Demelza & the Spectre Detectors

by Holly Rivers

  ‘OK,’ said Demelza, and having sneakily re-loosened her tie, she stuffed the letters into her satchel and headed out into the crisp morning sun.

  Demelza couldn’t concentrate during morning assembly. The hall was stuffy, and the smell of Friday lunchtime’s tripe stew still lingered in the air like a thick, meaty veil. Instead of listening to Ms Cardinal’s boring talk on corridor etiquette, Demelza was amusing herself by secretly doodling in the little notebook she’d hidden beneath her hymn sheet. As the headmistress droned on about decorum and posture and courtesy, Demelza let her pen dance across the page. In one corner she drew Shiver with fanged teeth, howling at the moon as if he was a werewolf. In another she plotted out a design to carve on to her Halloween pumpkin. Even though it hadn’t been her intention, it wasn’t long before some inky depictions of the summoning chamber began to appear too. She drew tiny spectres floating around, strangely shaped bottles, bubbling crucibles. Demelza was just about to ink in the eye of a human skull when—

  ‘Miss Clock! Perhaps you might like to share with the school whatever it is that you’re doing, and which you obviously consider more important than listening to your headmistress?’

  Demelza jerked to attention to find Ms Cardinal towering over her like a grey pillar. Her spiky frame was stiff in her heavily starched clothes, and sweat glistened on her hairy upper lip, the way it always did in the heat of the packed school hall.

  ‘I-I was just doing some extra reading,’ Demelza lied, quickly snapping her notebook shut. ‘About . . . corridors . . . and etiquette . . . fascinating stuff!’

  Titters of laughter echoed around the hall and Ms Cardinal harrumphed. ‘Coming from you, Miss Clock, I find that extremely difficult to believe. Now give me what you’re holding immediately.’

  Demelza’s body tensed, her fingers clawing around her notebook. ‘Ms Cardinal, it’s nothing! It’s just a—’

  But the headmistress had snatched the book from her grasp. Demelza watched with horror as she inspected its cover, running her fingers along the spine. Please don’t look through it, she thought to herself. Please don’t look through it . . .

  Ms Cardinal already had her nose inside the book, and as she took in the drawings her face began to contort, as if she were sucking on an extremely bitter gooseberry. As she flicked through the pages, Demelza squirmed with panic. What if Ms Cardinal showed the notebook to the other members of staff? What if she showed the other pupils in the hall? Grandma Maeve would be furious if half the village saw drawings of what they’d been up to. How could she have been so careless?

  ‘As I’d expected,’ snapped Ms Cardinal eventually, slamming the notebook shut before slipping it under her arm. ‘Just more evidence of a ridiculously overactive imagination and a complete lack of self-discipline. You will collect the notebook from my office at the end of the day.’

  ‘No, Ms Cardinal! Please!’ protested Demelza. ‘Let me have it back. I promise to keep it in my satchel, I won’t let it distract me again.’

  ‘Enough!’ Ms Cardinal hissed. ‘My office, the end of the day.’ She threw her nose into the air and paced back to her lectern on the stage.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Telephone Conversation

  ‘Demelza, you know running is forbidden in school!’ said Penelope, blocking Demelza’s way as she ripped down the corridor later that afternoon. The end-of-day bell had rung and she was desperate to get to Ms Cardinal’s office to retrieve her notebook as soon as possible. It was imperative that no one else saw her drawings.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, just let me pass,’ said Demelza with a huff. ‘Surely you want to be getting home to be with your precious ponies or something?’

  ‘I think we should tell Ms Cardinal on her, don’t you?’ said Persephone, who was glued to her sister’s side.

  Miranda, quiet as usual, watched on.

  ‘Of course we should,’ jeered Penelope. ‘Especially after this morning’s assembly on corridor etiquette. Maybe you should come up with an invention that will stop you from misbehaving so much, Demelza?’

  ‘Oh, I’m far too busy at the moment,’ replied Demelza with a sarcastic smile. ‘I’m dedicating all my time right now to a new contraption that will obliterate annoying twin girls. Want to be my first guinea pigs?’

  The twins’ faces dropped in unison, but Miranda spluttered.

  ‘You think that’s funny, do you?’ Persephone hissed, turning to Miranda with eyes like daggers.

  ‘Of-of course not,’ said Miranda, choking back her laugh. She thumped her chest as if trying to clear it. ‘I was just coughing . . . I have a bit of a tickly throat.’

  But Demelza could see her eyes still glistening with mirth. She’d often wondered if Miranda actually enjoyed being Penelope and Persephone’s personal bodyguard. She was an incredibly strong shot-put thrower, and had won the county cup three years in a row. Surely she dreamt of being something greater than just the twins’ flunkey?

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there, Miranda!’ ordered Penelope, with a stamp of her foot. ‘GET HER!’

  But Demelza was already on the move. She ripped down the corridor before taking the winding staircase to Ms Cardinal’s office three steps at a time.

  As she approached, something made Demelza stop short. Through the creak in the office door she could hear the headmistress talking to someone on the telephone, and in the silence of the corridor Demelza couldn’t help but overhear what was being said.

  ‘Yes, I’m certain,’ said Ms Cardinal. ‘Yes, earlier on today in assembly . . . It came as a bit of a shock, to be honest . . .’

  Demelza’s brows furrowed. There was something odd about the headmistress’s tone of voice – she was speaking in a hushed, frantic whisper, the kind that you use when you’re trying to tell someone a secret but want to keep it quiet.

  Unable to quash her curiosity, Demelza tiptoed closer and put her eye to the crack in the door. Ms Cardinal was sitting at her desk, piles of assignment papers stacked up in front of her, no doubt waiting to be sullied by her signature red ink.

  ‘I’m telling you, Wilfred, I’m certain,’ she continued, gripping the receiver so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. ‘I took it from her and it’s all there as plain as day! . . .Yes! . . . Spectres, skulls, crucibles . . .’

  Demelza’s heartbeat spiked. Spectres? Skulls? Crucibles? Was Ms Cardinal talking about what was in her notebook?

  Feeling the hairs lifting on the back of her neck, Demelza watched as Ms Cardinal’s expression became increasingly intense.

  ‘I guess her powers must have come late,’ said the headmistress. ‘Yes, it can happen on occasion . . . but at least now I know for sure that she’s a Spectre Detector.’

  Demelza’s hand shot to her lips.

  Ms Cardinal knew all about the Spectre Detectors? She knew about her powers? The thought should have been enough to make Demelza run away at once, but she listened on, desperate to know what the headmistress would say next.

  Ms Cardinal wound the coil of the telephone wire around her hand. ‘I’ll do it soon,’ she said with a grin. ‘At the end of this week. I’ve waited years for this and now I might finally get what I want. But this will be my final attempt, Wilfred. I can’t keep on going on like this . . .’

  Gallivanting gamma rays! Demelza stumbled backwards, feeling the blood rush from her face. Ms Cardinal’s words crashed through her mind like molecules colliding.

  At the end of this week.

  Waited years.

  Final attempt.

  Surely it didn’t mean . . . ?

  The idea hit Demelza like potassium hitting water. Was Ms Cardinal the Snatcher?

  ‘I must go,’ said Ms Cardinal finally. Her tone was brusque, clipped. ‘We can speak more about it later, but remember, not a word to anyone.’ She put down the phone with a clatter, before her gaze darted towards the door as though she somehow sensed that she was being watched.

  Demelza jumped back.

  ‘Who’s
there?’ said Ms Cardinal.

  Demelza’s instinct was to run, but she was in such a state of shock that her feet stayed rooted to the spot.

  ‘I said, who’s there?’

  Demelza squirmed. ‘It’s . . . It’s me, Ms Cardinal . . . Demelza Clock.’

  There was a screech from inside as Ms Cardinal pushed back her chair, followed by the click-clack of her court shoes coming towards the door. She pulled it open, her face flustered.

  ‘Demelza, what have I told you about loitering?’ she said, her eyes darting to the telephone. Her normally pallid cheeks were flushed and she seemed nervous, obviously caught off guard. ‘W-what do you want?’

  ‘You told me I could come and get my notebook back at the end of the day,’ Demelza replied, trying to remain calm despite the fear clamping at her body. ‘The one you took from me in assembly.’

  ‘Oh . . . oh yes . . .’ stuttered Ms Cardinal nervously. ‘I’d forgotten all about that little notebook of yours.’

  You haven’t stopped thinking about it, more like, thought Demelza.

  Ms Cardinal pulled the notebook out of her jacket pocket and coughed loudly. ‘Now, I don’t want to see this in school ever again, Miss Clock. Stricton is not a place for you to be indulging your overactive imagination and ridiculous juvenile fantasies.’ The headmistress turned away, barely able to look Demelza in the eye. ‘Am I making myself clear?’

  Demelza nodded, adrenalin seething behind her clenched teeth as she took the notebook from the headmistress.

  ‘Good. Now be off with you. And for goodness’ sake, girl, straighten your tie at once!’

  Demelza turned and quickly made her way back downstairs. What had she got herself into? She felt panicked, overheated, faint. She needed to sit down.

  Seeing that the girls’ toilets were still open, she darted inside and locked herself in one of the cubicles. She slumped against the door, a feeling of terrible foreboding washing over her like a torrent. All of the things she’d heard Ms Cardinal say on the telephone can’t have just been a coincidence, surely?

  Demelza’s tummy was in knots.

  It all pointed to one thing: the headmistress of Stricton Academy was the Snatcher, and she was coming for her next!

  CHAPTER 15

  A Problem Shared is a Problem Halved

  ‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ said Grandma Maeve as Demelza pushed a half-finished Yorkshire pudding around her dinner plate later that evening. Gravy was sloshing over the sides, dripping down on to the flowery cotton tablecloth. ‘And you ain’t eaten much of your toad in the hole. Everythin’ all right?’

  Demelza put down her fork with a clink. She’d been worrying about Ms Cardinal’s telephone conversation all evening and it was obviously showing. But if she told Grandma Maeve about what had happened with her notebook, she’d be so angry, so disappointed. And besides, there was no point in worrying her grandmother unnecessarily, especially not until she had concrete proof about Ms Cardinal’s intentions.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, Grandma,’ she lied, throwing the untouched sausage from her plate into Shiver’s mouth. ‘Just tired, that’s all. We had double phys ed today and had to run twenty laps around the hockey pitch.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said Grandma Maeve, forking up the last of her peas. ‘We had to do at least forty laps in my day, and that was while wearing a rucksack full of rocks.’ She pinched Demelza’s cheek and smiled. ‘But your day was OK apart from that? You didn’t go blabbing about you-know-what?’

  Demelza’s hands suddenly felt clammy. She gulped. ‘Of . . . of course not. The secret’s safe with me.’

  Grandma Maeve nodded. ‘Good. Well, you’ll be glad to know that we ain’t got no summonings booked for tonight. A nice hot bath’s in order for you, I think. You ain’t had one since last week and I could make candles with the amount of wax in your ears, young lady!’ She pushed back her chair and began to clear the gravy-smeared plates from the table. ‘But first, how about a nice bowl of raspberry ripple ice cream? Got some orange jelly in the fridge too. You think you can manage that?’

  Demelza sighed. As delicious as it sounded, pudding was the last thing on her mind. All she could think about was what she was going to do about Ms Cardinal. If she really was the Snatcher, whose spectre did she want to summon through the Conjuring of Resurrection? Was it an old colleague, or friend or family member? Whatever the headmistress’s motives, Demelza needed to stop her before she struck. But how?

  ‘Heeelllooo! Earth calling Demelza!’ said Grandma Maeve, looming over her with a carton of swirly pink-and-white ice cream. ‘Pudding?’

  Demelza shook herself from her trance and looked up. ‘Erm . . . maybe later.’

  Grandma Maeve sat down next to her. ‘My darlin’, are you sure you’re OK? You really don’t seem yourself. Come on, you can tell me. A problem shared is a problem halved, you know.’

  Demelza sighed. She knew Grandma Maeve was right. This wasn’t something that she could resolve on her own with a mathematical equation or a scientific formula. But she really didn’t want to admit to Grandma what was going on. Not yet, at least. If only she could talk to someone else about her suspicions. If only she could tell—

  A thought suddenly pinged into Demelza’s mind.

  Surely it would be OK for her to confide in Percy? He rarely left his room, after all, and he had no other friends. Who was he going to tell, his teddy bears and stuffed animals?

  ‘Well?’ said Grandma Maeve. ‘Are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on in that coconut of yours or are you gonna just sit there starin’ into space all night?’

  ‘Really, it’s nothing,’ said Demelza, getting up. ‘I . . . I think I’ll go and run that bath like you suggested.’

  Grandma’s hands shot to herself in faux-horror. ‘Demelza Clock havin’ a wash voluntarily! Call the papers!’

  Demelza’s mind was too preoccupied to react to Grandma Maeve’s joke. She made her way out of the kitchen and ran upstairs, a plan of action hatching in her brain. Later tonight, when both Grandma Maeve and Mr Grey would be sound asleep, she’d sneak out of the cottage and talk to Percy.

  A problem shared would be a problem halved.

  CHAPTER 16

  Telling Percy

  ‘Demelza, this is not a very good idea!’ grumbled Lord Balthazar as Demelza made her way down the hill towards Percy’s just before midnight. She had the skull wrapped up in a jumper under one arm, and had her ghoulbox tucked under the other. ‘You know you aren’t meant to show me to anyone. And that includes young Percival.’

  Demelza stopped, and having checked that there was no one around, peered under her jumper. ‘Shush!’ she hissed. ‘I told you to keep quiet. And besides, I thought you hated being locked up in the summoning chamber all day?’

  ‘I do! But I don’t much like being carried around under your sweaty armpit like a football either. And you know your grandmother wouldn’t approve of all this. Wouldn’t it be easier just to tell her about your suspicions instead of traipsing around after hours like a vigilante?’

  Demelza felt a heaviness spreading across her chest as she walked briskly through the night. She’d be lying if she said that she had no concerns about going against Grandma Maeve’s wishes. She’d spent so long mulling it over in her bath earlier that by the time she got out, her fingers were as wrinkly as raisins. But she needed to talk it over with someone. If she didn’t, she feared that her brain might spontaneously combust.

  ‘I don’t want to worry Grandma Maeve until I’m certain my hypothesis is correct,’ she said curtly. ‘I know she pretends to be as fit as a fiddle, but she’s getting old. The last thing I want is to give her a heart attack. Now be quiet, otherwise you’ll really feel what it’s like to be a football!’ She covered up the skull again, and continued down the sloping path towards Percy’s.

  When she got there, Demelza pulled down her thinking cap and held her head low. She tiptoed up to the picket fence and peered through the slats. Yes! All the lights wer
e off!

  She snuck in through the side gate. Moving quickly and silently, she navigated her way across the back garden, avoiding Mr Grey’s beds of immaculately preened pansies and prize-winning hyacinths. She knew that there was a spare key hidden underneath the ornamental cherub statue next to the back door and, as silently as possible, she let herself in.

  Percy’s room was right at the very top of the house and, remembering to remove her boots, Demelza crept up the thickly carpeted staircase towards it. Family photographs in gilt frames adorned the walls at every level, lit up in the bright moonlight: Mr Grey at the golf club’s Christmas ball, Mr and Mrs Grey on their wedding day, Christenings, birthdays and Christmases. But there was something strange about the collection of pictures which Demelza hadn’t noticed before – there weren’t any recent ones of Percy. There was one of him on his first day in junior school, and one showing him blowing out the candles on his ninth birthday cake, but nothing since then. Demelza shook her head. Mr Grey is probably too worried that the camera flash will damage his son’s delicate little eyes, she thought.

  At Percy’s door, Demelza quickly shot a backwards glance across the landing. The coast was clear! She slunk inside to find her friend snoring softly under his thick feather quilt, one of his comics lying open on the floor beside him.

  ‘Percy,’ she whispered, carefully closing the bedroom door behind her. ‘Percy, wake up.’

  Percy stirred but his eyes stayed closed. ‘Just one slice of chocolate cake,’ he muttered, obviously deep in a dream. ‘Please, Dad, just one little slice . . .’

  Demelza knelt down by his bed and shook him through the thick duvet. ‘Percy, it’s me, Demelza. Wake up! Come on, wake up!’

  ‘Urhhh!’ Percy jerked upwards with a gasp and looked around in the darkness. ‘Who is it? Dad? Fräulein von Winkle?’

  ‘Shhh!’ Demelza hissed. She flicked on his bedside lamp, illuminating her face. ‘It’s me. It’s Demelza.’

  ‘Oh, Demelza,’ he said, letting out a relieved sigh. ‘You scared the life out of me.’ He shook his sleepy head and rubbed his eyes. ‘What are you doing here? What time is it?’