Groosham Grange (7 page)

David had never been in the headmasters’ study before. At first sight it reminded him more of a chapel than a study. The windows were made of stained glass showing scenes from what looked like the Last Judgement, with devils prodding naked men and women into the flames. The floor was made of black marble, and there was no carpet. The bookcases, filled with ancient books like the one Jeffrey had been reading, reminded him of pews and there was even a pulpit in one corner, a carved eagle supporting a Bible on its outstretched wings.

The room had one riddle of its own. There were two headmasters at Groosham Grange. So why was there only one desk, only one chair, only one gown on the clothes-stand behind the door? David could find no answer to that – and no answers to anything else. The desk drawers were locked and there were no papers lying around. He spent five fruitless minutes in the study. Then he left as quietly as he had gone in.

It took more courage to sneak into Mr Kilgraw’s study opposite. David remembered the last time he had been there – he still had a mark on his thumb to show for it. Eventually he opened the door. “He can’t eat you,” he muttered to himself, and wished that he believed it.

There was no sign of the assistant headmaster but as he crossed the carpet, he felt he was being watched. He stopped, scarcely daring to breathe. He was quite alone in the room. He moved again. The eyes followed him. He stopped again. Then he realized what it was. The pictures…! They were portraits of grim old men, painted, it would seem, some years after they had died. But as David moved, their eyes moved with him so that wherever he was in the room they were always looking at him.

He paused beside what looked like a chest of drawers and rested his hand against it. The wood vibrated underneath his fingertips. He pulled his hand away and stared at it. Had he imagined it? No – standing there alone in the study, he could hear a faint humming sound. And it was coming from the chest.

Squatting down, he reached for one of the drawers and pulled it. That was when he made his first discovery. The whole chest was a fake. All three drawers were no more than a front and swung open like a door. The chest was actually a modern refrigerator.

David peered inside and swallowed hard. The chest might be a fridge but it certainly didn’t contain milk, butter and half a dozen eggs. Instead, about thirty plastic bags hung from hooks, each one filled with a dark red liquid. “It’s wine,” he whispered. “It’s got to be wine. Of course it’s wine. It can’t be anything else. I mean, it can’t be…”

Blood!

But even as he slammed the door and straightened up, he knew that it was. Wine didn’t come in bags. Wine was never labelled A
B
P
OSITIVE
. He didn’t even want to ask what thirty pints of it were doing in Mr Kilgraw’s study. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to get out of the study before he ended up in another eight bags on a lower shelf.

But before he had reached the door, he managed to stop himself. It was too late to back out now. This might be the last chance he had to search the study. And time was running out for Jeffrey. He took a deep breath. There was nobody around. Nobody knew he was there. He had to go on.

He walked over to the desk. The book that he had signed on his first evening at the school was still in its place and with a shaking hand he opened it. He tried to lick his thumb but his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. His eye fell at once on the last three names: D
AVID
E
LIOT
, J
ILL
G
REEN
, J
EFFREY
J
OSEPH
. Although they had faded from red to brown, they were still fresher than the names on the other pages. Leaning over the desk, he began to read.

It took him about thirty seconds to realize that there wasn’t one single name in the book that he recognized. There was no William Rufus, no Bessie Duncan or Roger Bacon. So he had been right. The other pupils had taken false names some time after their arrival. The only question was – why?

He closed the book. Something else had attracted his attention, lying at the far corner of the desk. It hadn’t been there that first night. In fact David had never seen one before, at least not off someone’s hand. It was a ring, a special ring with a black stone set in plain gold. David reached out for it … and yelled. The ring was white-hot. It was as if it had just come out of the forge. It was impossible, of course. The ring had been lying there on the wooden surface ever since he had come into the room. It had to be some sort of illusion. But illusion or not, his fingers were still burnt, the skin blistering.

“What are you doing here?”

David twisted round, the pain momentarily forgotten. Mr Kilgraw was standing in the room – but that was impossible too. The door hadn’t opened. David had heard nothing. The assistant headmaster was dressed as usual in black and white as if he was on his way to a funeral. His voice had sounded curious rather than hostile but there could be no mistaking the menace in his eyes. Clutching his hand, David desperately grappled for an excuse.
Ah well
, he thought to himself.
Refrigerator, here I come.

“What are you doing here, David?” Mr Kilgraw asked for a second time.

“I … I … I was looking for you, sir.”

“Why?”

“Um…” David had a flash of inspiration. “To wish you a happy Christmas, sir.”

Mr Kilgraw’s lips twitched in a faintly upwardly direction. “That’s a very charming thought,” he muttered in a tone of voice that actually said, “A likely story!” He gestured at David’s hand. “You seem to have burnt yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” David blushed guiltily. “I saw the ring and…”

Mr Kilgraw moved forward into the room. David was careful to avoid glancing in the mirror. He knew what he would see – or rather, what he wouldn’t see. He waited in silence as the assistant headmaster sat down behind the desk, wondering what would happen next.

“Sometimes it’s not wise to look at things we’re not meant to, David,” Mr Kilgraw said. “Especially when they’re things that we don’t understand.” He reached out and picked up the ring. David winced, but it lay there quite coolly in the palm of his hand. “I have to say that I am very disappointed in you,” Mr Kilgraw went on. “Despite the little talk we had, it seems that you aren’t making any progress at all.”

“Then why don’t you expel me?” David asked, surprising himself with his sudden defiance. But then there was nothing he would have liked more.

“Oh no! Nobody is ever expelled from Groosham Grange.” Mr Kilgraw chuckled to himself. “We have had difficult children in the past, but they come to accept us … as you will one day.”

“But what do you want with me?” David couldn’t contain himself any longer. “What’s going on here? I know this isn’t a real school. There’s something horrible going on. Why won’t you let me leave? I never asked to come here. Why won’t you let me go and forget I ever existed? I hate it here. I hate all of you. And I’m never going to accept you, not so long as I live.”

“And how long will that be?” Suddenly Mr Kilgraw’s voice was ice. Each syllable had come out as a deadly whisper. David froze, feeling the tears welling up behind his eyes. But he was certain about one thing. He wouldn’t cry. Not while he was in front of Mr Kilgraw.

But then it was as if Mr Kilgraw relented. He threw down the ring and sat back in his chair. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.

“There is so much that you don’t understand, David,” he said. “But one day things will be different. Right now you’d better get that hand looked at by Mrs Windergast.”

He raised a skeletal finger to the side of his mouth, thinking for a moment in silence. “Tell her that I suggest her special ointment,” he went on. “I’m sure you’ll find it will give you a most … refreshing night’s sleep.”

David turned round and left the study.

It was quite late by now and as usual there was nobody around in the corridors. David made his way upstairs, deep in thought. One thing was sure. He had no intention of visiting Mrs Windergast. If Mr Kilgraw was keeping fresh blood in his refrigerator, who knows what he might find in her medicine cupboard? His hand was hurting him badly. But any pain was preferable to another session with the staff of Groosham Grange.

He was therefore annoyed to find the matron waiting for him outside her surgery. There must have been some sort of internal telephone system in the school because she already knew what had happened to him.

“Let me have a look at your poor little hand,” she trilled. “Come inside and sit down while I get a plaster. We don’t want it going septic, do we? My husband went septic – God rest his soul. All of him! It was a horrible sight at the end, I can tell you. And it only began with the teeniest scratch…” She ushered David into the surgery even as she spoke, giving him no chance to argue. “Now you sit down,” she commanded, “while I open my medicine box.”

David sat down. The surgery was small and cosy with a gas fire, a colourful rug and home-made cushions on the chairs. Embroideries hung on the wall and there were comics scattered on a low coffee table. David took all this in while the matron busied herself at the far end, rummaging in a mirror-fronted cabinet. As she opened it, David caught the reflection of a bird on a perch. For a moment he thought he had imagined it, but then he turned round and saw the real thing, next to the window. The bird was a black crow. At first David assumed it to be stuffed, like the animals in the library. But then it croaked and shook its wings. David shivered, remembering the crow he had seen in his garden the day he had left home.

“That’s Wilfred,” Mrs Windergast explained as she sat down next to him. “Some people have goldfish. Some people have hamsters. But I’ve always preferred crows. My husband never liked him very much. In fact it was Wilfred who scratched him. Sometimes he can be very naughty! Now – let’s have a look at that hand.”

David held out his burnt hand and for the next few minutes Mrs Windergast busied herself with antiseptic creams and plasters. “There!” she exclaimed when she had finished. “That’s better!”

David made to stand up, but the matron motioned at him to stay where he was.

“And tell me, my dear,” she said. “How are you finding Groosham Grange?”

David was tired. He was fed up playing games. So he told her the truth. “All the kids are weird,” he said. “The staff are crazy. The island is horrible. And the school is like something out of a horror film and I wish I was back at home.”

Mrs Windergast beamed at him. “But otherwise you’re perfectly happy?” she asked.

“Mrs Windergast—”

The matron held up her hand, stopping him. “Of course I understand, my dear,” she said. “It’s always difficult at first. That’s why I’ve decided to let you have a bit of my special ointment.”

“What does it do?” David asked suspiciously.

“It just helps you get a good night’s sleep.” She had produced a tub of ointment out of her apron pocket, and before David could stop her she unscrewed the lid and held it out to him. The ointment was thick and charcoal grey but surprisingly it smelt rather pleasant. It was a bitter smell, some sort of wild herb. But even the scent of it somehow relaxed him and made him feel warm inside. “Just rub it into your forehead,” Mrs Windergast coaxed him, and now her voice was soft and far away. “It’ll do wonders for you, just you wait and see.”

David did as he was told. He couldn’t refuse. He didn’t
want
to refuse. The ointment felt warm against his skin. And the moment it was on, it seemed to sink through, spreading into the flesh and all the way through to his bones.

“Now you just pop into bed, David.” Was it still Mrs Windergast talking? He could have sworn it was a different voice. “And have lots of lovely dreams.”

David did dream that night.

He remembered undressing and getting into bed and then he must have been asleep except that his eyes were open and he was aware of things happening around him. The other boys in his dormitory were getting out of bed. Of course, that was no surprise. David rolled over and closed his eyes.

At least, that was what he meant to do. But the next thing he remembered, he was fully dressed and following them, walking down-stairs towards the library. He stumbled at the top of the stairs and felt a hand steady him. It was William Rufus. David smiled. The other boy smiled back.

And then they were in the library. What happened next was confusing. He was looking at himself in a mirror – the mirror that hung opposite the fireplace. But then he walked into the mirror, right into the glass. He expected it to break. But it didn’t break. And then he was on the other side. He looked behind him. William Rufus tugged at his arm. He went on.

Walls of solid rock. A twisting path going deeper and deeper into the ground. The smell of salt water in the air. The dream had become fragmented now. It was as if the mirror had broken after all and he was seeing only the reflections in the shattered pieces. Now he was in some huge chamber, far underground. He could see the stalagmites, a glistening silver, soaring out of the ground, reaching up to the stalactites that hung down from above. Or was it the other way round…?

A great bonfire burnt in the cave, throwing fantastic shadows against the wall. The whole school had congregated there, waiting in silence for something … or someone. Then a man stepped out from behind a slab of natural stone. And that was one thing David could not bring himself to look at, for it was more horrible than anything he had yet seen at Groosham Grange. But later on he would remember…

Two headmasters, but only one desk, only one chair.

The dream disconnected in the way that dreams do. Words were spoken. Then there was a banquet, a Christmas dinner like no other he had ever had before. Meat sizzled on the open fire. Wine flowed from silver jugs. There were puddings and pastries and pies and for the first time the pupils at Groosham Grange laughed and shouted and acted like they were actually alive. Music welled out of the ground and David looked for Jill. To his surprise he found her and they danced together for what seemed like hours, although he knew (because it was a dream) that it might have been only minutes.