Groosham Grange Page 6

  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.

  And then finally there was a hush and everybody stood still as a single figure pressed through the crowds towards the stone slab. David wanted to call out but he had no voice. It was Jeffrey. Mr Kilgraw was waiting for him and he had the ring. Jeffrey was smiling, happier than David had ever seen him. He took the ring and put it on. And then, as one, the whole school began to cheer, the voices echoing against the walls, and it was with the clamour in his ears that…

  David woke up.

  He had a headache and there was an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He rubbed his eyes, wondering where he was. It was morning. The cold winter sun was streaming in through the windows. Slowly, he propped himself up in bed and looked around.

  And he was in bed, in his usual place in the dormitory. His clothes were just as he had left them the night before. He looked at his hand. The plaster was still neatly in place. All around him, the other boys were dressing, their faces as blank as ever. David threw back the covers. It really had been no more than a dream. He half-smiled to himself. Walking through mirrors? Dancing with Jill in some underground cavern? Of course it had been a dream. How could it have been anything else?

  He got out of bed and stretched. He was unusually stiff this morning, as if he had just completed a twenty mile run. He glanced to one side. Jeffrey was sitting on the bed next to him, already half-dressed. David thought back to their parting in the library and sighed. He had some making up to do.

  “Good morning, Jeffrey,” he said.

  “Good morning, David.” Jeffrey sounded almost hostile.

  “Look – I just wanted to say I’m sorry about yesterday. All right?”

  “There’s no need to apologize, David.” Jeffrey p
ulled his shirt on. “Just forget it.”

  In that brief moment David noticed a lot of things. But they all rushed in on him so quickly that he would never be quite sure which came first.

  Jeffrey had changed.

  He didn’t just sound hostile. He was hostile. His voice had become as bleak and distant as all the others.

  He wasn’t stuttering any more.

  And the hand that was buttoning up his shirt was different too.

  It was wearing a black ring.

  A LETTER

  On Boxing Day, David sat down and wrote a letter to his father.

  Groosham Grange,

  Skrull Island,

  Norfolk

  26th December

  Dear Father,

  This is a very difficult letter to write.

  It was so difficult, in fact, that he tore up the first sentence three times before he was satisfied and even then he wasn’t sure that he had spelled “difficult” correctly.

  I know that I have always been a disappointment to you. I have never been interested in merchant banking and I was expelled from Beton College. But I now see that I was wrong.

  I have decided to get a job as a teller in the Bank of England. If the Bank of England won’t have me I’ll try the Bank of Germany. I’m sure you’d be proud of me if I were A Teller the Hun.

  He crossed out the last sentence too. Then the bell for lunch went and it was another hour before he could sit down and begin the next paragraph.

  But there is something I have to ask you.

  PLEASE TAKE ME AWAY FROM GROOSHAM GRANGE. It’s not that I don’t like it here (although I don’t like it at all). But it’s not at all what you were expecting. If you knew what it was really like here, you’d never have sent me in the first place.

  I think they are involved in black magic. Mr Kilgraw, the assistant headmaster, is a vampire. Mr Creer, who teaches pottery, religious studies and maths, is dead, and Miss Pedicure, who teaches English and history, ought to be, as she is at least six hundred years old! You’ll think I’m mad when you read this …

  David read it back and decided that he quite possibly was. Could all this really be happening to him?

  … but I promise you, I’m telling the truth. I think they want to turn me into some sort of zombie like they did to my friend Jeffrey. He won’t talk to me any more. He won’t even stutter to me. And I know that if I stay here much longer, I’ll be next.

  David took a deep breath. His hand was aching and he realized that he was clutching the pen so hard that it was a miracle the ink was reaching the nib. Forcing himself to relax, he pulled the page towards him and began again.

  I can’t describe all the things that have happened to me since I got here. But I’ve been stabbed, drugged, threatened and half-scared to death. I know Grandpa used to do all this to you when you were young, but I don’t think it’s fair when I haven’t done anything wrong and I don’t want to be a zombie. Please at least visit the school. Then you’ll see what I mean.

  I can’t post this letter to you because there’s no postbox on the island and if you’ve written to me, I haven’t got it. I’m going to give this to a friend of mine, Jill Green.

  She’s planning to escape tomorrow and has promised to send it to you. I’ve also given her your telephone number and she’ll call you (reversing the charges). She’ll be able to tell you everything that’s happened and I just hope you believe her.

  I must stop now as it’s time for the afternoon lesson – chemistry. We’re being taught the secret of life.

  Help!

  Your son,

  David

  At least nobody had come into the library while he was writing. David had been scribbling the words with one eye on the door and the other on the mirror with the result that the lines had gone all over the place and reading them again made him feel seasick. But it would have to do. He folded the page in half and then in half again. He didn’t have an envelope but Jill had promised to buy one – along with a stamp – as soon as she reached the mainland.

  If all went according to plan, Captain Bloodbath would arrive at ten o’clock the following morning. Jill would skip the second lesson and hide near the jetty. As soon as Gregor had unloaded the supplies and driven the captain up to the school, she would slip on to the boat and underneath the rags. The boat would leave at eleven. And by midday Jill would be well on her way, hitchhiking south. She had to get away. She was his only hope. But that wasn’t the only worry in David’s mind as he hurried along to the chemistry laboratory. She might send the letter. His father might read it. But would he believe it? Would anyone believe it?

  David still wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

  THE INSPECTOR

  Jill didn’t even get off the island.

  She was discovered by Captain Bloodbath huddling under the rags and was jerked, trembling and miserable, back on to dry land.

  “So you thought you could fool me, my pretty?” he exclaimed with a leering grin. “Thought I didn’t know the waterline of my own boat? I’d know if there was an extra sprat on board. Hitch a free ride to the mainland – is that what you had in mind? Well, you’d have to sail a few high seas before you could bamboozle a Bloodbath!”

  For a whole week after that, Jill waited in trepidation for something to happen to her. As David had somewhat unhelpfully told her, if you were caught trying to run away from Beton College, your head was shaved and you had to spend a month walking round with your shoelaces tied together. But in fact nothing happened. There really were no punishments at Groosham Grange. If Captain Bloodbath had even bothered to mention the incident to any of the staff, they didn’t take the slightest bit of notice.

  And so the two of them were still there as the snow melted and the winter dripped and trickled its way towards spring. They had been on the island now for seven weeks. Nothing about the school had changed – they were still both outsiders. But David knew that he had changed. And that frightened him.

  He was beginning to enjoy his life on the island. Almost despite himself he was doing well in class. French, history, maths … even Latin came easily to him now. He had got a place in the first eleven football team and although no other school came to the island he still enjoyed the games – even with the pig-bladder balls. And then there was Jill. David depended on her as much as she did on him. They spent all their free time together, walking and talking. And she had become the closest friend he had ever had.

  So he was almost grateful that her escape had failed – and it was that that worried him. Despite the sunshine and the first scent of spring, something evil was going on at Groosham Grange. And slowly, surely, it was drawing him in. If he liked it there now, how long would it be before he became a part of it too?

  Jill kept him sane. Operation Bottle was her idea. Every day for a week they stole whatever bottles they could get their hands on and then threw them into the sea with messages asking for help. They sent bottles to their parents, to the police, to the Department of Education and even, in one desperate moment, to the Queen. David was fairly certain that the bottles would sink long before they reached the coast of Norfolk or at least get washed back up on the island. But he was wrong. One of the bottles arrived.

  It was Mr Leloup who announced the news.

  The French teacher was a small, bald, timid-looking man. At least, he was small, bald and timid-looking at the start of the month. But as the full moon approached, he would gradually change. His body would swell out like the Incredible Hulk, his face would become increasingly ferocious and he would develop a full head of hair. Then, when the full moon came, he would disappear altogether, only to appear the next day back to square one. All his clothes had been torn and stitched together so many times that he must have been surrounded by at least a mile of thread. When he got angry in class – and he did have a very short temper – he didn’t shout. He barked.

  He was angry that morning, the first day in February.

  “It would appear zat t
he school ’as a leetle prob-lame,” he announced in his exaggerated French accent. “The busybodies een the Department of Education ’av decide-dead to pay us a viseet. So tomorrow we must albee on our best be-evure.” He glanced meaningfully at Jill and David. “And no-buddy is to speak to zis man unless ’ee speaks to them.”

  That evening, Jill was hardly able to contain her excitement.

  “He must have got one of our messages,” Jill said. “If the Department of Education find out the truth about Groosham Grange, they’ll close it down and that will be the end of it. We’ll be free!”

  “I know,” David muttered gloomily. “But they won’t let us anywhere near him. And if they see us talking to him, they’ll probably do something terrible to him. And to us.”

  Jill looked at him scornfully. “Have you lost your bottle?” she demanded.

  “Of course I haven’t,” David said. “How else do you think he got the message?”

  Mr Netherby arrived on the island the next morning. A thin, neat man in a grey suit with spectacles and a leather briefcase, he was ferried over by Captain Bloodbath and met by Mr Kilgraw. He gave them a small, official smile and a brief, official handshake and then began his official visit. He was very much the official. Wherever he went he took notes, occasionally asking questions and jotting down the answers in a neat, official hand.

  To David and Jill’s disgust, the whole school had put on a show for him. It was like a royal visit to a hospital when the floors are all scrubbed and the really sick patients are taken off their life support machines and hidden away in cupboards. Everything that Mr Netherby saw was designed to impress. The staff were all in their best suits and the pupils seemed lively, interested and – above all – normal. He was formally introduced to a few of them and they answered his questions with just the right amount of enthusiasm. Yes, they were very happy at Groosham Grange. Yes, they were working hard. No, they had never thought of running away.