Dan and the Teacher Ghost
Page 7
A piercing feeling that brings a sting of tears to my eyes tells me that I don’t want it to end. I don’t want her to go and I don’t want them to go. I never even knew her name.
Now I do run across the yard, ignoring the others bashing past me, towards where Dan has faltered to a stop and I stop dead myself when I catch sight of Miss Johnson striding round the corner of the hedge, her arms full of books and papers. The state of our classroom comes vividly back to me and I know I’m looking at big, big trouble. Dan sees her too and I watch as he runs up to her and she gives him a bundle of books to carry.
They are walking towards me now, Dan talking away, and Miss smiles as they pass and go on towards the school door.
I can’t bear the thought of what she’s going to see in the classroom and who’s going to get the blame. But at once I’m hit by a swirl of air that makes me gasp. It’s like a whirlwind reeling round my head. I feel that pressure again in my brain that says I’m being forced to do something. Then right against my ear, despite the roaring pressure, I hear a voice, like rustling leaves, papery thin, making me shiver, but urgent and so irresistible!
“Stop them Tony!” she hisses. “Don’t let them go in! It’s happening again!”
She’s willing me to understand but I don’t. And then the ground heaves under my feet. Staring down, I see that the crack in the tarmac is widening as I gape at it, so that little pieces of the black stuff are breaking off and falling into the split.
Now, with an icy shock, I do understand and I’m yelling and running like mad to where Dan and Miss Johnson are just about to go into school. I push between them and block their way to the door. They stop, surprised. I babble words that don’t make sense and Miss only looks puzzled.
I point past them at the crack in the yard and at that instant it widens quickly and begins to run towards us, side cracks splitting off it like forks of lightning. The netball post lurches sideways and falls with a clang, squashing the hoop.
Miss steps towards it, as if she can’t make out what’s happening, catches her foot in a bit that suddenly thrusts up, and falls to her knees with a cry.
Kids are yelling and running out of the gate and Dan’s standing there looking like I’ve shouted at him. Everything seems moving now, so that I stagger slightly and struggle not to fall myself. I can hear cracks and rumbles coming from inside the building behind me.
“Dan the Man,” I shout. “Help the lady!”
He gets that. We grab hold of Miss, an arm each, and pull her up, leaving all her books and papers to fly off in the rising wind. Still hanging on to her, once more we charge. This time over the breaking up yard, past the hedge and out through the gate to join the other kids where they are milling about across the road. Then I let go of Miss, a bit shocked at what I’ve just done to a teacher.
Everything feels safer here, the pavement seems solid, and Miss has recovered from her fall. She’s in charge again now, wanting to shepherd us further down the road. But we all have to stop and turn when there’s a rumble and a crash from behind us.
Something must have collapsed inside, all those cracks in the walls must have finally joined up together, because as we huddle there, staring, the roof suddenly sags and with a crackling roar the slates slip and slide and then avalanche down in a mass to explode in fragments like daggers where we were standing outside the door just half a minute ago. The heap of smashed tiles is so high it covers the stone with “Grimp’s Building” carved on it. There’s a great cloud of dust swirling up over it all. The sight and the horrible sounds leave me cold and shaking.
I know that the old coal mine has struck again, just as it must have done years and years ago. For a second I almost know what it must have been like for those children in the last moments of the lost school. But if I ever tell what else I know, who the heck is going to believe me? It’s such a sad, strange story and I’m never going to forget it. She was a nice lady, that ghost.
I’m shivering and I’m nearly crying. But then I look round for Dan to make sure he’s all right. He’s standing close to Miss and all I can see is the size of the grin on his glowing face.
Now I’m grinning too, with relief, because it’s so obvious that I haven’t hurt him. And I realise that I won’t get the blame for the owl or the vase either, although Phil and his gravy could still be an issue.
I move towards Dan. I’ve still got to say sorry about his picture…and I’ve got to tell him how good he is…but it looks as if Miss is already doing that. I push through the kids towards them.
“Hey Dan,” I call. “Dan. You’re the Man!”
Dear Reader,
Whoever you are and wherever you are, if you enjoyed this story do let the writer know. You could tell your teachers or friends about it too. You might also like to try NIGHTMARES IN THE DREAMHOUSE as well.
e-mail: david@fishing-forever.co.uk
www.fishing-forever.co.uk