The Search for Francis Bilge by Theta Mandel

The Search for Francis Bilge
​by Theta Mandel

Chris Cwej was getting wary of rest stops.
​
He and Sang Mi had been on the road for days now, covering the same stretch of land, over and over. At least, that’s what it felt like—there was no variety, nothing to mark the miles save an ever-increasing milometer and a litany of Are we nearly there yets. Even the rest stops looked the same—after days on end of such monotony, Cwej was desperate for even the slightest hint at something new. Rest stops were meant to break from the boredom, but alas, even they were all identical. Really rather the opposite of what they were supposed to be—Cwej found that made them hard to trust.

Sliding back into the car—a 2007 Honda Element that gave new meaning to the term ‘rundown’—he turned to his travelling companion, Sang Mi.

“Hey, come on, are you sure you don’t want to stretch your legs before we set off again? I don’t know how long it’ll be before we get another chance.”

Sang Mi shrugged. She was staring out the window, which felt sad, because even if there wasn’t much else to do on this kind of road trip, not even trying to pretend otherwise somehow made it worse. Cwej slapped his hands down on the driver’s seat, making her jump.

“Come on! Earth to Sang Mi!”

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine. Let’s just get going.”

Cwej sighed, then glanced back at the rest stop. “The little shop has candy.”

“Oh-okay-I-guess-I’ll-stretch-my-legs-for-just-a-minute-if-you-insist!” Sang Mi’s quick string of words bounded out of her mouth faster than Cwej could follow. By the time he worked out what she’d said, she was already entering the shop. 

It didn’t take the pair long to grab some snacks, Sang Mi already munching down on some chocolate by the time they reached the register. A bored twenty-something with spiky neon green hair stood behind the till, watching as Cwej fumbled around for his wallet inside his bag. They sighed as he began shaking out the bag’s contents, tipping out various odds and ends all over the counter, mumbling all the while about his wallet “Being in here somewhere”. Sang Mi continued to eat her chocolate.

“Look, I need some form of payment—cash, card, either is fine. Though we don’t take amex,” the cashier told him as he shook a metal sphere out of the bag. Defying all known laws of physics, it stubbornly bounced on the counter, and then right over the side, disappearing into thin air. The cashier didn’t raise an eyebrow. They worked at a gas station shop in the middle of nowhere—it was hardly the most unusual thing they’d seen in the last few days. At least this one wasn’t trying to bring a crocodile into the store. “You can pay with your phone, if that’s easier.”

“Aha!” Cwej exclaimed, and triumphantly presented a blackberry. He held it out towards the cashier, then frowned, looking down at the phone. “Uh, how exactly do I do that?”

“They mean a smartphone,” Sang Mi supplied, and Cwej swore before sliding the phone back into his pocket.

“Right, right… Look, okay, I’m really sorry, but, I think I’ve lost my wallet.” He stood there, panicking, as if he didn’t face deadly danger on a daily basis and losing his wallet really was the end of the world. The cashier sighed again.

“Look, usually I’d just say to put everything back, but, your friend there has already eaten several items,” Sang Mi was indeed breaking into a fruit-and-nuts snack pack as they spoke, “so, I don’t really know what to do. I’m probably supposed to call the cops —” Sang Mi dropped her snack pack. “—but you both seem innocent enough, and… I’m not a snitch. Look, no one else has come in all day—I’ll let you take the snacks, say they got lost, if you just make my day a bit more interesting.”

Sang Mi, who had picked up her snack pack and moved to help Cwej with his attempts to cram everything back into his bag. “How?”

The cashier shrugged. “Up to you. I’m just really bored of everything being the same, day in, day out. Maybe you can change that, even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

Cwej smiled. “I know how you feel.” He glanced down at the piece of paper he had been trying to fit in his bag, and then handed it to the cashier. He squinted to read their nametag. “Okay then, Lance, how about a story? I’m Chris Cwej, and this is my friend, Sang Mi. For the last couple weeks, I’ve been her teacher at a high school in Illinois. We saw a lot of strange things at that high school, but perhaps nothing as strange as what we uncovered during her final theater project…”

​* * *

"The Search for Francis Bilge"

​Junior theater club end of spring semester final project. Task: create your own short film. Students: Megan Grabowski, Sarah Jhe, Martha Sandalwood. Assessor: Mr. Cwej.
Of all the local legends that the students of Hughes High have grown up with, none is more intriguing than the tale of Francis Bilge, our very own school founder. Very little is known about the man, his reclusive nature and desire for privacy becoming not only legendary, but infectious—each of his predecessors follow in his footsteps, anonymising themselves until they disappear entirely. Our own headmistress, Ms. Suenne, remains unseen, not even having a photograph on our school brochure! So, we chose to explore this mystery in our film, “The Search for Francis Bilge”, as it is one that is close to our hearts, and has an effect on our lives to this day.

​With Martha as our camerawoman, Sarah taking the lead on research, and Megan on production, we worked together to create a short documentary about three schoolgirls’ attempts to locate that great figure of mystery—the man who created their school. We used a Canon EOS DSLR camera, Adobe for editing, and our school library, council records, teachers’ memories, and other sources for our information, as detailed in the attached ’sources’ doc. The raw footage and the final video are on the USB stick in the attached envelope.

Although our group had differing opinions on how best to present the story, we were able to overcome these through discussion, and compromised by including elements of each of our ideas. For example, Martha wanted to focus on the terror of someone who had such a lasting impact going missing so completely, so we started the documentary with a voiceover similar in tone to a ‘true crime’ report. Sarah wanted to get to the truth of what really happened to Bilge, rather than focusing on the impact, so she played the part of investigator and led the audience through the research we were doing around the mystery. Megan was more concerned about the pacing, so we made sure to include action shots at appropriate moments.

Creating this short film has taught us about teamwork, camerawork, and the effort that goes into making a film. 

What Went Well: We were able to balance everyone’s ideas fairly through frequent discussions.

Even Better If: Next time, we would spend longer in the editing stage, to make sure that our final product is fully cohesive in tone.

We hope you enjoy our exploration of the greatest mystery our school has ever known.

‘ ‘ ‘ click play to continue’ ’ ’
 
Fading in from black, a black-and-white shot of the school door, which slowly pans out to show the rest of the school as MARTHA begins speaking.
 
MARTHA (VOICEOVER)
In 1964, a man named Francis Bilge opened the doors of his home on Darmire Road, Violethill, to the children of the local area. His former students claim that he had some prior teaching experience, though we could find no records of this held in the council archives. In fact, there are no records of anything to do with the man… It’s almost as if he has been erased…
 
The video takes on color, the sounds of traffic becoming louder. A very modern-looking car zooms past the school, and MEGAN, a brown-haired girl about seventeen years old, walks into frame, followed by SARAH, a girl with short black hair around the same age. They stop in the middle, and MEGAN stares into the camera.
 
MEGAN
Here we stand today, students of what was once Bilge’s school, and we barely know a thing about him, including why he stepped down as headmaster, or what became of him after leaving Hughes High. Journey with us today as we try to uncover the truth behind Francis Bilge’s disappearance.
 
The camera shakes slightly as its holder, MARTHA, nods at MEGAN, who then spreads her arms wide before the school. SARAH takes a step forward, and the camera zooms in on her face --
 
SARAH
Whatever that may be.
 
Fade to black, then to a porch door, on which SARAH knocks. Cut to --
 
OLD WOMAN
He was a good teacher, all things considered. A bit gruff, but, very memorable. Had all sorts of little tricks to help us learn.
 
A banner appears at the bottom of the screen: MIRIAM, seventy, former student of Francis Bilge.
 
SARAH (OFF-SCREEN)
And, did you ever notice anything strange about him?
 
MIRIAM
Well, he kept to himself, that’s for sure. Never knew a thing about him. Though, there was one thing…
 
The image stills, and SARAH’s voice can be heard.
 
SARAH
We talked to several of Bilge’s students, and they all said similar things about his teaching style, personality, and one other thing…
 
We see different people, all in their seventies or older, with their names and the note that they were former students of Bilge’s appearing on banners as they spoke.
 
GEORGE
He was my first teacher. Because of his lessons, I was able to get into a proper high school.
 
LOUIS
Even though I was a weird kid, didn’t exactly fit into the norms, he never made me feel like an outsider. That was something I didn’t get from many other teachers.
 
KELLY
It was harder for girls back then in areas like this to get a proper education. He didn’t just teach me the basics—he taught proper algebra, history with real sources, the works. I’d never have been able to go to university if it weren’t for him. Not that he was there to support me through, by that time…
 
MIRIAM
Something I’ll always remember…
 
GEORGE
But, there was that one thing…
 
LOUIS
The thing none of us really brought up, even though we all knew it…
 
KELLY
I always wondered if he ever worked things out with that man.
 
SARAH (OFF-SCREEN)
What do you mean? What man?
 
KELLY
Well, there was this man who we’d sometimes see around his house, or talking to him in the garden. Well-dressed fellow.
 
GEORGE
I saw them together a lot.
 
LOUIS
They seemed real close, if you know what I mean… Though, I think they fought a lot. I could often hear them when I stopped by to deliver homework, arguing, all hushed and quiet, even when there was no-one else there. I always did wonder, you know, if we were outsiders in the same way. Their relationship certainly seemed… well…
 
GEORGE
Definitely a homo. Him and that other bloke.
 
SARAH
Do you know where we could find that other man now?
 
MIRIAM
Of course! He was on the local council at the time, half the town knew him—a Harry something. Harold Marsh, maybe? Something like that. The town hall’s probably got a picture of him, stuffed in one of those dreary offices, or at least some information about him, locked in a filing cabinet somewhere. I’m sure they’ll tell you all about him if you ask. Good luck, dearies—and, do tell Francis I asked after him if you find him, won’t you? I don’t know where I’d be without his lessons.
 
The camera zooms out to show several diplomas hanging behind Miriam’s head, as well as an educator’s license.
 
SARAH
Of course we will.
 
MEGAN and SARAH walk along a residential street.
 
MEGAN
Of course, the odds of finding Francis Bilge after all this time seem slim, but we’re determined to give it a go. Armed with our first real lead, we’re heading to the archives at City Hall for any information about our first headmaster’s alleged paramour.
 
Cut to: City Hall—it’s an ugly yellow building with modern grey automatic doors. MEGAN tries to push one of them, then looks embarrassed while she waits for it to open before confidently striding through. Inside --
 
MEGAN
Here we are, City Hall, home to records of death, birth, marriage, arrests, and so much more. We have already gone through the publicly available parts of the archives, looking for anything to do with Francis Bilge --
 
Cut to: SARAH, knelt by a low table, furiously flipping through piles and piles of paper. Images of increasing mounds of records piling up around her are superimposed onto one another, the old one fading out just as yet another stack of papers appears by her head. Dramatic classical music builds, and, at the crescendo—cuts back to City Hall, no music.
 
MEGAN
But, we were unsuccessful.
 
SARAH
However, last time, we were only looking for mentions of Bilge. Now, we have a new name to try.
 
Messy footage with intense background fuzz. SARAH’s question can barely be made out as she speaks to the figure behind the desk—a purple-haired lanky person with a name-badge pinned to their button-down. ’dEBS’.
 
SARAH
Hey, we’re here for information for a student film project—can you give us any information on a former councilman, Harold Marshal?
 
DEBS
Uh, yeah, I remember hearing about him from some of the councillors. There’s some public records about him—file room’s downstairs, first door on your left. Though actually, if you don’t mind coming back on Thursday, he --
 
Suddenly, the video cuts. When it returns, the audio is cleaner, and the camera is closer to DEBS.
 
DEBS
(a bit forced)
You are in luck! Harry Marshal, the man you seek, is in this very building today!
 
MARTHA
(from behind the camera, also forced)
Oh wow, it must be fate! Where can we find him?
 
Cut to: MEGAN, looking serious as she checks around her to make sure it’s only her, SARAH, and MARTHA, before sneaking exaggeratedly up to a nondescript door. Straightening, she knocks.
 
A VOICE FROM WITHIN
Come in.
 
They do. Inside is a man in a tweed suit, tidying up an office—he is old, though doesn’t appear old enough to have been a councilman in the 1960s. Despite this, his lanyard reads ‘HAROLD MARSHAL’. He glances towards the girls.
 
HARRY MARSHAL
Ah, you must be the students Debs told me about. I understand you want to know more about my time in the council? It’s wonderful to see you young ’uns taking an interest in local politics and history.
 
He smiles, perching on the edge of the table and leaning back.
 
HARRY MARSHAL
So, what did you want to ask me?
 
MEGAN
Well actually, we wanted to ask about a man you knew, back in the 60s. Does the name ‘Francis Bilge’ mean anything to you?
 
HARRY looks wistful for a moment, and then freezes. His eyes seem cold as he answers.
 
HARRY MARSHAL
I think you’d better leave.
 
The camera looks between SARAH and MEGAN’s confused faces then back at HARRY.
 
SARAH
We didn’t mean to offend, we were just curious --
 
HARRY MARSHAL
(almost shouting)
LEAVE! I have… things to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.
 
He quickly shepherds the trio out of the room, slamming the door. The camera focuses on that closed door, and we hear a cross between a scream and a sob before the screen fades to black. When we fade in again, we see MEGAN and SARAH, on a street.
 
MEGAN
After that strange reaction, we knew we were on the right track. We --
 
There is a cough from behind her.
 
MEGAN
— Sarah read through Marshal’s public records from City Hall, but what she found didn’t help much.
 
As SARAH speaks, various scans of documents like marriage licenses and property records appear on screen.
 
SARAH
While Bilge likely never married, the same could not be said of Marshal, who married a woman named Esther in the 1980s, though they didn’t live together for long. They divorced the day after same-sex marriage was legalized, and she remarried to a woman named Joan the following year. Considering the students’ stories, is it possible that Esther and Harold were mutual beards, pretending to be straight through marriage in order to hide their sexuality? With this in mind, it’s possible that --
 
SARAH looks at MEGAN, who gives her an encouraging nod. There’s a sigh from behind the camera before SARAH continues --
 
Marshal and Bilge were lovers, and Bilge’s disappearance was something more sinister than a man trying to escape from the public eye. Could it have been a lover’s spat with a horrible ending? Is it possible that we are about to uncover a decades-old murder? Despite the lack of fresh leads, we are more determined than ever to uncover the truth.
 
MEGAN
We’re journeying to the city library in order to read old transcripts of council meetings. Could Bilge’s disappearance be related to a dispute over something Marshal did in an official capacity? One thing is certain: we’re onto something, something big. And we can’t stop now.
 
Cut to SARAH flicking through pieces of paper with MEGAN leaning close by. The camera lens is adjusted, minutely, again and again, almost bored. MEGAN notices.
 
MEGAN,
(hushed but desperate)
Martha, do something!
 
Once again, the screen shows superimposed clips of SARAH slogging through mounds of research, against a classical music score. Suddenly, this jolts to a stop --
 
SARAH
I’ve found something!
 
The camera and MEGAN crowd around to see the papers SARAH is holding —- transcripts of a council meeting from 1978.
 
SARAH
I’ve found a few transcripts where Bilge and Marshal appear together—after the council gets wind of the school and starts to take it seriously, they talk about incorporating it into the city properly. Making it a public institution. Marshal argues it’s good because the school will get more funding, but Bilge always sounds… angry. Like he’s having something taken away. But, listen to this bit:
 
MARSHAL: I’m only doing what’s best for you.
BILGE: You don’t get to decide what’s best for me! You don’t know me, Harry.
MARSHAL: Of course I know you, and I know that with time, you’ll come around. But this school needs federal funding, and it needs it now. We can’t wait for you to come around—just skip the theatrics and do what’s right for your school.
BILGE: You dare make those kinds of assumptions about me and mine? Go ruin some other institution—take over another school. Build a new one if you have to, just, stay away from mine. This isn’t what I want. You don’t know me as well as you think you do.
MARSHAL: Frankie --
BILGE: Don’t. Just… don’t. The day the government gets its grubby hands on my school is the last day I’m ever seen in this town.
 
MEGAN
That… that sounds like he followed through on his promise. Maybe he really did choose to leave. Couldn’t bear to see his beloved institution of privacy turned into something so public.
 
MARTHA
But this way, more kids get to learn from the place he built. And, the headteachers still honor his legacy now—it’s not like what he was working for was all swept away.
 
SARAH
I don’t think it’s only about that. Back home, our schools are controlled by the government—which is miles better than ones who only let kids in who can pay to go, of course! But, the specific way the system is configured means our teachers and students aren’t free. We learn only what the people in power think we should be learning, and behave only the way we are told we must behave. That’s not freedom.
 
MEGAN
So, if Bilge just wanted to be free from surveillance, from judgement, from the law… where would he go? Sarah, did you find anything else?
 
SARAH
Wait, there’s something else… It might be nothing, but, in 1979, when the council was finalising its transfer of power over Hughes, an objector came into the town hall, and was dragged out after he was recognized.
 
MARTHA (OS)
(from behind the camera)
Wait, I thought the council got involved in the late Sixties?
 
SARAH
Yeah, that’s when they started to take notice of Bilge’s little operation, but they were convinced to stay pretty hands-off until around the time the school moved location, in 1975. And it looks like the man who was keeping them away was the same man who confronted the objector in 1979—one Councilman Harold Marshal.
 
MEGAN
Gasp!
 
MARTHA
Did you just. Did you just say the word ‘gasp’ --
 
MEGAN
This is it! This has to mean something! Look at the transcript --
 
She snatches a piece of paper away from SARAH, clears her throat, and begins to read.
 
MEGAN
COUNCILMAN HUGHES: Okay, any final comments on the upcoming school acquisition?
AUDIENCE MEMBER: I have a comment.
HUGHES: Alright, but, make it quick. Please state your name for the record.
AUDIENCE MEMBER (READING FROM NOTES): My name is Mr. Townsend, and I am a local resident who is thoroughly concerned about this acquisition. This school is currently a bastion of independent learning, unmarred by the fickle whims of the status quo. What that school teaches does not change based on the current administration’s beliefs—they teach the truth, whatever that happens to be, and they prepare young people for further education in a way that cannot be wholly entrusted to an increasingly corrupt and deceitful --
COUNCILMAN MARSHAL: Townsend? I know that name --
TOWNSEND:—government, which refuses to prioritize the real and immediate needs of its people, serving themselves and their party above --
MARSHAL: No, I know that voice! Francis Bilge, you have been banned from this hall, you cannot simply don a fake beard and expect us to listen to your unhinged ramblings!
“TOWNSEND”:—the constituents they are meant to be serving. And, it is with this in mind --
MARSHAL: Stop talking, Frankie, you’re embarrassing yourself.
“TOWNSEND”:—that I strongly oppose the --
MARSHAL: SECURITY!
 
MARTHA
Woah, that got out of hand.
 
SARAH
All of Bilge’s students said they were close… What happened? Could this be motive?
 
MEGAN
Wait, there’s more—it looks like the stenographer caught part of a conversation between Marshal and Bilge, after Bilge was dragged out of the meeting:
 
MARSHAL: I can’t believe you. And, this disguise, really? I’d recognize you anywhere, especially with that damn alias. I know you. I know you love that show. What were you going to tell us your first name was, Charlie?
BILGE: Didn’t expect to get that far.
MARSHAL: That’s your problem—you never think these things through. You see yourself as fighting for justice, but you’re really just fighting against progress. You’ll see—this’ll be good for the school. Could even be good for you. I can make your life better, if you let me.
BILGE: This isn’t what I want. I won’t stand for it.
MARSHAL: Well, you’ll have to, because the motion’s passing. Your school’s ours, Frankie.
BILGE: Don’t call me that. Not anymore.
MARSHAL: Frank --
BILGE: If you do this, don’t expect me to just stand here and watch. I won’t let this happen.
MARSHAL: And, when it does?
BILGE: I don’t expect to be around to see it.
MARSHAL: Frank --
BILGE: Goodbye, Harry.
 
MARTHA
Wow.
 
SARAH
Yeah.
 
MEGAN
Gay people were even more dramatic in the Seventies…
 
MARTHA
That’s homophobic, Megan.
 
MEGAN
I’m a lesbian, Martha.
 
MARTHA
Oh. Makes sense.
 
MEGAN
What?
 
MARTHA
All those carabiners you wear. I did wonder—good for you!
 
SARAH
Anyway, as touching as all this is, it sounds like we have a new lead.
 
MEGAN
What do you mean?
 
SARAH
Look there, at the top of the page—it gives descriptions of the people talking. And it says that our ‘Charlie Townsend’ had a bag with a pizza box sticking out of it. Look at the brand.
 
MEGAN
Volare. They’re on the high street—let’s move.
 
The girls are now entering Volare, an Italian restaurant. The sign above the door reads, “Proudly serving Violethill since 1964”. MEGAN strides confidently up to the counter.
 
MEGAN
Hello, we’re here looking for someone. Might’ve been a regular, a while back. Does the name ‘Bilge’ mean anything to you?
 
WOMAN BEHIND THE COUNTER
Uh, no, but I haven’t been here as long as my grandmother—let me get her for you.
 
She leaves, returning with an old lady, at least in her eighties.
 
VALENTINA
Hello, I’m Valentina, I’ve been here since this place first opened. Who are you looking for, lovelies?
 
MEGAN
Francis Bilge. It’s for a school project.
 
VALENTINA
Oh, how wonderful! But I’m afraid I can’t help you—no Bilge. I’d know.
 
MEGAN
That’s a shame. Thanks anyway.
 
SARAH
Wait, I’ve got another idea—Valentina, how about a Charles Townsend?
 
VALENTINA
Oh, yes, Charles! We get orders for him all the time. Delivers out to the middle of the woods. Impossible to get to, but my girls always find a way. No idea what he looks like, though.
 
SARAH
That’s alright, you’ve been a big help. I don’t suppose someone could show us where exactly he can be found?
 
Cut to: SARAH and MEGAN are trailing through the woods, their clothes dirty and covered in twigs.
 
MEGAN
I. Regret. Everything.
 
SARAH
Aren’t you excited? We must be close… There, just up ahead!
 
MEGAN
Yep, that sure is a creepy cabin.
 
SARAH
It’s exactly where the woman said it was. This is it, I can feel it!
 
The camera swivels to focus on her.
 
SARAH
The electricity, running through my veins… We’re finally going to find out the truth. He really might still be alive…
 
She finishes the hike up the door and raises her fist, ready to knock.
 
SARAH
You ready?
 
MEGAN nods, as does the camera.
 
SARAH
Then here. We. G--
 
There’s a small cut, probably just a glitch, and the camera swivels to show an OLD MAN, brandishing a rifle.
 
MAN
What are you doing here?? Damn kids—get off my property!!
 
SARAH
Wait, are you—Ahh!
 
The MAN shoots once, into the air, then levels the gun at SARAH.
 
MAN
I SAID, GET!
 
The girls shriek and start running. The camera drops, bumpily filming the forest floor, and the students’ laboured breathing is loud and clear as they race away from the cabin. Finally, some safe distance away, they stop and catch their breaths.
 
MEGAN
Could that have been him? Really, actually him?
 
MARTHA
No! You idiots, that was some wacko who was probably going to kill us! I don’t care how engrossed you are in this mystery—theater club isn’t worth dying for! We don’t even get a damn credit!
 
SARAH
I don’t care. I have to know! Aren’t you curious? Aren’t you excited? We are on the verge of uncovering something big!
 
MEGAN
Martha’s right, Sarah. Recent experiences have taught me to be more cautious—the only thing we’re on the verge of is being the subjects of our own missing person’s documentary. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime. Come on, let’s go back.
 
SARAH
I’m sorry, I didn’t think… You shouldn’t have to risk yourselves just to satisfy my curiosity. You’re right—the tale of Francis Bilge ends here.
 
The camera fades out as the girls start walking back. The screen stays back for a few moments, then…
 
SARAH
(whispering)
Okay, it’s late now, and it’s just me. If I have to do this on my own, I will.
 
The camera swings to show the street ahead as SARAH walks. It’s dark out, and she’s wearing all black. She reaches the edge of the forest, and turns the camera back around to face herself.
 
SARAH
Whatever the cost.
 
For a while, she’s just picking her way through the leaves. It’s calm at night. Peaceful. Suddenly, she lets out a cry—the camera turns to show her leg tangled around some barbed wire.
 
SARAH
Shit, shit!
 
She struggles to pull it off, scraping her hands, until the sound of footsteps makes her stop.
 
OLD MAN
So, you didn’t listen.
 
The camera cuts to SARAH and the MAN sitting inside a log cabin, an empty box from Volare sitting by the lit fireplace.
 
MAN
Yes, I am Francis Bilge. I retired quietly many years ago to this little spot of land. It’s technically not under any council, and so I can do what I like here. This is my place. I miss the children, shaping young minds, but leaving was necessary—I had to escape, before it became impossible. You can’t just hide from the world anymore. You can’t be alone.
 
SARAH
Most people don’t want to be alone.
 
BILGE
Better than being trapped, believe me. But I’ve had a good life—I carve bug hotels now.
 
SARAH
Huh.
 
BILGE
What, there’s something wrong with bug hotels? You have a problem with a bug the size of your pinkie nail?
 
SARAH
No, no, of course not! I’m not feuding with bugs. I just thought, I don’t know… If you’ve spent all this time away from people, you might be starting to miss the company.
 
BILGE
Sometimes.
 
SARAH
You know, your school still honors your legacy. There’s over a thousand students now, and they’re taught the importance of privacy and anonymity—the headteachers set an example. There aren’t even any photos of the current head! I’ve never even seen her, only heard her voice. The school never moved on, Mr. Bilge—it’s still very much yours.
 
BILGE
Thank you, Sarah. If you hadn’t come here tonight, I never would have known all the good that managed to survive.
 
The video fades to be the walk back down the forest, and towards the school, as BILGE’s voice continues over the top.
 
BILGE
My goal when I started teaching the local children was simple: provide the education they just weren’t getting anywhere else. I was filling a niche, that’s all. But, as the years went by, I quickly realized that I had become something more for these children—a place of refuge from a propagandized world. I wasn’t just teaching them their letters and numbers; I was teaching them how to be themselves, individuals, without complying to the rules. I was teaching them how to be free.
 
I saw the way such tight documentation meant risk. It meant kids who just wanted to learn could be identified and ripped away because some politician decided they shouldn’t be there; meant people who wanted to live as themselves had a paper trail to their former lives; meant women couldn’t escape abusive situations. People knew too much about other people, could keep track… It’s dangerous. We need to learn how to help people hide… and how to stay hidden.
 
Having reached the school, the video fades to an image at the same angle in black-and-white, of the school from decades ago. Finally, words appear on the screen:
 
The search for Francis Bilge is over.
 
We will continue his legacy by making sure that this film is never seen by the public. This way, he can remain, forever,
 
Hidden.
 
‘ ‘ ‘ click restart to watch again’ ’ ’

As the screen faded to black, Cwej put his hands together and started clapping. “Woo, yeah, brilliant documentary! Well done! Though, Sang Mi,” he said, turning to the girl sitting on the sofa next to him, popcorn bowl in hand, “You may be able to fool other people, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well by now.”
​
Sang Mi put on her most innocent face, toying with an unpopped kernel absent-mindedly as she answered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If you were in real danger, I know you would have told me. And you definitely would have told him about the impact he had on his students, just like you promised, if that had been the real Bilge. Besides, your acting was good, but the editing was far from perfect—it couldn’t hide the glitches of cut footage. What really happened when you went into that cabin?” Cwej’s voice was stern; it was his best teacher’s voice. He was rather proud of it, and, after spending so much effort perfecting it, he was a little annoyed at the idea that he was unlikely to ever need it again.

Sang Mi sighed, but relented. “Fiiiinneee. Megan said the truth was too boring, so we roped Martha’s grandpa into playing Bilge. If you want to see what we found, the raw footage is there if you scroll through the drive—there was nothing. Totally empty, save for that pizza box, and an old encyclopedia. Probably just a squatter.” Her words came too fast, and her shrug was a little too practised. Cwej told her as much.

“Come on. You don’t really buy that. The girl who saw the same cat years apart and dropped everything to go chasing after it would never accept that it was ‘just a squatter’. What about the alias used to order the pizzas being the same one Francis Bilge used in that town hall? How would a squatter have known that?”

“Okay, yes, it is bothering me, but there’s nothing more I can do. We’re leaving too soon to keep investigating—and besides, if this has taught me anything, it’s that some stones are best left unturned.” She stood up, looking around at the few things she’d brought with her from Gongen, all scattered around. “I’d better pack. Goodnight, Chris.”

“Wait, Sang Mi?”

She stopped, turning. “Yeah?”

“Who did you get to play the Councilman?”

She frowned. “Marshal? No one, that bit was real—well, he wasn’t ‘conveniently on site’, we had to wait a couple days, but, that really was him. Why?”

Cwej stared at her, hard, like he was trying to see through her lies. There weren’t any. He shook his head. “Nothing, nevermind. Go, get some sleep.” 

Even after she’d left the room, Cwej still couldn’t stop thinking about the mystery of Francis Bilge. It just didn’t make any sense—he could almost buy into the conspiracy theories that he’d been murdered by his lover in a fit of passion, or taken out by Councilman Hughes so the council could take over his school once and for all… but no matter what he came up with, none of it could explain how a man who was at the very least in his thirties, likely older, still looked middle-aged nearly fifty years later. Like a dog with a bone, he couldn’t let it go—determined, almost shaking with anticipation, he played the raw footage, scanning for any possible clue. 

It was all like Sang Mi said. The girls had entered the cabin to find nothing more than a pizza box and a book. No man. No clues. Nothing. Wait --

“Is that…” 

Cwej squinted at the book on the screen. It was an old, leatherbound thing, cracked and worn, but the title was just about visible. He should have noticed. He should have remembered… 

Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe. Known by every universal traveller, it contained information on anything and everything the universe had to offer, fitting an impossible amount of information into what was surely a limited-space hologrammic book. The handy guide to everywhere… and no one knew where it came from. 

He’d always wondered if he had an entry.

Cwej closed the computer and looked back towards the stairs towards where Sang Mi must by now be asleep, and then towards the door. 

The choice was easy.

He slipped out of the rented house and towards the forest, burdened by only a little guilt at not involving his travelling companion. His heart hammered out a rhythm too fast to count. He picked his way through the pathless woods—he remembered the direction the students had taken well, as it was shown in the documentary several times—and soon arrived at the cabin.

This was alien. This was time-travel. This was big, and here he was, alone and unarmed with enough adrenaline coursing through his system to make him feel every soft whisper of wind like a slice across his cheek, every twig like a sword and every sound, every sound… 

The forest was different at night.

Sang Mi hadn’t found anything, but she hadn’t been here when it was like this. In the dark, no one could see you move. In the dark, cold, dead of night, no one save the birds and the insects were there to hear. In the dark…

It didn’t matter. If Bilge showed himself, it would only be to Chris Cwej, and no one else would know. He could stay invisible, if he chose. And Cwej would be happy, if only he knew the truth, just for him, a little secret to wrap it all up in a neat little bow and satisfy his curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, not the Cwej. Curiosity kills those who need to stay hidden.

He couldn’t stop himself. Hand on the door now, he pushed, hard. No need to knock—there would have been no answer. Not here. Too dangerous.

Cwej slammed his body against the door until it gave, and stepped inside.

And, as to what he found there? That’s anyone’s guess. Some things we aren’t meant to know. For safety, for privacy, for the sake of a quiet life, a little piece of freedom. Some things are best kept hidden.

One thing that we can know is that, when Cwej got back to the house that night, he picked up a red pen. On the top right-hand corner of the theater club final project cover letter, he wrote down a letter, wrapped in a loose circle.

This truth does not have to remain hidden: Sang Mi, Megan, and Martha’s project received a very well-deserved ‘A’.

* * *

Lance had been perching on the countertop during much of Cwej’s story. They looked down at the piece of paper Cwej had handed them: it was the cover letter of the project, detailing the reasons the students had chosen to delve into the history of their school’s elusive founder. They handed it back to Cwej, then smiled.

“Good story. Shame you won’t tell me what you really saw in that cabin, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that too.” Sang Mi narrowed her eyes at Cwej, who floundered under the glare.

“I was trying to create mystique! Some questions aren’t meant to be answered. So, was it good enough to pay for our snacks?”

Lance laughed. “Well, it better be, considering you’ve already eaten most of them. Though, before you get back to, well, wherever it is you’re going, I was wondering something.”

“Oh?”

“What were you two doing at that school, anyway?”

Cwej looked at Sang Mi, and then back at the cashier. “That’s a long story. And, I think the cost of telling it would be more inventory than your shop holds.”

Lance smirked. “Alright, keep your secrets. Thanks for making my day a little more interesting.”

“Any time,” Cwej said, and he and Sang Mi made their way back to the car. They had many miles of humdrum, identical stretches of road to go, but they were both in slightly higher spirits. At least today, even if only for a few minutes, got to be a little different.

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Next Stop:
A Banquet for Beasts
by James Wylder

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Copyright © 2025 Arcbeatle Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edited by James Wylder and James Hornby
Formatting and design by James Wylder & Aristide Twain
Cover by Rosalie Mauer
Logo design by Lucas Kovacs
Concepts Used with Permission:
Academy 27 © Arcbeatle Press
WARSONG, WARS TCG, Gongen, Takumi, and associated concepts © Decipher, Inc.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Murder Llamas © Plum Pudding
Blue Candle Coffee Company, E.D.E.M, Jhe Sang Mi © James Wylder