Classroom Demons

by Unknown

  Five minutes later, he had a small pile of silver slivers. It didn’t look like much, but Spit hadn’t said how much silver was needed. Anyway, they weren’t trying to kill Dante – just prove that he really was a demon. Besides, thought Alex, if he was out of lessons any longer, he might get caught. As he shut the cabinet, carefully folded up the tissue paper and headed back to English, Alex smiled to himself. If Dante was a demon, he had no idea what was about to hit him.

  ‘Well? Did you get it?’ asked Spit, as the gang sat outside, enjoying a few minutes of cool fresh air before geography. Around them, the noise of the playground filled the air. House came over to join them from where he’d been making friends with one of the lads from his chemistry lesson.

  Alex nodded, patting his pocket.

  Cherry was shaking her head.

  ‘I don’t like it. Dante might just be a human so horrible he’s easily mistaken for a demon.’

  ‘I know what I saw,’ said Alex.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed House.

  ‘And me,’ added Inchy.

  ‘But what all of you saw were wings,’ mused Spit, ‘and it’s not just demons who have them, is it?’

  ‘You’re not suggesting Dante’s an angel, are you?’ asked Alex.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t jump to conclusions, that’s all.’

  ‘He’s a demon, I know it,’ said Alex. ‘And we’re going to get him.’

  ‘Whatever. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  The school bell rang.

  ‘Right,’ said Alex, ‘this is it.’

  ‘What are you actually going to do?’ asked Cherry.

  Alex turned to Spit.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ said Spit, holding his hands up. ‘I told you what I found out. There was nothing about how to actually use the silver once you’ve got it.’

  Alex thought for a few seconds, then said, ‘I’ve got a plan.’

  ‘I hate it when you say that too,’ sniffed House, and followed the rest of the gang into Dante’s classroom.

  The lesson began like most geography lessons – with Alex being hauled to the front of the room by Mr Dante for no apparent reason. But rather than trudging to the front as he did normally, Alex practically skipped up to Dante’s desk.

  ‘Yes, Mr Dante, sir?’

  ‘Cloud,’ sighed Dante theatrically, ‘will there ever be a week, or even a day, that goes by without you irritating me?’

  The rest of the class tittered, but Alex smiled up at the teacher, saying nothing.

  ‘Cat got your tongue once again?’

  Alex just grinned wider.

  ‘So, the silent treatment. How very mature, Cloud.’

  Without another word, Dante reached over to the desk, picked up the blackboard rubber and proceeded to paint Alex’s face with chalk dust, just like he’d done before.

  Which was when Alex put his plan into effect.

  ‘Aaa…’

  Alex fumbled in his pocket.

  ‘Are you trying to say something, Cloud?’ said Dante, leaning down towards him and cupping a hand to his twisted ear.

  ‘AaaAAAA…’

  Alex pulled out a carefully folded tissue. ‘Speak up, Cloud,’ snarled Dante, leaning closer still.

  ‘Aaaa‐AAAAA‐AAAAACHOOO!’

  Alex sneezed the contents of the tissue right into Dante’s face.

  It was a great plan. A foolproof plan. A work of genius!

  For a moment Dante looked stunned. He stood there in front of the whole shocked class, swaying slightly. Alex stared at him, waiting for something hideous to happen. Perhaps it would be boils, or his skin would flake off? Perhaps his eyes would burst, or his head would explode? Whatever it was, it just had to be horrifically horrible and vile, surely!

  Dante turned his head towards Alex and…

  There was nothing wrong with him.

  Or was there? There was something about his eyes, something about their colour… Something like flames dancing in them…

  But before Alex could work out exactly what it was, Dante grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and frogmarched him out of the classroom, down the corridor and into his office.

  ‘In there, Cloud!’ he yelled, wiping his face with his jacket sleeve.

  Alex found himself being thrown headlong into a musty‐looking book cupboard. The door slammed and all light was extinguished to nothingness. The sound of the key turning behind him was followed by the noise of Dante’s footsteps smartly departing his office and the door creaking shut. Then silence.

  ‘That went well,’ Alex muttered.

  ‘There will be no more interruptions from Cloud for the rest of the day.’ Dante glowered at the class.

  ‘The rest of the day?’ hissed Cherry to Inchy. ‘But what about the match this afternoon?’

  ‘You have something to say, Miss Cherry?’ asked Dante, snapping round to stare at her.

  Cherry looked at Dante. Was she imagining it, or did the skin of his face seem red and sore, like he’d spent too long in the sun?

  ‘Er, well,’ began Cherry, ‘it’s just that we’ve got a footie match this afternoon and Alex is captain of our team. We need him.’

  ‘Well, that is a shame,’ said Dante, ‘because he won’t be seeing the light of day until four o’clock.’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ said House, opening his mouth and speaking before his brain had a chance to close it.

  ‘Cloud has only himself to blame; such disgusting behaviour must be punished. Would you like to join him?’

  House gulped and shook his head.

  ‘No, I thought not,’ smiled Dante. ‘Any of the rest of Cloud’s friends? I’m more than happy to shut you all away, you know. From what I’ve seen of your team practices, it’s the only way you’ll be spared the embarrassment of defeat this afternoon.’

  The gang looked at each other, desperation in their eyes. But there was nothing they could do.

  ‘Good,’ said Dante, then turned to the rickety old blackboard and scratched on to its surface the rest of the lesson and rather a lot of homework.

  Back in the cupboard, Alex was exploring. It was hot and utterly dark, but by feeling with his hands, he had already discovered that the cupboard was much bigger than he’d realized.

  If only I’d brought a torch, he thought, taking another step forward, his hands groping in the blackness. At last, Alex’s fingers brushed against a switch, flooding the cupboard with light.

  A rattling, bony hand landed on his shoulder with a loud crack.

  Alex screamed, but no one heard him.

  No one at all.

  9

  Skeletons in the Closet

  ‘Why do boys’ changing rooms always smell so awful?’ asked Cherry, sneaking in from the girls’ changing rooms across the hall.

  ‘Apparently,’ said Inchy, ‘it’s the smell of animal ferocity, of determination, of that lust for the winning goal, of –’

  ‘Wet socks and boredom,’ cut in House. ‘I hate waiting for the match to start. I get nervous.’

  Inchy took a step away from his big friend. He knew very well that when House got nervous, his clumsiness got worse. He looked up at the clock.

  ‘Well, there’s only five minutes left. Just enough time for us to get indigestion from lunch.’

  ‘That wasn’t a lunch,’ muttered House, collapsing on to a bench, which groaned ominously. ‘That was death by mashed potato. I can hardly move.’

  ‘We might be in with a chance, then,’ sneered Spit. ‘If we stick you in front of the goal, you’ll block the whole thing.’

  House didn’t respond. His mind was still coming to terms with the fact they were really about to play their first five‐a‐side football match on Earth. With only four players.

  ‘I hope Alex is OK,’ said Cherry, almost as if she’d read his thoughts.

  ‘Dante might let him out,’ chirped House hopefully. ‘He can’t keep him locked up all day, can he?’ He tu
gged at his armband. ‘Then I wouldn’t have to be captain. That makes me nervous too.’

  ‘This is Dante we’re talking about,’ replied Inchy, moving even further away. ‘He’s not exactly renowned for fair play, is he?’

  Spit stood up and kicked a lump of muddy grass across the concrete floor.

  ‘There’s no way we’re going to win,’ he muttered dejectedly. ‘We might as well not even bother turning up – we’re going to get killed out there.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ said Cherry, running her fingers through her bright red hair. ‘We’ve just got to go out and do our best. It’s only a game.’

  ‘But it’s not only a game, is it?’ said Spit. ‘It’s just another way for us to be made to look like idiots. Life must be much easier for Dante – messing up other people’s lives rather than having yours messed up for you.’

  The rest of the team turned to look at Spit incredulously.

  ‘You’d rather be like Dante, then?’ asked Cherry. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything,’ said Spit, scuffing his football boots on the floor, ‘but it’s pretty obvious that if Dante likes you, life’s much easier.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you go and get all chummy with him, then?’ challenged House, his temper flaring. ‘Go on! Go and be his mate instead. Join the Other Side, why don’t you?’

  Spit didn’t reply. He just turned and walked off through the door that led to the pitch.

  ‘As team talks go,’ said Inchy, ‘that wasn’t one of the greatest.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but why can’t he just be like the rest of us, instead of all awkward and moody?’

  ‘Spit’s just Spit,’ said Cherry. ‘He’s not bad really.’

  ‘I know,’ admitted House gloomily. ‘I’m just worried. I’m really not cut out for captain.’

  ‘It’s funny,’ mused Cherry. ‘Alex may get us into all sorts of scrapes, but we do need him.’

  ‘Come on,’ encouraged Inchy, ‘we might as well follow Spit. There’s no point trying to pretend we don’t have to play.’

  ‘Spit!’ yelled Cherry. ‘Wait!’

  Spit turned as the rest of their depleted team met him on the touchline. It looked like half the school had turned out to witness the gang’s humiliation.

  ‘We do this together, yeah?’ said Cherry. ‘As a team. Like Alex said.’

  Spit nodded.

  ‘And you’re right, Cherry,’ said House. ‘It is just a game.’ He forced a smile. ‘Come on,’ he said, slapping Inchy hard on the back and sending the smaller angel flying. ‘Let’s give them our worst.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be too difficult,’ muttered Spit.

  The team had hardly had a chance to start warming up when they first noticed something odd was happening. First the wind dropped, then the birds stopped singing. Finally, a huge dark cloud drifted across the sun, plunging the pitch into gloom. Even the crowds of chattering kids on the sidelines fell silent.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked House.

  In reply, Inchy just pointed.

  ‘It can’t be,’ hissed Spit.

  ‘It is,’ said Cherry.

  Their opponents, The Black Crows, each looking about two metres tall in their all‐black kit, had emerged from the changing rooms and were making their way on to the pitch. Jogging in front of them, wearing a worn tracksuit and a nasty grin, was the referee.

  Mr Dante.

  Alex screamed until his voice caught in his throat like a snared rat. His heart felt like it was doing its best to thump its way out of his chest. The hand on his shoulder hadn’t moved – it just stayed there, firm and cold. Rooted to the spot, Alex could only close his eyes and wait for something horrible to happen – for the owner of the hand to reveal himor herself as a flesh‐eating zombie. Or a terrifying monster ready to chew out his guts.

  But nothing happened. Nothing at all. Tentatively opening one eye, Alex turned to look at the hand.

  And screamed again.

  The hand was made of hard white bones, shining in the harsh light of the single naked bulb. Above the hand hung a skeleton, a huge hook stuck painfully through its ribs.

  Frantically, Alex batted the hand off his shoulder. It fell away with a soft plastic clatter. And suddenly he realized that it was just a model – the sort of thing human teachers used in lessons.

  Alex let out a long breath. Now that he didn’t have to worry about having his guts sucked out, he felt much calmer. And it seemed that, apart from the skeleton, the cupboard didn’t contain anything out of the ordinary. In fact, the cupboard’s contents were entirely ordinary: boxes, folders, a couple of battered old leather suitcases, two coats, an umbrella and a hat – nothing like the kind of stuff Alex would have expected a demon to own. He was rather disappointed.

  ‘What’s the point of being a demon if you don’t have at least some weird and creepy stuff hanging around?’

  For the first time, Alex felt a twinge of doubt. Was it possible that he and House had imagined what had happened in Dante’s office? Had Inchy really seen wings in the cellar?

  Well, if Dante was a demon, then there was certainly no incriminating evidence in the cupboard, that was for sure. Time to look elsewhere.

  Alex tried the door. It was definitely locked, but it did feel a bit flimsy. An expert at getting out of tight squeezes, Alex reckoned he might just be able to force it open. Bracing himself against the back wall of the cupboard, he placed both feet on the door and pushed hard.

  The door didn’t budge a centimetre.

  Instead, the wall behind Alex fell away and he tumbled backwards, coming to rest on a stone floor in a room with no windows.

  The room was lit by four enormous red candles clasped in a huge metal claw nailed to the far wall. In the centre of the floor was a wooden trunk. The walls of the room were decorated with curious signs scratched into the surface. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place a normal geography teacher would have behind his office cupboard. And it certainly wasn’t somewhere Alex wanted to be.

  Alex’s mind was racing now, chasing itself down a nightmare path.

  ‘Stay calm,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Stay calm.’

  Alex looked at the candles in the far wall with a shiver. He wanted to leave as fast as he could, but something was making him stay: a sense that he was about to find something that the rest of the gang couldn’t just ignore. Hard proof that Dante was a demon.

  Under the candles stood a strange chair. Pulling himself to his feet, Alex edged over, wanting to see it up close, but at the same time terrified of getting any nearer. He reached out his hand to touch the seat, which was smooth and cool, but it was the arms that drew his eye; they were covered in razor‐sharp shards, a riot of edges and points that made the chair look like a frozen explosion of jagged grey metal. It was as if to sit on the chair properly you had to be willing to cut yourself to shreds.

  Not keen to try out the chair for size, but unwilling to take his eyes off it, Alex backed over to the trunk. No clasp held it shut and, without thinking, he heaved it open. The lid was heavy, and as he pulled it back, Alex felt the strangest of sensations, almost as if he were opening the lid of a tomb.

  The inside of the trunk was so thick with darkness it was like it was filled with treacle, its shadows seeming to spill out into the room. But eventually Alex’s eyes were able to make out some shapes. He lowered his head to get a better look, tentatively reaching inside.

  ‘Ouch!’

  Alex yanked his hand out of the trunk.

  A cut, deep and red, lay across the top of his thumb. Gazing back into the trunk, Alex’s eyes could just make out the shape of a dagger. More carefully this time, he reached in and tugged it free.

  Alex stared at the knife in horror; a thin groove ran down its whole length from the very tip of the blade to the end of the bone handle. The blade was dull, something dried on its surface. Alex didn’t even have to guess; he knew it was blood.

  Shaking now, but unable
to stop himself, Alex looked again into the trunk. Something else was there – a dark rectangular shadow. With both hands, he reached in and pulled out a black leather book. It was heavy and, as Alex opened it, a chill ran through him. The pages were engraved with a strange language, and something told him that this thing, this collection of pages and words, was something he should never have seen. It was a creeping terror now that held him and, as he placed the book to one side, it was all Alex could do to force himself to take just one more look.

  Pressed into a corner, almost as if it were cowering at the very bottom of the trunk, was a small, black box.

  Alex knew that he should run; slam the trunk shut, bolt from the room and leave the school forever. But this simple box called to him in a voice he couldn’t quite hear, but had to obey.

  The box was smooth and cold, like glass and ice combined, but it opened easily – almost too easily. Alex gazed in.

  It was like looking through a window into space. The inside of the box was dark and seemed to be much bigger than the outside, but right in its heart a bright shape was moving and swaying, gently pulsating like a blob of wax in a lava lamp. For a moment, it was strangely beautiful. Then Alex saw why the vivid blue shape was moving – it was trying to escape. It wasn’t swaying gently, it was writhing and twisting, as if it had sensed that the lid was open and was trying to get out of the box and as far away from it as possible. But all around the intense blue form were woven ropes of shadow, and the dark chains held it fast.

  And as he watched the shape desperately struggling to get free from its prison, Alex suddenly realized what he was holding.

  The football match was going very, very badly.

  ‘What are you doing, Spit?’ screamed Cherry, running back into their own half. ‘Do you want us to lose or what?’

  ‘What did you want me to do?’ he yelled back. ‘It was three on one!’

  ‘But you didn’t even try to tackle them!’