‘I’m supposed to see Mrs Milton,’ I said, stopping in front of the reception desk. Morag looked up at me and beamed broadly. I was filled with relief.
‘Ah yes, Kyle, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Just go through and wait in the office, she’ll be in in a minute.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, returning the smile. I made for the office, a spring in my step. If I spun the story out, I could probably waste the entire lesson filling Mrs Milton in on what had happened. Maybe – if I really went into detail and repeated myself a bit – I could fill the whole afternoon. Not only would I avoid lessons, I’d also be able to avoid—
‘Billy?’ I frowned, as I eased open the door to the headmistress’s office and stepped inside.
He was standing by the window, looking out through the slatted wooden blinds. He whipped round at the sound of my voice, his eyes narrowing to slits when he saw me. ‘What you doing here?’ he demanded.
‘I…a kid came in with a note,’ I explained, feeling my confidence start to crumble. If Billy had been summoned too, then I wasn’t here to talk about the dinner lady. It had to be about what had happened on the way to class. That wasn’t good.
Mrs Milton was ruthlessly strict when it came to fighting in school, and I doubted she’d care that my only contribution to the “fight” was taking a punch to the guts.
Billy made a noise a bit like a horse sneezing and turned back to the window. ‘We’ll say we were just mucking about,’ he instructed. He had obviously come to the same conclusion as I just had. ‘It was nothing, just two mates having a laugh, all right?’
I stepped further into the room, but didn’t answer. He turned and fixed me with a glare. ‘All right?’
‘Right,’ I nodded. Like it or not, going along with him was the only way of cutting our losses. We’d probably still get into serious trouble, but not fighting serious.
We stood there for a while, neither of us speaking. Mrs Milton was taking her time. I suspected she might be waiting just outside the door, enjoying making us sweat. Teachers could be nasty like that, and head teachers in particular.
The office had been redecorated since the last time I was in it. The walls were covered in a cream wallpaper with a swirling design made up of varying shades of brown. A row of filing cabinets stood shoulder to shoulder along one of the walls, facing the high bookshelves that leaned against the wall directly opposite.
There was a thick carpet below me, also brown. As I looked down at it, I realised it was the only time I’d seen carpet in any part of the school. Maybe she got special treatment because she was the head. Or maybe all the teachers’ areas were carpeted.
It struck me that there were whole areas of the school I’d never even seen inside. For all I knew, the staffroom could have disco balls hanging from the ceiling and tiger-skin rugs on the floor.
‘So…’ Billy said. He was still looking outside, but I knew what was coming next. ‘Who told you?’
‘About what?’ I asked innocently.
‘You know what.’
I should never have mentioned the girl and her doll. It had been a knee-jerk reaction to the threat of being beaten up. My meeting with Caddie definitely fell under the heading of “Things Not To Talk About”.
‘Your mum told my mum,’ I lied. ‘She told me.’
‘I knew it,’ he muttered, still not looking at me. I had a suspicion as to who the girl was, but wasn’t sure whether to say anything and risk another beating. I decided to chance my luck.
‘I had an invisible friend too,’ I said. ‘When I was young. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’
He didn’t answer, which itself told me all I needed to know.
‘I’m not waiting round here any more,’ he scowled, turning from the window. He barged past me on his way to the door.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ I asked. I didn’t like the idea of being the only one around for Mrs Milton to shout at.
‘Tell her I was sick and had to go home,’ he told me. ‘Tell her anything, I don’t care.’
I was about to reply when he yanked open the door. He drew up short as we both realised Mrs Milton really had been lurking just outside the office. She stood framed in the doorway, leaning slightly forward, her arms hanging limp and loose by her sides.
‘Mrs M,’ Billy smiled. ‘There you are. I was just going to come and look for…’
His voice trailed off. He’d realised what I had – something was very wrong with Mrs Milton.
Her breathing was noisy; wheezy and rattling at the back of her throat as she inhaled. Her face was as pale as chalk dust, its expression blank and empty, like something dead. Or something that had never been alive in the first place.
Ringing her eyes were two circles of make-up; caked-on, thick black swirls of tar. A streak of crimson lipstick was smeared across her mouth, starting on one cheek and finishing high up on the other. It stood out against her pale skin like a raw, gaping wound. She looked frightening. Grotesque.
And disturbingly familiar.
‘I’m dressing up like Mummy,’ spoke a voice from within her. It was high-pitched and childish, and didn’t belong to her. ‘Would you like to play?’
Chapter Four
TAG, YOU’RE IT
Even Billy, who was usually first with the wisecracks, said nothing. He took two paces backwards into the office, but otherwise showed no reaction to Mrs Milton’s weirdness.
If the way she’d slapped on her make-up was familiar to me, though, Billy must’ve recognised it too. He had to. I’d only ever seen one other person with their face made up like that: Caddie.
Billy’s invisible friend.
‘Is this a wind-up?’ I heard him mutter at last. There was a note to his voice I’d never heard before – uncertainty or panic, or something in between.
‘I like playing,’ trilled Mrs Milton. She was slowly twirling a curl of her mousy-brown hair round a finger; still speaking in a voice fifty years too young for her.
With a sudden lunge, she hopped into the room. Her eyes stayed fixed on Billy as she stood there, wobbling unsteadily on one leg. ‘Do you like playing too?’
‘Billy,’ I said, in what came out as a hoarse whisper. ‘Don’t let her get too close.’
Billy snapped round at the sound of my voice, as if he’d forgotten I was even there in the room. ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Did you put her up to this?’
I shook my head. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
Mrs Milton’s blank gaze rounded on me. I could make out my own reflection in her eyes, but there was no other sign of life in them anywhere.
‘Let’s play a game,’ she sang. With another hop she was in the middle of the office, right by her desk. I hurried backwards out of her reach, in case she decided to make a grab for me. My back bumped against the bookshelves and I shuffled along to where they ended. From there I had a clear path to the now unguarded doorway; an escape route, in case I needed to get out of there fast.
‘What kind of game?’ I asked her, stalling for time. Something was happening here, but I didn’t quite understand what.
‘What are you doing?’ Billy spat. His eyes were shifting quickly from me to Mrs Milton and back again. ‘Why are you even talking to her? She’s clearly gone mental.’
The head teacher’s lifeless eyes swivelled on him, her face still empty of all emotion. Billy stared right back. He was smirking, trying to act confident and unafraid, but the way his feet shuffled on the carpet told another story.
‘Did you hear that, Mrs Milton?’ he said. ‘It’s the pressure. You’ve gone nuts. They’ll probably stick you in a home for the retarded.’
The words were classic Billy, but the delivery was off, as if he was a bad actor playing the role. He was terrified, but some subconscious autopilot inside him was determined not to show it.
‘Just think,’ he continued, ‘you’ll never be able to give me detention again.’
Her expression – or lack of it – remained fixed in place, bu
t the finger in her hair began to twirl faster. My attention was so focused on that hand I didn’t notice the other one creeping towards the penholder on the desk until it was too late.
‘Mrs Milton isn’t allowed out right now,’ sing-songed the child’s voice from deep within the adult’s body. She brought her hand up from the desk. It was clutching a large pair of metal scissors. The light from the window glinted off the blades as she pointed them at Billy’s throat. ‘But I know a fun game we can play.’
‘Billy, run.’
He hesitated, the smirk still fixed on his lips. ‘What?’
I made a dive for the open door, catching his arm and dragging him along with me. ‘I said run!’
We stumbled from the office together and out into the corridor. Just before we did, I caught a glimpse of Mrs Milton snipping at the air with the scissors. Shnick-shnick-shnick.
The reception area was empty when we scrambled past. No sign of Morag. No sign of anyone who could help.
‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ I said, and I began to drag Billy along the corridor towards the main door.
After just a few steps, he yanked his arm free and stopped in his tracks.
‘What you doing?’ he demanded.
I skidded to a stop a few paces on. ‘We’ve got to get away from her,’ I spluttered. ‘We have to get help.’
Billy’s face was a few shades paler than usual, but his arrogant sneer was back. ‘You know, you nearly had me?’ he said. ‘Just for a minute there, you nearly had me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign yet of Mrs Milton, but it would only be a matter of time.
‘How did you get her to go along with it? That’s what I want to know.’
‘Go along with what?’ I frowned. ‘You don’t still think this is a joke?’
Billy took a step closer. I could see his fingers were bunched into fists. ‘Let me think,’ he muttered. ‘You talk about some little girl who you say was my imaginary friend – even though I never had an imaginary friend, since only losers have imaginary friends – and then suddenly you’ve got Milton acting like a five-year-old who wants to do me in with a pair of scissors.’
He rubbed his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. ‘So yes, I do think it’s a joke.’ He took another step closer and raised a fist. ‘And look – here comes the punch line.’
‘Wait,’ I cried. The sound echoed along the otherwise silent corridor. ‘Listen.’
Billy paused, his fist held motionless up by his right ear. ‘What? I don’t hear anything.’
‘Exactly.’ I nodded in the direction of a set of doors a dozen or so metres further along the corridor. ‘There should be a class in the gym hall.’
‘So?’
‘So why can’t we hear them?’
He scowled and pulled his fist back sharply. ‘Who cares?’
‘Raggy Maggie!’ I yelped, screwing shut my eyes and throwing up my hands for protection from a blow that never came.
‘What…what did you say?’
I opened my eyes, but kept my guard up. Billy had taken a step back. His mouth was open, the rage on his face gone.
‘Raggy Maggie,’ I repeated, slowly lowering my hands. ‘That’s what she said her doll was called.’
His eyes still pointed in my direction, but Billy was no longer looking at me. His stare had drifted past me, through the wall at my back, and off into a distant memory.
‘But I never told…How did…?’ He gave his head a shake and refocused on me. ‘How do you know that name?’
‘There’s no time to explain,’ I told him. ‘But when I said I met her, I wasn’t lying.’
He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I didn’t let him. ‘I know it’s hard to believe, but something happened to me at Christmas. Mr Mumbles, my invisible friend, he came back. He…I don’t know how exactly, but he came back.’
Billy blinked. ‘Right. It all makes sense now,’ he nodded. ‘You’re mental as well.’
‘I thought so too, but it happened, I swear. He came back. He came back and he tried to kill me, and I think it’s happening again, only this time it’s your invisible friend, not mine.’
‘I told you, I didn’t have—’
‘We don’t have time for this,’ I bellowed. The volume of my voice startled us both. I glanced along the corridor to make sure it was still empty, and continued more quietly: ‘You had an imaginary friend called Caddie. Little girl, white dress, too much make-up. Caddie owned a doll she called Raggy Maggie. Its body was made of rags, but it had one of those horrible porcelain faces. I know it all, Billy.’
Billy stood, silent.
‘I know it’s all hard to swallow,’ I said, ‘but you’ve got to trust me. If we don’t get out of here now, something bad is going to happen.’
When at last Billy spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. ‘Like what?’
‘Here I come, ready or not.’ The voice floated along the corridor towards us. We both turned in time to see Mrs Milton step round the corner, the scissors still clutched tightly in her right hand. ‘Not my fault if you get caught!’
‘Like that.’
I bolted in the opposite direction, heading for the gloss-painted door that led out into the car park. Billy hesitated, unable to tear his eyes from Mrs Milton, who had begun to skip slowly towards us.
‘Come on,’ I urged, and at last he began to follow me.
The door rattled in its frame when I turned the handle. Locked. I put a shoulder to it. It shook, but it didn’t open.
‘Shift over!’
I stepped aside just before Billy’s size ten trainer thudded against the door. Again it shook. Again it didn’t open.
‘Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.’ Mrs Milton was close – too close. No time to break the door. No time for anything.
‘The gym,’ I cried. ‘The fire exit.’
‘Move then!’ All Billy’s bravado had slipped away now. He looked as scared as I felt – maybe even more so – as we crashed across the corridor and through the doors of the gym hall.
The gym was the single biggest room in the school. Once a week it doubled as an assembly hall, where we all sat freezing to death and listening to someone drone on about Jesus. It was in sports mode now – the multi-purpose goals had been put up, and the smell of fresh sweat hung heavy in the air.
Over near the middle of the hall, a cream leather football rocked gently from side to side, before gradually coming to rest.
‘Where is everyone?’ asked Billy. His voice carried across the empty hall like a foghorn.
There should have been a class in here. There had been a class in here. I’d heard them. An uneasiness gripped me, but I said nothing. Instead I hurried across the hall to where the emergency exit led out on to the playing field and pushed down on the metal bar.
Thunk. The handle bent all the way down, but the doors remained stuck fast. I pulled the bar up and forced it down again. The result was the same.
‘It’s locked,’ Billy groaned. ‘You idiot. This was your idea.’
‘It’s a fire door, it doesn’t lock,’ I hissed, but there was no arguing with the fact the thing wouldn’t budge.
Giving up, I turned and studied the hall. It was a draughty cavern, with high ceilings and a wooden floor that must once have shone with polish, but which now looked scuffed and tired.
There were two exits – the one we’d come through and the one that was stopping us leaving. If we went back out the way we’d entered we would run right into Mrs Milton. If we stayed where we were, she’d run right into us.
‘We’re trapped,’ Billy gasped, taking the words right out of my mouth.
‘We have to hide,’ I decided. There was a deep alcove at the back of the hall where the sports equipment and assembly chairs were stacked when not in use. It was a blindingly obvious hiding place, but it was the only one we had.
From out in the corridor the shnick-shnick-shnick of scissors sliced through
the silence. ‘She’s coming,’ I whispered, scurrying across to the alcove. ‘Hurry up.’
‘We could rush her,’ Billy suggested. ‘We could knock her out. The two of us.’
‘We could,’ I admitted, squeezing myself between two towers of stacked wooden chairs. ‘But we could also get stabbed in the face.’
‘Chicken,’ Billy sneered, but he quickly wedged himself into the recess and squatted down beside me.
It was dark there in the alcove – the sloped roof above us blocking out almost all of the light from the hall’s high windows. To begin with the only sound was our own unsteady breathing, until a low creak told us the door to the gym hall had been pushed open.
She was singing as she skipped into the hall, letting the door clatter shut behind her. It was below her breath, and too quiet for me to make out the words, but she was definitely whispering some tune or other in that childishly high voice. It set my teeth on edge, like fingernails down a blackboard.
Her voice grew louder as she drew closer to our hiding place. I felt Billy tense up beside me, and realised I was doing the same: rising on to my toes, getting ready to move.
Through the gaps in the chairs I saw her. I bit down on my lip to stop myself crying out in shock. She was just a few feet away, standing right outside the alcove, bent at the waist, peering in.
The song she was singing trailed away into silence as she stared into the darkness. For a moment I was sure she was looking directly at me, and then, in an instant, she straightened up and skipped away.
We held our breath in the gloom, listening as her singing restarted; listening as her feet squeaked on the wooden floor; listening as the door gave another creak and a clatter.
For a few long moments neither of us moved, hardly daring to believe she had gone. It was Billy who eventually broke the silence.
‘I think I just crapped my pants.’
Raggy Maggie Page 3
