Classroom Demons

by Unknown

  ‘What about him?’ asked Alex. ‘What did it say?’

  Inchy went quiet.

  ‘Inch?’ prompted House.

  ‘To cut a long story short,’ said Inchy with a heavy sigh, ‘it basically said that no one kicks butt like Gabriel.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you guys, but that’s really cheered me up,’ said Spit sarcastically.

  ‘Look,’ said Alex, turning to face the whole of his gang, ‘I’ll say it was all my idea. I’ll tell Gabriel that –’

  But they never got to hear what Alex was going to say.

  A sharp click cut the conversation dead and then, silent as fog, the door to Gabriel’s office swung ominously open.

  2

  Kicked Out

  Alex opened his eyes to inky darkness. He lay still for a moment, trying to get his bearings. His head felt fuzzy, as if he had just woken up. Which was odd, because he didn’t remember going to sleep. He sat up – and bumped his head on something directly above him. A bunk bed. He was in a bunk bed. For a moment, Alex relaxed. Perhaps the whole disaster at the fountain had just been a bad dream. Then he remembered. He didn’t have a bunk bed.

  Alex rubbed his eyes and allowed them to adjust to the dark. Soon some shapes started to form in front of him, but he couldn’t make out exactly what they were. Cautiously, he whispered, ‘House? You there?’

  A voice called out, ‘Who’s that? Who’s there? Where am I?’

  ‘House?’

  ‘Alex?’

  A scuffling sound came from the top bunk. It was followed by a large shape falling through the air with a soft whoosh.

  ‘Umph!’

  Alex looked over the side of his bed.

  ‘House? You OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said House from the floor. ‘Where are we?’

  Another voice answered from the dark.

  ‘We’re in big, BIG trouble, that’s where.’

  ‘Cherry?’ called Alex. ‘That you?’

  ‘Of course it’s me!’

  ‘I’m here too,’ sighed Spit from somewhere else in the dark.

  ‘And me,’ said Inchy.

  ‘The whole team’s here?’ asked Alex. ‘What’s going on? What is this place?’

  The darkness cracked into a flood of white. Spit stood there with his hand on the light switch.

  ‘I think the more relevant question would be “Where is this place?”’

  Alex stood up and looked around the room.

  Three metal bunk beds stood in a row against one wall. Opposite these were some old bits of furniture, including a battered‐looking wardrobe, a bookcase filled with encyclopedias, a chest of drawers with all the knobs replaced with wine bottle corks, and two hard wooden chairs that looked as if they were being held together with string. At one end of the room hung some huge, thick, patchwork curtains, and at the other stood a door.

  Nobody spoke. For a minute, Alex thought the others were all dumbstruck by their strange surroundings. Then he realized that they were all staring at him.

  ‘What?’

  The rest of the gang continued to stare at Alex, shock etched in their faces.

  ‘What is it?’

  House cleared his throat nervously.

  ‘Er, Alex, mate – where are your wings?’

  ‘What do you mean? They’re here, where they always are.’

  Alex flexed his shoulders, expecting his handsome snowy wings to snap out behind him. Nothing happened.

  ‘Our wings!’ he shouted, pointing at the others. ‘We haven’t got our wings! None of us have; they’re gone!’

  The rest of the gang looked at each other, each of them feeling round their backs for the tell‐tale tickle of feathers. Nothing.

  ‘Impossible,’ said Spit. ‘We’re angels! We have to have wings!’

  ‘Well, we haven’t got them any more,’ said Cherry ominously. ‘And I reckon we all know whose fault it is.’

  Everyone turned to stare at Alex.

  ‘But I told Gabriel,’ spluttered Alex. ‘You heard me. I said it was my idea, that it was all my fault.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Spit. ‘And that was just before he said something about teaching us a lesson we’d never forget, wasn’t it?’

  A sound of curtains being pulled open drew everyone’s attention.

  ‘Guys,’ Inchy said, his voice solemn, ‘we’re on Earth.’

  The gang looked through the window, stunned into silence.

  ‘This gives a whole new meaning to being grounded,’ quipped Alex.

  No one laughed.

  ‘Are you sure it’s Earth?’ asked House. ‘I mean, it doesn’t look that much different to Heaven, does it?’

  The view outside was of fields and trees and rain dancing down the windowpane.

  ‘Except for that.’

  Inchy nodded at an aeroplane slicing across the sky.

  ‘And that,’ said Cherry, pointing at some litter rolling by in the wind.

  ‘And me,’ came a voice from behind them.

  The gang turned.

  At the far end of the room, standing at the now open door, was an old man. He was wearing a very well‐tailored, if rather old, tweed suit, a blue shirt, a red tie and very polished brown shoes. A row of medals shone brightly on the left side of his chest and he was leaning heavily on a cane.

  Alex, as team captain and gang leader, was the first to speak.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You have been sent down,’ said the old man in a clipped, military‐sounding voice.

  ‘What? We’re in prison?’ said Cherry. ‘We can’t be. We didn’t do anything. Well, nothing really bad. And we’re too little for prison!’

  ‘No,’ replied the old man, ‘this is not prison. This is number 92 Eccles Road – in the town of Green Hill, Sussex.’

  ‘But why have we been sent here?’ asked Alex.

  ‘You have some lessons to learn,’ said the old man. ‘And, on the orders of Head Angel Gabriel, you are going to learn them here with me.’

  From the tone of the old man’s voice, Alex guessed that he wasn’t much happier about the prospect than they were.

  Alex turned back to the gang and winked.

  ‘So you’re in charge of us?’

  ‘Yes. Command has been given to me.’

  ‘But you’re just an old man,’ said Alex. ‘I mean, if we wanted to escape, what could you do about it? Come on, guys!’

  And with that, he sprang for the open door.

  There was a quick, soft sound, like a cotton sheet snapping in the wind, and Alex bounced off something that felt as springy as a mattress, landing hard on his bottom.

  ‘He’s an angel,’ muttered House.

  ‘No kidding,’ said Spit, his eyes wide.

  Alex backed away. The old man hadn’t moved, but spread out behind him were two utterly enormous wings. They were ice white and curved round the walls of the room.

  The old man looked at Alex.

  ‘I am Major Tabbris, Order of Raphael, First Class,’ he said proudly, tapping one of his many decorations (a particularly enormous silver medal), ‘and formerly of Special Operations. Now retired, although you wouldn’t know it. Nannying a horde of screaming children is hardly my idea of a peaceful retirement.’

  Alex gulped. Everyone knew about Special Ops. This elite group of angelic agents were responsible for patrolling Earth and Heaven, looking for demons and agents of the Other Side. The toughest of the tough, they weren’t to be messed with.

  With a flick, Tabbris’s wings folded in behind him and faded to nothing.

  ‘Now, a few ground rules –’

  ‘Where are our wings?’ interrupted Spit.

  Tabbris shot Spit a glare so stern that he clamped his mouth shut.

  ‘Rule Number One,’ snapped Tabbris. ‘You will only speak when you are spoken to.’

  He turned and headed for the door.

  ‘Breakfast is in the kitchen. I expect you all to be there, was
hed, dressed and sitting at the table in ten minutes. You have a busy day ahead of you.’

  A question darted into Cherry’s mind and she spoke before she could stop herself.

  ‘What about our friends back in Heaven? Do they know what’s happening to us?’

  Tabbris turned.

  ‘Gabriel will keep them informed on a need‐to‐know basis. Breakfast is now in nine minutes.’

  And with that, Tabbris disappeared through the door, leaving the gang to wonder just what – quite literally – on Earth Alex had landed them in.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Inchy, poking his spoon into the bowl sitting in front of him. It was filled with a grey, steaming mush.

  ‘It looks like sick,’ said Cherry.

  ‘Porridge,’ said Tabbris from the end of the table. ‘Eat it; you will all need your energy today.’

  Alex shrugged and took a mouthful.

  ‘Yuck! It tastes salty. What’s in it?’

  ‘Salt is in it,’ said Tabbris. ‘This is porridge the way it is supposed to be made, as I discovered on a mission in the Highlands of Scotland five hundred years ago.’

  ‘Do you always eat this for breakfast?’ asked Cherry.

  ‘No,’ replied Tabbris. ‘But this is a special occasion. Now, chores…’

  The gang turned from their salty porridge and stared at the old angel.

  ‘What do you mean by “chores”?’ asked Alex, dreading that an already bad day was about to get a whole lot worse.

  ‘This house,’ replied Tabbris, ‘as you have no doubt realized, is exceptionally ordered and tidy. It is your job to keep it that way. I don’t like mess. I don’t like things not being in their proper place. I don’t like knives in the fork drawer.’

  Tabbris stood up and placed a thick roll of paper on the table, along with a bucket containing soap, polish and a selection of brushes and cloths.

  ‘These are your chores,’ he said. ‘I would read them out, but that would be wasting valuable scrubbing time. Any questions?’

  Alex put his hand in the air.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you mad in the head?’

  The rest of the gang shouted in unison, ‘Shut up!’

  ‘What?’ Alex looked hurt.

  ‘You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?’ complained Spit.

  ‘I will be reporting your behaviour back to Gabriel at the end of every week,’ continued Tabbris, as if nobody had spoken. ‘When I think you have learned to behave more like angels than animals, I will recommend that you be allowed to return to Cloud Nine, but not before. If there are no more questions, I will leave you to it,’ said Tabbris. ‘Lunch today will be at twelve o’clock sharp. Tea at six. Bed at eight.’

  ‘Bed at eight?’ muttered House. ‘I haven’t gone to bed at eight since I was, well, eight.’

  ‘You will need a good night’s sleep in preparation for tomorrow,’ said Tabbris, his pencil‐thin moustache twitching in what might have been a smirk.

  ‘Do we dare ask why?’ enquired Spit.

  Tabbris was at the kitchen door.

  ‘As you are now on Earth,’ he said, ‘you will have to fit in with human children. Do the things they do. One of those things is school. Good day!’

  Cherry picked up the list of chores. It unrolled along the length of the table and off the other end, on to the floor.

  ‘We’ll never finish all these,’ she groaned, picking up a moth‐eaten old duster.

  But none of the others were listening. They were staring at the empty doorway through which Tabbris had vanished.

  ‘School,’ said Inchy.

  ‘On Earth,’ said Spit.

  ‘With humans,’ said House.

  ‘Pants,’ said Alex.

  3

  Mr Dante

  ‘I ache all over,’ moaned Big House as the gang trooped out of the front door towards school the following morning.

  ‘I ache all under and all over,’ sighed Inchy. ‘It’s no wonder Tabbris is retired; he’s completely mad.’

  ‘Completely mad and completely in charge,’ said Cherry. ‘And it’s completely your fault, Alex.’

  Alex looked at his friends. Behind them towered the old house they now had to call home; a home on planet Earth they shared with an insane old angel who put salt on his porridge.

  ‘How many more times can I say I’m sorry?’

  ‘Try a million,’ said Spit. ‘Then times that by twenty. And that’s just for these uniforms.’

  Alex looked at what they were all wearing: scratchy grey nylon shirts, grey‐and‐white‐striped ties, thick grey jumpers and itchy grey trousers. As a finishing touch, each of them was carrying a shiny brown leather satchel – they looked about as uncool as it was possible to look. He wasn’t so sure that twenty million sorries would be enough.

  ‘What’s school on Earth actually like, anyway?’ asked House. ‘I mean, we go to Cloud Nine Academy, don’t we? That’s a school and it’s not too bad.’

  ‘Well,’ said Inchy, pushing his glasses up his nose, ‘for a start, there’re going to be no flying lessons.’

  ‘No way!’ blurted House.

  ‘Humans can’t fly,’ said Inchy, ‘everyone knows that. And anyway, we haven’t got our wings.’

  ‘Tell us something we don’t know,’ grouched Cherry.

  ‘OK,’ said Inchy, ‘how about this: on Earth, teachers are allowed to lock bad children in boxes filled with worms.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ said House, eyes wide with horror.

  ‘You’re so gullible,’ smiled Inchy, but nobody felt much like laughing.

  House opened his mouth to reply, but Spit got there first.

  ‘Look,’ he said, pointing. ‘The school.’

  ‘Big, big trouble,’ muttered House.

  ‘You said that yesterday,’ said Alex.

  ‘And I was right. Just look at that place.’

  Alex was looking at it and even he couldn’t conjure up a smile. He’d never seen anywhere like it. The only school he’d ever known was Cloud Nine Academy, and that was one of the most beautiful buildings in Heaven: all shiny gold, white marble and pristine gardens. This place looked like it was built of corroded metal and cold granite, held together by overgrown weeds.

  The school gate, towering between two enormous stone pillars, looked like it had turned entirely to rust, the metal bars twisting into each other like brambles. Behind the gate, laid out like an enormous grey carpet, was the playground. It was dotted with scummy puddles, and chipped and scuffed at the edges, crumbling like a stale biscuit. Off to the side was a sad‐looking school field, with three swampy football pitches marked out. And beyond the playground stood the school itself – a vast brick building that seemed to be built of shadows and dust. Tiny, slit‐like windows stared down from the walls, as if they were spying on the screaming children in the playground, and the high slate roof seemed to be home to about a thousand crows.

  ‘I didn’t think we had to learn about Hell until Sixth Form,’ said Spit. ‘But it looks like we’ve been sent on a field trip.’

  ‘Why’s everyone looking at us?’ asked Cherry, as hundreds of pairs of eyes followed them.

  The gang had just walked through the school gates, and the raging torrent of noise that had been echoing around the playground had fallen silent.

  ‘They’ve probably never seen angels before,’ answered House.

  ‘We don’t look like angels, remember?’ said Alex.

  ‘Look!’ hissed Inchy. ‘Someone’s coming over.’

  Alex looked and saw three very tall, very slim and very attractive girls walking towards them.

  ‘Perhaps this won’t be too bad after all,’ he said, nudging Spit.

  When the girls arrived, the tallest and prettiest of them spoke first.

  ‘You’re new,’ she said.

  ‘I’m Cherry,’ said Cherry, holding out her hand and smiling. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ asked the girl.
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  ‘No,’ said Cherry, her face a mask of confusion.

  ‘Yeah,’ said one of the other girls, ‘are you saying she’s stupid?’

  ‘No,’ said Cherry again, ‘I don’t even know you.’

  ‘So are you saying that, if you did know her, you’d say she was stupid?’ asked the other girl.

  Cherry didn’t reply.

  ‘We don’t touch new kids,’ said the first girl. ‘We don’t want to catch whatever it is you’ve got.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Cherry indignantly.

  ‘Like excess stomach rolls,’ said the girl, pointedly patting down her skinny frame.

  The other girls giggled.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Cherry, her eyes blazing.

  Alex stepped in.

  ‘I’m Alex,’ he said. ‘And you are…?’

  But the girls just turned and strutted off back across the playground, giggling.

  ‘How dare she judge me on how I look,’ muttered Cherry. ‘If I had my bow, I’d –’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ soothed Inchy. ‘She’s probably just trying to make herself look important in front of everyone.’

  ‘Always trying to see both sides, aren’t you?’ said Cherry.

  Inchy shrugged.

  ‘That’s what a Voice of Reason Angel is supposed to do – give a balanced view of things so that people don’t make rash decisions.’

  ‘Right,’ said Alex, glancing at Tabbris’s list of instructions. ‘Apparently we’ve got to go to registration. Come on.’

  ‘Nice bags!’ came a voice from the crowd as the gang walked across the playground.

  ‘New kids, puke kids!’ came another.

  ‘Why’s everyone being nasty?’ mumbled House. ‘They don’t even know us.’

  ‘Ignore it,’ said Alex, just as Inchy walked straight into someone.

  ‘Oi! Watch where you’re goin’, stink face.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Inchy, stepping back to see a large, greasy‐haired, grubby‐looking boy in front of him. His sleeves were rolled up and he was chewing a lollipop stick. Four similarly sized lads stood behind him, all scowling.