew replied, his voice chillingly calm.
“Why should he matter so much in your life when all that you need is me? I am the one who provides for you. I am the one who protects you. He was a distraction, Lucas. A memory of a life you don’t belong to anymore.”
Lucas stopped.
He turned his head slowly, his cracked glasses catching the glare of the high beams.
“Is that really all? Is that all his life amounted to? What kind of people are you… the Mayfairs?”
“Luc—”
“Please just leave,” Lucas spat, the sudden flare of anger momentarily drowning out his exhaustion.
“I would like to be alone. Don’t follow me. You and your car… just leave me alone.”
Andrew watched him for a long beat.
The “love” in his eyes was a twisted thing—a desire to consume rather than to cherish.
He saw the fire in Lucas’s eyes and felt a thrill of satisfaction.
He didn’t want a submissive doll; he wanted to break a soul and watch it put itself back together in his image.
“Fine,” Andrew said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Be alone with your thoughts, Lucas. See if they can keep you warm tonight. But remember… even when you’re alone in that room, you’re still in my school. You’re still in my world.”
With a sharp flick of the steering wheel, the sedan roared to life, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel as it accelerated toward the royal dormitories.
Lucas stood in the settling dust, the red taillights fading like two dying embers in the dark.
He was finally alone, but as he looked up at the towering silhouette of the dormitory, he realized the “Man Eat Man” didn’t just happen in abandoned halls.
It happened in the cars, in the whispers, and in the “love” of a Mayfair.