by Matt Drabble
The building was locked down and prepared for the worst that Mother Nature could throw at them.
As he walked his route he marveled, 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 bowels 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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Jemima sat in the computer room just off the library. Her thoughts had been clouded with anger and sadness, but rationality was returning slowly. 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 h
ad 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.
“I don’t suppose that you would be able to take the time to teach me?”
Jemima stared at the boy’s innocent and lost looking face and she felt a hard tug at her heart strings. “It must be so difficult for you being so far away from home and not having a single familiar face.”
“Oh there’s one face that I know all too well” Joshua whispered as he closed the computer lab door.
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Alex stood guard outside of the library. Joshua had given him strict instructions that no one was to enter whilst he was in with Ms King. He had no idea what Joshua was up to and he had been a little concerned at first. He liked Ms King; she was the youngest of the teachers here and pretty cute as well. But Joshua had explained things in such a way that Alex had found himself agreeing. Joshua seemed to have a habit of explaining things that made you agree, even when afterwards you couldn’t quite remember what the American had actually said.
He stayed at his post for the next couple of hours. Some of the kids came along to use the facility but all were sent packing. Fortunately, James Corner had been the only other kid in school capable of making any sort of challenge to his authority, but James had now gone home for the break.
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Barnaby shuffled his way through the myriad of paperwork that seemed to accumulate no matter what the time of year. Outside of his window the steady dripping of melting snow was giving him a headache. The sun was high and clear in the unbroken sky and he found it hard to believe that the worst of the snow wasn’t over.
He gave himself a break from admin duties and wandered out towards the main school entrance. It was always strange at this time of year for the halls to be empty of running feet and echoing shrill voices.
He found Maurice salting the main steps and, not for the first time, he wondered if the old caretaker had run his course. He didn’t know just how many winters Maurice could manage, at least without any help. The only problem was that Maurice’s home was tied in with the job and if he took away one then he was taking away the other.
“How are things Maurice?” he asked conversationally.
“Colder than a witch’s tit,” the caretaker grunted without humor.
“The boiler?”
“She’ll go another year I reckon,” Maurice replied without looking up. “She’ll probably outlast the both of us.”
Barnaby took a close look at the caretaker’s gnarled hands that were twisted and swollen. “Don’t you ever wear gloves?”
“Only when it gets proper cold,” Maurice sniffed.
“I’d hate to see your idea of proper cold then,” Barnaby laughed uncharacteristically.
“Did you want something special? Or did you just come out for a weather report?”
“The television says that it’s going to thaw pretty soon.”
“Then the TV don’t know shit,” Maurice said grumpily. “All this...,” he said, pointing around at the snow, “it ain’t even the start, this is just a tickle; it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Barnaby said firmly, but knowing that the caretaker had never been wrong before.
“Just you watch,” Maurice grunted, as he slammed the lid on the grit bucket and started to walk away.
“You’ve been here a long time haven’t you, Maurice?”
“Aye, a long time.”
“And your father before you?”
“Yep, reckon that there’s been a Duncan here cleaning up since she was built. Why?”
“Have you ever…, seen or heard anything…, unusual?” Barnaby asked, feeling increasingly awkward.
“How do you mean?” the caretaker replied interestedly as he thought back to his own feelings of unease only a couple of days before. He was normally in tune with Ravenhill. He normally knew what needed doing and where she needed patching up before it became necessary, but now he couldn’t help but feel like something was out of whack.
“I don’t know, noises, sounds, that sort of thing; it’s hard to put into words.”
“No it ain’t, it’s a real simple word. Ghosts is what you mean,” Maurice said firmly.
“That’s not what I meant,” Barnaby blustered, as the word aloud sounded so ridiculous.
“Yeah you did, you meant ghosts. You meant have I or any of my kin ever seen a ghost here.”
Barnaby stared at the caretaker for a long time as a silence grew between them. “Well have you?”
Maurice stood and pondered for a while, his face creased with concentration. “I think that this place has a certain…, a certain energy about it,” he said, trying to think of the word. “There is a lot of history within these walls and a lot of it is not very pleasant. I think that if you shed enough blood some of it will seep into the floorboards and if the walls hear enough screams then some of them become trapped in the mortar.”
“But have you seen anything personally?” Barnaby asked in a low voice as he stepped in closer.
“Not personally, no,” Maurice shrugged. He was thinking of the strange way that the kitchen staff had acted in the dining hall when they had seemed to surround him like some satanic version of the Salvation Army. He wasn’t a man prone to scares, but they had certainly made him uneasy in the sort of way that was all too easy to dismiss after the fact. “But I believe that every house, especially ones as old as this, have more than their fair share of skeletons in their closets. I also believe that some closets are best left alone and that some doors should be nailed shut and never opened.”
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Sarah looked out over the sea of eager faces for once. Noses were pressed up against canvasses and foreheads crinkled in concentration.
“Is there a church near here, Miss?” Joshua Bradley suddenly asked out of the blue.
“We have a local priest who comes in sometimes to lead services; why do you ask Joshua?” she enquired looking at the slender blonde boy.
“Oh, my faith is very important to me,” he answered almost shyly. “Isn’t yours?”
She thought on the question for a moment. She knew from her own experiences that her fellow countrymen tended to be far more religious than those that she had met on her travels. The UK in particular seemed to treat one’s faith as a deeply private and personal matter and one not to be discussed in public. She had no idea which, if any, of the staff were religious or not and Barnaby only
seemed to invite Father Monroe into Ravenhill on special occasions.
“Well…,” she began slowly, “I suppose you could say that my faith has been tested once or twice” she said thoughtfully, thinking of Eden. “But I do believe that there is something out there, even if he is sometimes late to the party.” She had meant to sound glib and light hearted, but her words felt bitter and sour in her mouth.
“Don’t you think that everything happens for a reason?” Joshua smiled with sparkling blue eyes.
“If it does, then I’d like to know why,” she said coldly.
“Oh I think that God always has a plan for us, Ms Mears; you just have to have a little faith is all.”
“The trouble is that if there is a God, then his word can be corrupted between his mouth and our ears by mortal men.” As she spoke, she could see that the rest of the class were leaning forward watching the exchange with interest.
“But God must have his emissaries here on earth, surely? After all, who among us could stand the majesty of his voice without being driven mad?” Joshua stressed.
“But who can be trusted with such a task? Mankind, by its very nature, is fallible and weak. But can’t we be tempted and polluted by greed and selfishness? Surely we cannot be relied upon with such a burden?” She hadn’t intended to be drawn on a theological debate but there was something intense and mature about the boy that demanded to be engaged.
“But you must have experienced faith at some point in your life?” Joshua asked delicately. “Surely someone once touched your soul and brought you bliss?”
Her mind immediately went to her home town and the fog of deceit and lies that had engulfed them all under the guise of Tolan Christian and his ideals. There had truly been an Eden on the surface, but it was a house of God built on lies and murder. Tolan had worshipped an old faith, something old and dark out in the woods that demanded blood and sacrifice.
“Yes someone once did, Joshua,” she said through gritted teeth of anger. “But he lied and we all paid a terrible price for that.”