by Matt Drabble
She headed out through the school, nodding slightly to the few pupils that were still milling around.
Her car was fully packed and ready for the off. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Merryweather but she was more than a little concerned at the state of the narrow country lanes that probably hadn’t been ploughed or gritted.
The snow had stopped, but the temperature was rapidly dropping and her breath was a misty cloud as she crunched her way across the driveway to her car.
It was a small and economical model, but a little unarmed against the winter.
She placed the files on the passenger seat as she climbed in and turned the engine over.
She gave the car a few revs to try and warm up the engine quicker as the inside of the windscreen was foggy.
She waited as patiently as she could before she grew concerned about missing Mr. Barnaby in the village.
She drove slowly down the long driveway towards the road.
As she pulled out into the road she felt the car’s wheels slip a little as they fought for purchase on the rapidly freezing snow.
She tried to remember about how to cope with a skid and thought that it was something about turning into the slide instead of away from it. She drove as slowly and as carefully as she could manage along the lane.
The world outside was black and her headlights illuminated the white covered hedgerows as she moved slowly. There were no streetlights or even cats’ eyes this far out and it had been some months since she had last driven at all, let alone at night.
She rounded a gentle bend in the road and the car slipped worryingly again.
She felt her heart pound painfully in her chest and her palms grew hot and sweaty as the car started to get away from her.
She resisted the urge to step hard on the brakes and pumped them gently until she was in control again.
She stopped in the middle of the lane and debated returning to the school, but turning back from a course of action just wasn’t in her nature. She hoped that the roads would become clearer and better treated the closer that she got towards civilization.
Bexley Cross was only a few short miles away and she would find Mr. Barnaby there in the school’s off-road vehicle that they kept for just such weather as this.
In the worst case scenario she could always get a lift back to the school with him.
She pressed on ever more cautiously to the point that the engine started to hitch in protest at her lack of speed.
She could now see the few twinkling lights of the village up ahead.
There were several houses as well as a pub and post office with a general store thrown in for good measure.
She was betting that Mr. Barnaby was probably in the pub partaking of something elegant and expensive as befit his standing. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve a little bit of peace and quiet after a long hard term.
Privately, she hoped that he would ask her to join him beside the roaring fire once she told him of her investigation.
She was picturing the fireside scene when something roared out of the darkness. The truck had its lights out and had been lying in wait off the side of the road facing into the centre.
It hit her broadside and drove her small car into the field beyond the hedgerow.
Her car door crumpled under the assault and monstrous pain wracked her body as the metal disintegrated, crushing her legs.
The powerful truck drove forwards, pushing her tiny car sideways. When the truck slammed on its brakes, her world suddenly turned upside down as she rolled over and over into the field.
The roof collapsed as she rolled and her head was squashed down agonizingly into her neck.
When the world finally stopped spinning she found that that her insides felt like jelly and she couldn’t breathe properly as though something was deeply damaged.
She tried to call out but there was no sound from her mouth, only a broken whistling sound.
She heard the truck’s engine rev as it backed back out into the road, leaving her shattered and broken.
The car’s front windows were all smashed and the bitter wind blew in and she shivered, which drove the broken bone pieces together with jagged edges.
She could only see out of one eye as the other was swollen shut but she could just make out the lights of Bexley Cross.
She knew that she just had to hold on until Mr. Barnaby returned to school. There was only one way to get to Ravenhill and he would have to come down this road and he would see the signs of the accident. He would surely see the damage to the hedgerow and investigate, where he would find her trapped beneath the wreckage. There would be large skid marks across the icy road, just as long as it didn’t…
Her thought died in her mind as the skies opened again and the snow fell in thick heavy flakes covering everything on the ground including her.
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Alex Thompson pushed his plate aside. He had little appetite since most of the other kids had left, leaving the dining hall largely empty and dark.
He was still bitter about having to stay behind over Christmas. His father was a businessman who worshipped money, apparently above all else.
He had spoken at length with Joshua about his father and the new boy had comforted him with words of surprising wisdom for one so young.
They had talked long into the night about the evils of the modern world and the false idols that had been created by the faithless.
Alex had never had much time for religion, but Joshua spoke with such conviction and an assured tongue that Alex felt compelled to listen.
Joshua didn’t speak of his God in the fluffy language of the priests that Alex had heard preach. There were no tales of forgiveness and love, no stories of Good Samaritans and the turning of cheeks. Joshua spoke of a God of fire and brimstone, a deity of blood and thunder who rained down furious vengeance from the heavens on the heads of those who did not follow. But much to Alex’s enticement, he was also a God of great reward to the chosen and blessed few.
He found himself deeply intrigued with Joshua’s faith and preaching. The American had a kind of magnetism that lent itself to delivering a message to rapt faces.
They had talked long and hard into the night and Alex had never experienced such a quick and close bond before with anyone, male or female.
His feelings were mixed and confused by the sudden onrush of intimacy, but he felt strongly protective of Joshua and wouldn’t let him come to any harm.
Joshua had humiliated James Corner at the party and that went a long way in Alex’s book.
Corner had been a pain in the ass for as long as Alex could remember and the situation had been hurtling towards a potentially violent climax for several months now. But Joshua had seemingly disarmed the bomb with a few soft whispers in James’s ear and ended the war without blood being shed.
Barnaby walked the halls after curfew. His footsteps echoed along the empty corridors as Ravenhill slumbered. Most of her residents had now departed for the holidays leaving them largely alone.
The storm had finally subsided, leaving the horizon virgin white with pristine snow.
Despite knowing that everything was in order, he’d had Maurice double check everything again. The boiler and generators were fully serviced and meticulously maintained. The power could be intermittent and unreliable during the winter months even without the storm and heavy snow.
Rosa Marsh had volunteered to run the kitchens over the break and she had assured him that every larder and fridge was fully stocked and could feed an army.
Since her return she had been a paragon of enthusiasm topped off with the sunniest disposition.
He could only assume that she was worried about her position since her unauthorized absence and if her concern led to such an upturn in her attitude, then he was more than happy to let her labour under the misapprehension.
The building was locked down and prepared for the worst that Mother Nature could throw at them.
As he walked his rout
e he marvelled, as always, at the artwork that lined the walls.
The ancient faces of Ravenhill’s past incumbents watched over him and the children.
Their eyes followed his footsteps in the gloom and he could feel their judgment.
Ravenhill Academy was a shining beacon of prosperity that radiated across the education landscape and the responsibility was a heavy burden to shoulder.
The clear skies outside sent moonlight cascading through the large windows, lighting his way. He suddenly had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t alone. He knew every inch of the old girl and he knew every creak of her bones.
It wouldn’t be unheard of for some of the remaining pupils to try and take advantage of the perceived lack of teacher control.
There were usually some students who liked to push the boundaries of authority and he hadn’t been overly pleased to see Alex Thompson’s name on the in-house list for the holidays.
The boy was the usual bad combination of popularity melded with enough bad attitude and brains to be a problem. There was always at least one student who wanted to wear the crown and who was prepared to pay the price.
Suddenly footsteps broke into a run above him and he bolted for the stairs.
The thudding feet echoed down the stairwell and Barnaby rushed to intercept. He paused halfway up as the noise now seemed to be coming from below him. He knew the tricks that Ravenhill could play on the senses and he wasn’t normally fazed.
He rushed back down, his expression one of rarely seen confusion. A door banged at the end of the corridor and he ran full pace towards it. A small tug of anxiousness tugged at his mind but he ignored it.
He reached the still swinging door, but the corridor was empty beyond.
He walked the hallway trying every door, but finding each one locked. Every unused accommodation room was always kept locked when unoccupied and only he and Maurice held the master keys. For the first time ever, he found himself wishing that he had brought a flashlight.
He could feel eyes watching him from every angle. He turned around quickly trying to catch the culprit but there was no one there.
A haunting childlike laughter suddenly started to emanate from the bowels of Ravenhill and he froze on the spot, anchored to the floor by grasping hands of terror.
The voice was high-pitched and full of malevolence. It grew louder and louder until it shook the walls and pierced his soul. The laughter radiated through the darkness until it was positively screaming.
Barnaby squeezed his eyes tightly shut and jammed his hands against his head desperately hard, trying to shut out the demonic noise.
He felt a shadow move behind him against the far wall but he couldn’t turn to face it. He couldn’t open his eyes and stare into the face of the laughter, as he instinctively knew that it would send him mad with but a look.
Abruptly, as quickly as the laughing had started, it fell to silence and Barnaby was alone again in the dark.
He stood that way for an age trying to decide if he had really heard the screaming laughter at all.
He knew that Ravenhill carried her own back catalogue of ghosts and things that went bump in the night, but he had never witnessed any such occurrences and considered them to be the tales of old wives.
Eventually he grew tired of standing in the hallway like a scared child. He decided that perhaps Dickens had been right; perhaps there was more of gravy than of the grave about his experience.
He started to walk back slowly to resume his route. He wanted to believe that he hadn’t really heard anything, that he was still the master of his domain and the captain of his ship. But the long shadows suddenly appeared threatening as though they no longer belonged to him.
He had been the Headmaster at Ravenhill for as long as he could remember; he was the landlord, the owner, the boss, and it was his name above the door.
He felt a stab of betrayal as though the old girl had solicited another to take his place. It was a ridiculous and childish notion, but he felt it just the same. The only question was, if his girl was being seduced by another, then just who was turning her head.
CHAPTER 10
The first official day of the holidays dawned with a crisp bite in the air.
The snow had fallen again during the wee small hours drowning any remaining green patches of land.
The school’s boiler was working overtime combating the cold and keeping the water pipes from freezing. It struggled its way through the extra heavy workload with the wheezing and rasping coughs of a heavy smoker first thing in the morning.
The large long windows of Ravenhill were coated in condensation and the moisture dripped downwards onto stained windowsills. Winter’s grip was hard and unwilling to let anyone escape its icy claws.
Smoke drifted up and out of the kitchens as breakfast was prepared as the happy domestic staff smiled their way through the cold without complaint.
The sound of scraping snow and the occasional curse wafted through the still air as Maurice started his day by digging out the generator house. Snow drifts had made their way up paths to block doors with seemingly malicious intent.
Alastair Barnaby checked the school over for any signs of unusual or extra distress. His scare the night before had receded upon the dawning of the sun over the horizon. Ravenhill was still his home and his responsibility, no matter what childish panic he might have felt in the dark.
Breakfast was served later than usual during the break as the pupils were given free time.
They emerged sleepily from their rooms wrapped warm against the season and filed down slowly. Hot steaming bowls of porridge were the order of the day to fill stomachs and line internal central heating systems.
The country lanes surrounding Ravenhill Academy were blocked and impassable to any normal vehicles.
The snow lay over four-feet high in places, with a treacherous frozen underbelly lying beneath the soft white surface.
There was a small track that ran through a field that could be used in an emergency to reach the school.
The narrow path was largely covered by the overhanging tree canopy that protected the ground from the worst of the snowfall. But it was strictly only accessible for the school’s 4x4 in the most dire of circumstances.
Sarah awoke to much confusion and uncertainty. She and Stuart had walked back from the lighthouse yesterday mainly in silence.
She had little idea just what to make of the whole sorry situation. It was like being stuck in some ridiculous melodramatic TV movie that she would have turned the channel on given a choice.
She had no intention of hurting Jemima’s feelings, but on the other hand Stuart was a grown man who had made his own feelings clear.
Only a week ago she had been sequestered from the world but pondering a comeback; now she couldn’t help but long for the uncomplicated nature of her isolation.
She had morning duty today and at least that would occupy her immediate thoughts.
During the holidays there were no lessons for the students staying in-house, but by the same token they couldn’t be left completely to their own devices.
There were study periods for anyone wishing to catch up or get ahead.
There were plenty of recreational activities including various sports. The library was opened fully, including the computer rooms.
Sarah opened her art studio for those more artistically minded. Usually she would have several kids in for painting or sculpture sessions and she found that the less structured environment lent itself to greater expression.
The thought of some quiet time with just her brushes and paints seemed an ideal choice.
She spotted Jemima at the end of the corridor as she returned from the dining hall.
She waved and Jemima offered a small hand in return before disappearing towards the library.
With most of the residents gone, Ravenhill suddenly seemed far larger than before and Sarah couldn’t help but be a little grateful for the space.
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She wasn’t some mindless adolescent running on hormones and out of control emotions.
She was a professional woman with a career to concentrate on. Of course she had been upset by Stuart’s rejection, but in truth she could remember very little about the night of the party despite what she had tried to tell him.
There was a very good chance that nothing had actually happened between them that night and his feelings towards her were abundantly clear.
She shook off the malaise and decided that she would be the bigger person. She would help them all put the whole silly mess behind them and behave like adults.
She fixed her smile and started to turn the computer system on relishing the sense of control.
The internet was crucial at Ravenhill as it was their link to the outside world. A lot of the younger children were able to communicate with their parents via emails or video calling.
On days such as this, when the weather had cut them off, it seemed more important than ever to remember that they weren’t on a different planet.
“Good morning, Miss,” a cheery voice greeted her from the doorway.
She turned to see the new boy, the American, standing there with a big smile.
She stared at him for perhaps a minute too long before she recovered herself.
There was something almost magnetic about young Joshua Bradley. He was one of those rare people who seemed to possess the ability to light up a room merely by entering it.
“Good morning Joshua, and what can I do for you? Do you need to contact your folks back home?” she asked kindly.
“I’m afraid that I’m not exactly up with modern technology,” he said sheepishly. “I guess that I’m the only 13-year-old who isn’t plugged in,” he shrugged.
“Well that can soon be soon rectified,” Jemima replied eagerly. “There is a whole world out there,” she said pointing out of the window. “And it can all be accessed right here,” she said, tapping a monitor screen.