by Jess Webster
That night as James lay on his bed, once again staring at the ceiling, fingers inter-linked behind his head, he came up with a brilliant idea.
The following morning, at precisely 6:08 am, James stole down the dorm hallways, occasionally being blinded by the slanting rays of morning light that burst through the open windows. Reaching the huge front doors, he struggled to open them without making too much noise. (They were lovely large oak doors, but the hinges creaked horribly with every centimetre.) Indeed, James usually struggled to open any door at all.
Once outside he soon reached an extremely tall pole, upon which the school flag billowed happily in a cool breeze. The flag was put up at 6:00 am every morning, and was visible from many classroom windows. But not today! James thought to himself. He quickly untied the rope and let the flag down, planning to take it to his room and drape it over his bed.
However, as he reached the white picket fence that surrounded the dorm building, James hit upon an even better idea. Someone had been giving the fence another coat of white paint the previous day, and had left the paint can out, complete with a brush. James suddenly felt a strange sensation in his chest. Could it be that he was enjoying contemplating doing something bad? Today, he had not even thought to do something good before his bad deed. He simply took the paint, returned to the flagpole, and, after spreading the flag out on the ground, painted the words ‘DOWN WITH WESTCOTT’ and ‘JAMES WINCHESTER IV’ in big white letters. He was smiling as he did so.
Approximately three hours later, as James sauntered into class grinning mischievously to himself, he glanced out the window and was horribly dismayed. He had not let the paint dry before he had raised the flag again; the word ‘WESTCOTT’ had been smudged beyond all recognition and the flag now appeared to say ‘DOWN WITH JAMES WINCHESTER IV’.
“Andrew Harrison!” Mrs Bartlett-Cooke roared. “What is the meaning of this?”
James’ heart sank. But as well as that sinking feeling there was another, which James was not particularly familiar with. It was a strange heat, which welled up in his chest and made his throat feel peculiarly acidic. He felt the strange urge to break something[16].
“What’s the meaning of what?” Andrew demanded.
“Don’t be so impertinent, young man! You were on flag duty this morning.”
Still confused by this as-yet unspecified accusation, Andrew hurried over to the window. James saw his face blanch. “I didn’t do that!” Andrew instantly said. “It wasn’t like that when I put it up this morning!”
“In light of your recent behaviour, you’d better hope someone can testify to that statement,” Mrs Bartlett-Cooke said, red-faced and frightening.
“But we’re supposed to put it up at six in the morning! No one else gets up at six!”
“I was up,” James said. “I went for a walk this morning, took the flag down, painted on it and put it back up again.”
Mrs Bartlett-Cooke’s lower lip seemed to bend down and outwards in a strange way. “James, why would you want to paint ‘down with James Winchester’ on the school flag?”
“It didn’t say that before, it got smudged,” said James.
“Smudged,” Andrew Harrison VI reinforced, nodding. He became immediately silent as Mrs Bartlett-Cooke thrust a deadly glare in his direction.
“I’m not going to hear this argument again.” Mrs Bartlett-Cooke shook her head. “Andrew and James, you’ll both go to detention again today.”
Yet again, James frowned and Andrew growled.
This was not at all going as planned, James thought. How was he ever going to be expelled if no one would believe he had been naughty? There was only one solution: he must do something in front of everyone. Something so bad there was literally no chance that he would only receive a detention. But what? Though James was getting a little bit better with the general concept of naughtiness, he doubted that he could think of something so terrible.
Andrew Harrison VI began to make threatening noises as soon as they returned to their desks.
James began to feel a little sick[17].
“Mrs Bartlett-Cooke, may I please go to the infirmary for a little while?” James asked in his usual quiet, polite way.
Mrs Bartlett-Cooke almost looked ready to deny his request (something James was not particularly used to), but appeared to think the better of it and nodded.
Very soon, James once again found himself giving the infirmary ceiling a very hard stare.
Nurse Esther dared to break the silence, saying, “You know, James, you may talk to me. In case something is worrying you, you know?”
“I suppose.”
“Lots of other kids come to me with their problems, you know. I’m kind of like an unofficial school counsellor.”
James suddenly had an idea. Still staring at the roof, and trying to sound nonchalant, he asked, “Do you take notes?”
“Well, yes, sometimes. Because so many children come to see me, I feel it best to write some things down, so I don’t get students mixed up, and so that I can remember what’s happening in their lives. So that I can be of some help,” Esther said, her kind eyes shining.
“Do you keep your notes in here in the infirmary?” James asked, again feigning disinterestedness.
“Your secrets are safe with me, James,” she said, looking very grave. “My notes are kept in a locked filing cabinet in the headmistress’s office.” She selected a small blue key from the many on her key-chain and began fiddling with it.
“Is that the only key?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Thanks Miss Mason-Smith, I feel much better now!” James smiled and departed from the infirmary.
Nurse Esther felt a little confused by this exchange.
James now sauntered through the school corridors, his hands pocketed and his shoulders low. He watched his shoes appear and disappear with each of his steps; left, right, left, right. His mind was filled with indecision. A little blue key, an office full of secrets… and the school PA system. It was brilliant! But it was, without doubt, the worst thing he had ever contemplated doing. It was sure to work – but whether he could bring himself to do it was another thing entirely.
Just then James saw some astonishingly polished shoes pass him by, travelling in the opposite direction. He stopped momentarily to glance back at the person wearing those shiny shoes.
To James’ very great surprise he saw a rather oddly dressed man, walking along with a swagger in his step. James thought it strange that he walked so quietly with such shoes – in fact, he seemed to make no noise at all! He wore a top hat with a red ribbon above the brim; a ponytail, secured at the nape of his neck with a small bow, fell to his shoulder blades. Like James had seen on an orchestra conductor on their last excursion, he wore a black, high-necked coat with tails – except that the conductor had been quite portly, and this particular man seemed slender and more than slightly debonair. Stranger yet, a sheath hung from his left hip, as if he carried some sort of thin sword – what was it called? A rapier, maybe.
Quite despite himself, and without even realising, James let a small laugh escape his mouth. The man did, after all, look very odd.
The fellow turned on his heel in one graceful arc and gave James a long, hard stare. James was not entirely sure whether the man was offended, or whether he was contemplating roasting a marshmallow, so unreadable was his expression.
“Who are you?” James asked.
The man’s dark, clever-seeming eyes flicked from left to right. “Are you directing that question at me, young lad?” he asked, his voice smooth, resonant and commanding. James imagined he might make a very good singer.
James did not reply (being the type of child to say as little as physically possible). Instead he cocked his head to one side, furrowing his brow and looking directly into the man’s eyes.
The man cleared his throat. “Well, I’m Dom. Domenic Mancini. I’m here for the class presentation, of course. Nineteenth century fashion. You’ve just missed my co-w
orker. She’s dressed as a mystic.”
“Cool,” James said with a smile. The strange man then flashed him a dazzling grin, gave a small salute, turned on his heel and continued on his way.
James’ thoughts returned to his brilliant idea. He faced a most difficult decision. In order to unveil these secret files Miss Mason-Smith kept guarded so well, he would need to steal the little blue key. Not only was he loath to do anything so very bad as stealing, he was quite desperate not to involve Miss Mason-Smith in the trouble that would surely ensue.
Torn by indecision, James completely forgot his afternoon class, instead returning to his bedroom, changing into his warm, comfy flannelette pyjamas and flopping down onto his bed. The thick, soft blankets seemed to engulf his small body and, suddenly feeling warm and remarkably weary (presumably from all his recent bad behaviour), he closed his eyes and surrendered his consciousness to that fuzzy, dark realm called Slumber.
Somewhere in-between the dark and the moon there appeared a vague silhouette – a shape James knew he’d seen before. He could feel something… something bad. In the next instant the shadowy wraith was beside his bed. James felt the strangest sensation, of something intangible and invaluable being drawn from the back of his mind and out through his closed eyelids. It was not painful, as such… but from the moment the thing had been drawn out, he felt a pervading discomfort… a persistent uneasiness. It gnawed at his consciousness… invaded his dreams… made him break out in an unnatural sweat and–
James awoke with a start. He felt terrified, but the most alarming thing was that he had no idea why. He had never liked the dark all that much, but tonight it worried him even more than usual. In the darkness just beyond his bed, he was sure… sure that something was there. His hand hovered for several moments over the switch for his bedside lamp. If it was just the dark, then turning on the lamp would expel his fears once and for all. But if something was there, in the darkness just beyond his bed, did he really want to know what it was? Maybe it was ugly and mean, and would be enraged by the light.
“There is nothing there,” James told himself. “There is nothing there.”
Wincing as he did so, he prepared himself for the worst and flicked the switch. Or at least, he tried to – but his lamp seemed to have been moved. Which meant that somebody had been in his room![18]
Having come to this nightmarish conclusion, James wondered if it would be appropriate to dive under his bed. Given, a child of his age could be forgiven for such ‘cowardice’[19], but James remembered that it was now Wednesday morning (well, nine minutes into Wednesday, at least) and that the dorm rooms were not vacuumed until Thursday during the school day, which meant that the floor would be dusty. James loathed the feel of dusty floorboards, so he did not dive under the bed. Instead, he felt a most uncharacteristic desire to validate his conclusion. (Usually James was quite confident that his first conclusion was absolutely correct.)
So he got out of bed and fumbled about in the utter dark, in the general direction of his bedroom door. Eventually he found himself in the hallway. His door must have been open, he thought. Yet more evidence that someone had been in his room. Now in the dimly lit hallway, he saw that his door must have closed behind him. Now, if he was correct (and James was 99.679% sure that he was), all his thinking had put him about two minutes behind the intruder. He was probably already out of the building.
James silently made his way to the observatory tower, where, he knew, he would be able to see for at least one kilometre in every direction by the light of the full moon. At least then if he saw someone running away from the building he would know that he had been right.
The dorm building of Westcott School for Boys and Girls was charmingly old, even resembling a castle of sorts, and the observatory tower certainly added to this resemblance. The narrow spiralling staircase was actually quite dangerous – the steps barely afforded enough room for a child to find an adequate footing, let alone for an adult.
James froze when he heard voices. But as his ears filtered the sounds from the night-time ring of crickets and rustle of breezes, he realised it was only Andrew Harrison VI and a few other boys from his class. The air in the stairwell was opaque with eddies and swirls of white. They were smoking in the first tower room.
James carefully crept past the door, which was only slightly ajar, and continued up the stairs. Even the door to the highest tower room resembled something from a book. As James reached it, he half expected to see a girl with unnaturally long hair sitting by the window, about to discover that her neck muscles could not support as much weight as she had previously thought[20] .
The door was already open, and James glanced through it just in time to see a man wearing a top hat and tails (and very shiny shoes, which now gleamed in the reflected moonlight), standing in the frame of the tower window, obviously thinking about jumping. James recognized him immediately as Domenic Mancini.
“Thanks,” the man said enigmatically. Then he flashed James a devilish smile and dropped out of sight, leaving the little boy to gasp in disbelief.
Never mind the fact that James had no idea what the apparently insane man was talking about – he had just thrown himself from the tower window without any visible qualms or fears!
James rushed to the windowsill, leant as far forward as he dared and saw the man shrink down into the darkness at the base of the tower. James felt a mixture of fear and surprise when he did not hear the sickening crunch of splitting bones. Instead, the man seemed to… land. Lightly! And without any sort of injury that usually accompanies the 80 foot drop of an 80 kilogram body. Then he simply continued on his merry way, with the same swagger in his step.
James watched Domenic Mancini disappear into the moon-shadows with a bizarre feeling of regret. He felt as if he were missing something, as you or I might feel when searching for a memory that teasingly brushes the fringes of our consciousness, yet remains hidden.
“Thanks for what?” James whispered to himself. He asked the stars and the full moon, since they alone could hear him. “What on earth did he mean by that?”
For one ridiculous moment James felt an almost overpowering urge to throw himself over the windowsill and follow the man; for if Domenic Mancini could survive such a fall, then logically James Winchester IV must also be able to, given that he was much lighter[21].
But by now Domenic Mancini had become one with the shadows of the night, and James could no longer even see those shiny shoes, despite the full moon. Then James felt the world darken and abruptly tip on its side, and his head rushed towards the floor.
One should NEVER be too proud to ask for help…
for all too soon it may be too late.
It was approximately midday when James Winchester IV regained consciousness. Upon observing the sun halfway through its daily march, he felt disgusted with himself. He did not even wish to bother with going to class. It was better to miss the day entirely than to show up late.
James felt very dazed and more than slightly perplexed. How did I get up here? he wondered. He had a vague feeling that… no… he couldn’t grasp the recollection just yet. Oh well, he thought to himself, it would surely come back in time. He began to make his way down the tower stairs.
He tried to prod all over his head in search of any bumps, and wondered that he did not have any; he felt sure he must have cracked his head when he’d fallen. But neither his fingers nor his face seemed to have any feeling at all! Ah! He caught the thought as it rose unbidden – he had fainted!
At this point he passed an open doorway, where he saw faint swirls of grey hanging in the stale air. Then in a rush of images and unpleasant feelings, James recalled the previous night. And yet the recollections still had that dreamlike quality in his mind. He felt somehow numb. He had better go see Miss Mason-Smith[22] .
“Hello James.” The nurse greeted him with a warm smile as he entered the infirmary. James was very glad to discover that they were alone in the big, pleasant room.
; “Hello Miss Mason-Smith,” James replied vaguely, still trying to sift through exactly what had happened the previous night.
“What brings you in today, James?” Nurse Esther asked, wondering why he was still in his pyjamas.
“I think I might’ve sleep-walked last night, Miss Mason-Smith.”
The kind young nurse could not hide the flicker of alarm that crept across her face.
“Is that a really bad thing?” James asked hesitantly.
“It happens often enough in kids your age, James; I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Where did you wake up?”
“In the tower.”
“In the tower?” Miss Mason-Smith looked a bit more alarmed. “That is a little bit dangerous, James. The window up there is always open.”
“I know,” James answered. “I think I followed someone up there, a man in a suit. He jumped out the window and I wanted to follow him, but I… I fainted.”
Esther was now thoroughly alarmed. “James, have you been under any particular stress lately?”
“Well…” James thought about his parents. Everybody else’s parents seemed to love each other so much[23], and James felt so humiliated and saddened that his own did not[24]. He supposed it would not hurt to tell Miss Mason-Smith. She understood everything. And, if anything, she might be able to help him. He wondered that he had not thought of it before!
“I…” he started.
Something seemed to clamp over his throat.
“I…” he started again.
The clamping thing clamped harder.
He seemed to feel his face growing redder with every attempt to speak. That crimson, ugly emotion was welling up inside him. It was coursing through him, a fire in his veins that made him want to pick up precious things and smash them into thousands of tiny pieces.
“James, are you feeling alright?” Nurse Esther, if possible, was even more alarmed than she had been a few moments ago. It was one thing for James to appear sad (which was, frankly, quite normal). But angry? Never in his four years at Westcott had Esther ever seen James even border on thinking about being angry.