Creeping Terror

by Justin Richards

  But the truth was very different. The only ghost Ben could see without the help of the special mobile phone that all the children had was Sam. He’d bluffed his way into the school. Now he was bluffing in order to stay.

  Even so, he was beginning to sense things. There was a sort of stirring somewhere deep inside him, as if he was starting to feel the approach of the supernatural. Not that he’d ever be as gifted as Gemma, one of the few other permanent pupils here. He’d never see as much as Sam had done when she was alive … He felt more like Maria – just eighteen and already losing her abilities as she grew into an adult and left the innocent, open-minded state of childhood behind.

  Then there was Rupam. He was Ben’s best friend, but Ben couldn’t pretend he understood the boy. Sometimes Rupam saw the ghosts and spirits, and he knew all there was to know about Indian and Asian creatures and demons. But most impressive was his memory. He had only to hear or read something once and he’d remember it forever. Show him a photograph for just a minute and weeks later he could describe it in exact detail.

  Even the latest intake of new pupils had more ability and talent than Ben. They were already nearing the end of their residential course and would soon be sent home to parents who thought they’d been on an Outward Bound course, camping and enjoying outdoor activities on Dartmoor, with no idea what they’d really been learning about.

  Ben hadn’t been at the School of Night that long himself. He was used to being moved from foster family to foster family, orphanage to institution – had been for as long as he could recall. He didn’t remember either of his parents. But up until now he’d always had his sister with him, looking after him.

  It was strange. Ben had never felt more at home than he did at the School of Night. But he had never felt more alone and out of place either.

  Just that morning, one of the boys – tall and thin, with dark hair and glasses – had made some sarky comment to Ben about how he knew it all. Ben was painfully aware that he didn’t. And he feared that even the new students would soon see he was a fake, that he had no right to be here.

  In a school where everyone else could see through the fabric of reality and into the realm of the supernatural, being able to chat to the ghost of your dead sister seemed unimpressive and ordinary.

  *

  A raised, paved terrace ran down the side of the house. Stone steps led up to it, but Ben and Sam walked past them. The grounds behind the house were less well cared for, the grass long and the whole area more like moorland and pasture than garden.

  The path was really just a track worn through the grass. It wound lazily between the occasional trees and formed a long loop back to the other side of the house. As they reached the furthest point of the loop, a figure stepped out from behind a large copper beech tree.

  He was short and stocky, with thinning grey hair that straggled across his balding head. Pendleton Jones looked after the grounds of Gibbet Manor. He laid traps for the smaller demons that crept in over the walls or through the gates. He was holding a spade, and Ben saw a pair of shears and a bucket half full of prunings beside the tree.

  ‘Hello there,’ Ben called as he approached.

  He liked Jones, who was easy to talk to and down to earth. When he was with him, he didn’t feel so much of a fraud, so inadequate.

  ‘Who was that with you?’ Jones asked.

  Instinctively, Ben turned to look at Sam, but she had gone. He was alone.

  ‘How did you know?’ he asked. No one could see Sam – not even Gemma, and she saw everything.

  Jones shrugged. ‘Heard you talking. Don’t worry. I talk to myself sometimes. Well, quite often actually. No one else to talk to out here usually.’

  ‘You should come to the house. Let Mrs Bailey give you a cup of tea.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘They don’t want me bothering them. Mrs Bailey’s busy enough keeping you kids under control and running the place without making cups of tea for the likes of me. Anyway, I’ve got my Thermos.’ He looked round. ‘Somewhere. Must have left it in the shed. Never mind.’

  ‘You busy?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Always busy. Spring’s coming, so there’s lots to do. Plants and trees don’t look after themselves.’

  They talked for a while. There was a chill breeze blowing across the moor, but the bright sun warmed Ben’s face.

  ‘You found out any more about your poor sister?’ Jones asked.

  They were sitting on the grass, leaning back against the wide trunk of the copper beech.

  ‘Not really,’ Ben admitted. ‘That page, torn from an old book, which Carstairs Endeavour had …’

  ‘I remember.’

  Ben had told Jones how, after defeating Endeavour, they had found a photocopied page from an ancient book – one of the artefacts that Gabriel Diablo used to summon the demon Mortagula.

  ‘Knight said he knew that Endeavour didn’t have the actual page, only the photocopy. And I know why. He showed me.’

  ‘Showed you?’

  ‘Knight’s got the real book and he showed me the page. And on it …’ Ben shook his head, still unable to understand it. ‘On it is a drawing of Sam. It’s definitely her. I mean, it’s only a drawing, but I know my sister when I see her.’

  ‘And the picture was drawn when?’

  ‘In the seventeenth century. Hundreds of years ago. So how can it show Sam?’

  ‘More to the point,’ Jones said, ‘how did Endeavour get hold of a copy of a page when Knight keeps the book locked up here safe and sound?’

  Ben nodded. He’d wondered exactly the same thing. ‘And how many of Diablo’s artefacts does Endeavour have? If he gets them all – the two books, the Crystal that focuses his power, the Dagger and the Amulet – he’ll try again. He’ll raise Mortagula.’

  Jones picked up his spade. ‘Then you’d better stop him.’

  ‘Got to find him first. There’s been no sign of Endeavour since last year. Knight’s got everyone keeping a lookout for him. But nothing so far.’

  ‘He’ll turn up. Bad things always do.’

  Ben nodded. ‘That’s what worries me,’ he said quietly.

  Jones didn’t hear. He was shading his eyes from the sun with his hand and staring down past the house to the bottom of the drive. A car was coming slowly into the grounds. It stopped and a man got out to close and lock the gates behind him. He was tall and lean, with close-cropped hair, and he was wearing a khaki uniform.

  ‘Captain Morton,’ Ben said, recognising him at once.

  ‘If the army’s here, maybe a war’s about to start.’ Jones smiled. ‘Or perhaps he’s just come for a cup of Mrs Bailey’s famous tea.’

  ‘We’d better get back,’ Sam said, stepping out from behind the tree.

  Jones didn’t see her. He waved and returned to his work as Ben took his dead sister’s hand and they hurried back along the path to the house.

  3

  BEN WAS ABOUT TO RING THE BELL WHEN THE front door swung open.

  ‘Mrs Bailey,’ Ben said.

  ‘I was in the hall. I …’ She hesitated. ‘Well, I heard you coming.’

  Mrs Bailey was in charge of the day-to-day running of the school and also of Dirk Knight’s business life. She looked slightly severe as well as professional in her dark trouser suit, with her short ice-blonde hair scraped back. But she was the closest that Ben, or any of his friends, had to a mother. For all that, he knew almost nothing about her – not her first name, not even if there was, or ever had been, a Mr Bailey.

  ‘I was coming to find you anyway,’ Mrs Bailey went on as she stepped aside to let him into the house. ‘Mr Knight has asked if you can join him and the others in the lecture hall.’

  ‘Everyone?’ Ben wondered.

  ‘Not all the children. Just Rupam and Gemma. And Maria of course.’

  It was only after she’d spoken that Ben realised he hadn’t actually asked the question out loud. He’d been about to, but as she often did Mrs Bailey had guessed exactly what was on his m
ind.

  ‘Is this because Captain Morton is here?’ Ben asked.

  This time, she didn’t answer him before he’d asked the question. She didn’t answer him at all.

  ‘Lecture hall – quick as you can. They’re waiting for you.’

  *

  The room was at the back of the house. It was just like the sort of lecture hall you might find on a university campus. Tiers of fixed fold-down seats looked on to a circular stage. At the moment the lights were low, so Ben stood at the back of the large room letting his eyes adjust to the gloom.

  A screen at the back of the stage was showing grainy video footage that Ben knew at once was from a mobile phone like the one he had been given. The phone’s camera could detect supernatural or paranormal activity to a far greater degree than all but the most psychic children. The phone also recorded the images and sent them direct to the School of Night for analysis.

  Anyone who had psychic ability glowed faintly on the phone’s screen. Gemma, the most gifted of them all, shone brightly. Sam – so Knight had once told Ben – had whited out the screen … Now, although the screen showed most ghosts and spirits, Sam didn’t show at all on Ben’s phone.

  Ben settled himself down next to where Rupam was sitting. His friend’s attention was on the screen, and beyond him Ben could see the dark silhouettes of Gemma and Maria also watching intently. He was vaguely aware of Mrs Bailey taking a seat in one of the other rows, close to a burly figure Ben recognised as the Reverend Alistair Growl, one of the School of Night’s teachers.

  The images on the screen were shaky pictures of a lane. There wasn’t much ambient light and Ben guessed the video had been shot as it was getting dark. It was obviously taken from inside a car – Ben could see the edge of the dashboard, reflections on the windscreen and the side window as the camera-phone moved to catch the figures that were walking past.

  Glowing figures. Almost ethereal. Ghosts.

  A man in an ill-fitting, tattered sports jacket smiled at the camera. But it was a humourless smile and Ben doubted the man could even see the car as it drove past. Behind the man, a woman carried a small child, blurring and glowing as they walked.

  Then the figures were gone. Something else glowed slightly in the distance. A tall building, glimpsed through trees. The screen juddered and went blank.

  For a moment the room was in darkness. Out of that darkness, Ben heard Knight’s voice.

  ‘There’s more in a moment. Once Webby gets his act together …’

  Webby was the computer expert. The video was automatically downloaded from the phone – any phone supplied by the School of Night – if anything out of the ordinary was detected. Webby, who checked what came in, was now playing it back from one of the huge mainframe computers in the cellars of the house. Cellars that Webby himself never seemed to leave. He even had a bed made up down there.

  The screen came back to life. The images were darker now, confused and claustrophobic. They seemed to show close-up views of hedges and trees, bushes and shrubs. It looked as if the car was driving straight at them. The leaves glowed faintly and branches gave off an incandescent glow. But at the same time, Ben realised, he could see through the vegetation – he could see a perfectly ordinary roadway curving ahead of the car.

  The camera was shuddering, moving back and forth so erratically and quickly that it made Ben feel carsick to watch. Just as he thought he would have to look away, a dark opening appeared in the vegetation. The opening seemed to race towards the car, and suddenly Ben was watching mobile phone video of an open road as the vehicle burst through the hedge.

  The screen blanked out again, but almost immediately the image returned. This time it showed a brief shot of a soldier walking towards the car. Behind him were a barrier, a small hut and several vehicles …

  Then the image disappeared and the lights came up. Ben blinked in the sudden brightness.

  ‘There is sound as well, but it’s not very informative,’ Knight said, stepping on to the stage.

  He was a tall man, wearing a dark business suit and a white shirt with a plain tie. He looked like a civil servant or an off-duty senior police officer. The man who was now standing beside him on the stage, Captain Morton, was also tall and broad. In his army uniform he was a military mirror image of Knight.

  ‘Glad you could join us, Ben,’ Knight said.

  Before Ben could apologise for being late, he went on, ‘That video was from the phone of one of our students, Tommy MacMillan. It was taken when he and his father got lost in Dorset when returning from holiday a few days ago. Tommy subsequently called in, though Webby had already flagged up the footage as being of interest.’

  ‘They’d somehow strayed into a military area,’ Captain Morton said. He glanced at Knight, who nodded for him to continue. ‘They should have been stopped. There are checkpoints on all the roads in and out. We’re not quite sure why they weren’t spotted. You just got a glimpse there at the end of Tommy and Mr MacMillan arriving at the wrong side of a checkpoint on their way out.’

  Reverend Growl cleared his throat. ‘And why is this of interest to us, might I ask? I saw a few ghosts, which didn’t seem to be causing anyone any trouble, and a lot of hedgerows. Rather than coming to us, perhaps young Tommy should persuade his father to invest in an advanced driving course?’

  Knight smiled. ‘A fair point. But the military aspect is worrying. At first I felt the same as you, Alistair. But I asked Morton to make a few enquiries and …’ He turned to Morton. ‘Well, you can tell everyone.’

  ‘As you’ve surmised, there doesn’t appear to be any immediate threat, though young Tommy was a bit shaken up. But Templeton is right in the middle of an army training area.’

  ‘Templeton?’ Rupam put his hand up. ‘That’s one of those villages that was evacuated during the Second World War, isn’t it?’

  ‘Correct, young man. It was in 1943, when the Allies were already planning for the D-Day invasion of Normandy. They took over several villages in Dorset, among other places. Best known is Tyneham, but also Turelhampton and Templeton. Places beginning with “T” in fact, though I don’t think that’s significant.’ He smiled to show it was a joke.

  A few seats along from Ben, Maria laughed. She was leaning forward, hanging on his every word. She ran a hand through her long, curly dark hair. Her usual sulky expression had been replaced by one of interest and enthusiasm. Ben nudged Rupam and they both grinned. The older girl’s admiration for Captain Morton was barely disguised at the best of times.

  ‘So,’ Morton went on, ‘in 1943 everyone was moved out. They were rehoused like evacuees, which I suppose they were, and told they could return home after the war. Except it never happened. The War Office and later the Ministry of Defence kept the area for training all through the Cold War. Most of the other ghost villages – as they are rather aptly called – are now open to the public at certain times. But Templeton is still right in the thick of things. Strictly off limits.’

  ‘And haunted,’ Gemma pointed out.

  ‘Not until now, so far as we know,’ Knight said. ‘But yes, haunted. The village has been dead and deserted for nearly seventy years. Now it’s coming back to life. Mr MacMillan and his son spoke to villagers, even had a drink in the pub.’

  ‘Do we have any satellite information?’ Mrs Bailey asked.

  Morton shook his head. ‘Restricted area. Off limits. There are ways of preventing any observation, which I’m not allowed to mention. If you look at Google Earth or something like that, you’ll find images of other parts of Dorset. It’s a good match, but it isn’t what’s actually there.’

  ‘The army’s rather touchy about it all,’ Knight explained. ‘They won’t even let us see the relevant documents dating back to the evacuation order, or the parish records.’

  ‘The key to this may very well be in the history of the village,’ Growl pointed out. ‘Seeing those records could be vital if we’re to lay these poor souls to rest and discover what’s happening here.’r />
  ‘I agree,’ Knight said. ‘And I’ve made certain arrangements which I hope will provide the information we need despite what the Ministry of Defence tells us.’

  Ben nudged Rupam again, wondering if he knew what Knight meant. But Rupam just shrugged.

  ‘So what do we do?’ Maria asked. ‘Go in and exorcise the ghosts so the army can get back to playing soldiers there without the poor squaddies getting spooked?’

  ‘Perhaps. But, as the Reverend says, we need to understand what’s happening. This may indeed be a simple case of exorcism, but remember, these ghosts are powerful and substantial enough for even adults to see them clearly. So it may be that what is happening in Templeton is growing stronger and is a symptom of something more widespread and dangerous. We need to find out. But there is another slight problem we need to address first.’

  Growl gave a chuckle. ‘You mean a slight problem other than ghosts returning to the village they were forcibly evacuated from in life and selling tourists pints of beer, somehow allowing civilians into a restricted military zone, and the MOD refusing to let us see any relevant paperwork?’

  ‘Colonel Oliver Greene,’ Knight said.

  ‘He’s the officer in charge of the facility that centres on Templeton,’ Morton explained. ‘We’ve shut down his training ground while we investigate. On the one hand, he wants his village back and the training of his units to continue as planned as soon as possible. On the other hand, he thinks this whole ghost thing is a lot of nonsense made up by a couple of tourists who were somewhere they shouldn’t have been. He thinks they’re making it up to get out of trouble, and that other sightings are just hoaxes or hysteria.’

  ‘In short, he’s hardly taking the matter seriously.’

  ‘Then Captain Morton should go and see him,’ Mrs Bailey suggested.