Out of the Depths

by Cathy MacPhail

  Mulgrew winked at me and said, ‘You can sign my plaster any time.’ Then he made a big show of dragging his leg as he made his way past me and up the aisle. His eyes didn’t leave mine and when he winked again he caused even more whistling. I turned to watch him – the whole class did – and was surprised to see him sitting in the pale-faced boy’s seat.

  I nudged Aisha. ‘Where’s the boy who usually sits there?’ My eyes were scanning the class. The pale-faced boy was missing.

  ‘There? That’s always been Mulgrew’s seat. Nobody else has ever sat there.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. No. There’s been a boy sitting there since the day I started.’ I pulled at Jazz’s arm. ‘Remember I told you he was always looking at me.’

  Jazz looked blank for a moment then she smiled. ‘Yeah, I remember … but I couldn’t really see who you meant.’

  ‘He was there. He was definitely there.’ I wished I could remember his name, if I ever knew it. But his face was in front of me almost like a photograph. The intense, dark eyes, the pale face, the boy I had seen since that first day. My mouth was dry. I was trying to understand. Aisha touched my shoulder gently. ‘You just made a mistake,’ she said. ‘It was probably Sam Petrie.’ She pointed out the other dark-haired boy in the class, the boy who usually lay with his head on the desk. But Sam Petrie had a mop of curly hair, and a constant smile. He looked nothing like the boy I was talking about.

  I was still looking all around the class. Mr O’Hara noticed. ‘Is something wrong, Tyler?’

  I almost blurted it out to him. But I caught Mac looking at me, something like disapproval in his eyes. And I changed my mind. ‘No, sir …’ I muttered.

  Mr O’Hara told us to open our books. The lesson began. And all I could think of was – who was the boy I had seen, day after day? Where had he gone?

  He had been there. I couldn’t be mistaken.

  14

  Jazz put an arm round my shoulder as we moved to the next class. ‘You’re in one of your dazes, Tyler Lawless. She turned to Mac, walking behind us. ‘Tyler swears another boy’s been sitting in Mulgrew’s seat.’

  ‘Making up more stories, eh, Tyler?’ Mac’s voice was full of sarcasm and it made me angry. I turned on him.

  ‘No! I am not making up a story. I did see him. He was there. And what are you saying things like that for! What have I ever done to you?’

  Mac leapt back, making out I might hit him. He held his arms in front of him for protection. ‘Get crazy lady off me,’ he said and he laughed. But there was no humour in the laugh.

  I could have punched him then. ‘I did see that boy.’

  He let out a fake shocked gasp. ‘Hey! A ghost. Maybe you saw a ghost.’

  That only made me angrier. ‘He wasn’t a ghost. He was flesh and blood. Solid as you and me!’

  Adam butted in. ‘I read in a book that ghosts are like flesh and blood. You could be standing right next to one and you wouldn’t know it. They look real.’

  Jazz screeched with laughter. ‘There must be two moons in the sky. Adam’s read a book.’

  They all laughed then. All except me. I was chilled to the bone. The boy with those intense, dark eyes. I could still see his face in front of me …

  I felt Mac staring at me. ‘Seems strange things are always happening to you, Tyler.’ I didn’t like the way he said it. But his next words floored me. ‘It’s not the first time you’d have seen a ghost, is it?’ He put on a phoney, girlie high-pitched voice. ‘I saw my teacher out doing her Christmas shopping … Funny since she’s been dead for six months.’

  Jazz stared at him. ‘What are you trying to say, Mac?’

  Mac tutted. ‘I was playing football at her old school at the weekend. She’s the talk of the place. Always making up stories like this. She was expelled from that school. They all know about her.’

  ‘I was not expelled! I left!’ My voice was too loud. Other people in the corridor turned to look at me.

  Jazz swung towards me. ‘You saw a ghost at your last school?’

  I’d wanted things to be so different here, and now my reputation had followed me, dragged screaming to this school by Mac. He seemed to be enjoying my embarrassment. ‘I think you just like to be the centre of attention, Tyler. That’s what they said at your other school. You always wanted to be noticed. You caused nothing but trouble there with your stories.’

  Jazz began to tell him to shut up. But a deep anger came over me. Maybe I am a little mad. Because I couldn’t stop myself. I ran at him, gave him a shove that almost had him off his feet. ‘Don’t you dare say that to me!’

  If I’d been a boy, I’m sure he would have punched me. ‘See, that’s what I mean, that’s what they told me at your old school. You don’t behave rationally.’

  He didn’t take his eyes from me. And I hated the way he looked at me. Because I had seen that look before. On so many faces. The look I thought I had left behind at my last school. The look that said … there was something weird about me. I was some kind of freak. ‘You take that back or I’ll show you just how irrational I can be!’

  Jazz grabbed me or I would have rushed him again. I tried to shake her off – too roughly, it was more like a punch and I sent her sprawling against one of the statues by the wall. She tried to stop herself from falling and before I could steady myself both her and me went tumbling against the statue.

  The statue moved on its plinth. Adam jumped at it, tried to hold it, so did Callum. The plinth too began to topple. Aisha grabbed at it. I saw it was hollow inside, a black hole. I wanted to crawl into it. Mac began shouting angrily at me. Aisha was yelling for someone to help her steady the plinth. Jazz jumped to her feet in a second. I was still sprawled on the ground. It must have looked as if we were having a battle royal. At least, that was the way it looked to the teacher, Mrs Craig, who came running towards us.

  ‘Right. That’s it! What on earth is happening here!’ She grabbed at the statue, and with Adam and Callum’s help placed it back on the plinth. Then she turned her angry eyes on the rest of us. ‘You lot get to the Rector’s office. We don’t tolerate fighting in this school.’

  She wouldn’t listen to our explanations. I was willing to take all the blame, and Mac muttered that was just me trying to be the centre of attention again. No matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to do anything right.

  We were all marched up the corridor led by Mrs Craig, past giggling, nosy pupils, and made to sit in the chairs outside the Rector’s office. The teacher left us and after knocking on the Rector’s door, she stepped inside.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jazz,’ I said. ‘It was an accident.’

  Jazz shrugged her shoulders. ‘I know. Don’t worry about it.’

  Mac wasn’t so willing to forgive me. ‘This is your fault, Tyler,’ he snapped at me. ‘Getting us all into trouble. Just like in your last school.’

  Jazz told him to shut up. ‘You were winding her up. Leave her be.’

  ‘Intend to from now on,’ Mac said.

  I got to my feet and began pacing up and down the dark hallway. I was in trouble again. And I didn’t even know how it had happened. St Joseph still stood there, and for a second I was tempted to look up at his face. But I wouldn’t. Instead, I turned my back on him, and pretended an interest in the long line of photographs on the wall. Year after year of memories. I wished I was in one of those photographs, and not here. 1950 would have been a good year. Everyone happy.

  But not 1979. The year no one smiled. Wasn’t that the year of the murder?

  There was Father Michael, the priest with the sinister eyes. I recognised him now from the photograph I had seen on the internet.

  I looked along the line of boys. All grim-faced.

  Mac wouldn’t shut up, as if he was trying to goad me into doing something else. Jazz was still berating Mac. So was Aisha. If they all didn’t shut up soon, Mr Hyslop would dive from his office and grab them by the collar. We’d be in even more trouble.

  Mac had hurt me, was still h
urting me. But I would not let him see me cry. Concentrate on something else, I told myself. The photograph.

  I saw Mr Hyslop, just a young teacher then, but still with his wild beard. He had been a mountain climber, taking the boys on expeditions, climbing Monroes. He looked the part. I was just about to look away from the photo, when I noticed Mr O’Hara, a younger Mr O’Hara, his grey hair replaced by a thick dark mop. But it was undoubtedly him. Even better looking as a boy than he was now. I peered closer, at the boy standing beside him.

  I felt my mouth go dry as I looked at him. He seemed to be staring back at me, his dark eyes intense, just the way he had stared at me, day after day, from his seat at the back of the class.

  I drew in my breath. I had to be wrong. This couldn’t be the same boy I had seen every day. But there he was. Staring at me from the past, staring into my soul. Exactly as I had seen him, not a moment older than when this photo was taken.

  There were spots in front of my eyes. My legs were like jelly. I began to crumple. I was going to faint. I let out a gasp. Jazz was on her feet in an instant. She grabbed my arm. Just as well, because I was sure I was about to collapse.

  I couldn’t take my eyes from that photograph. Jazz followed my gaze. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? The boy you’ve been seeing in class every day?’ Her finger stabbed at the photograph. ‘That’s Ben Kincaid.’

  15

  ‘Is that who you saw, Tyler?’ Jazz had lowered me into one of the chairs, but she couldn’t contain her excitement. Her long-nailed finger pointed him out again. ‘That’s Ben Kincaid. Are you saying that’s the boy you saw in class?’

  ‘You can’t really think the boy you saw was … Ben Kincaid?’ Aisha had that disbelieving look on her face.

  What could I say? If I was Aisha, I wouldn’t believe me either. I didn’t answer her. Because it couldn’t be true. I couldn’t have seen Ben Kincaid. He’d been dead for years. And Mac was there too, looking over Aisha’s shoulder, his face grim, shaking his head, and I knew he would never believe me.

  ‘No. I didn’t see him. I didn’t. I didn’t.’ My voice was rising, on the edge of hysteria. Aisha stepped back.

  ‘It’s OK, Tyler. Calm down,’ Jazz said. She dabbed at my brow with one of her wipes. ‘We believe you … don’t we, Aisha?’

  And I turned on her. ‘Believe me! Believe what, Jazz? That I saw Ben Kincaid in class every day? But why should you believe that? It’s crazy. What I’m saying is crazy.’ My voice was rising with every word. ‘I saw a dead boy sitting in class day after day. Of course I’m crazy.’ Mac smirked behind her. I turned on him too. ‘I just like attention, isn’t that what you said, Mac? Everybody knows about me, don’t they? I see dead people. I saw Ben Kincaid sitting in class every day. I must be crazy.’

  His smirk disappeared. He looked angry.

  Jazz didn’t answer me. She was looking behind me. I swivelled round and the Rector was there. His face was stern. His beard was quivering. How much had he heard, I wondered. ‘What’s all this commotion about?’ he yelled at us.

  Mrs Craig stepped out of the office behind him. ‘They’ve all been fighting, Mr Hyslop.’

  Mac leapt in. ‘No we weren’t! We weren’t fighting.’

  Mr Hyslop turned on him. ‘When I want you to speak, I’ll ask you.’ His eyes fell on me. ‘What were you saying, Tyler, about Ben Kincaid?’

  My mouth dried up. It was Aisha who rescued me. ‘Tyler writes great stories, sir. She’s going to write a story about this school, sir, a ghost story.’

  He looked back at me, sterner than ever. ‘I’ve had to speak to you before about this, Tyler. I don’t want to have to speak to you again. I think we can do without you using us in a story. The school has a sad enough history. We want to look to the future.’ His face was white, strained with anger. He took us all into his office and gave us a telling off for fighting, didn’t give anyone a chance to explain anything. And he gave us a warning. My first in this school. And I thought … it’s all happening again. At last he was finished with us, dismissed us all. All except me.

  ‘I want to have a word with you, Tyler,’ he said. He waited till the door was closed before he spoke again.

  ‘Tyler, I heard the cleaners suggest you pretend you’d seen a ghost so you could wind your friends up the way they did you. But to pretend you’ve seen the ghost of Ben Kincaid of all people is just a step too far. I will not have it.’

  This was so unfair I could have cried.

  ‘I know your reputation from your last school,’ he said, and that only made things worse. ‘I don’t want a repeat of any of that nonsense here. I will not allow it, Tyler.’

  Everyone knew about me. I bit my lip, tried to speak, but I was too afraid I would burst into tears. So I only nodded.

  16

  Keep my imagination for my stories – how often had I heard all that? But here I was in the middle of a story I couldn’t understand … it made no sense. It was so unfair.

  I’d never felt so alone. There was no one I could confide in. Not my parents, or my brother, not even Jazz. Jazz loved the idea of me seeing a ghost, but did she really believe me? I didn’t think so. There was no one.

  My friend Annabelle phoned me that night. And I knew I could never tell her what was happening either. ‘How’s the new school?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s good.’ I was determined to sound cheery and normal and as if everything was fine. ‘I’ve made some nice friends.’

  She giggled. ‘Not seen any dead teachers lately?’

  It would be with me for ever, that reputation. I’d always be known as the crazy girl who saw a dead teacher. Now a dead boy in class. I snapped at Annabelle. Didn’t mean to. But I couldn’t help it.

  ‘Of course I haven’t. That was all a silly mistake.’

  I could hear the friendliness in her tone change. ‘Keep your hair on. I was only joking.’ There was a cold silence on the line for a moment. But Annabelle could never stay silent for long. ‘So … who’s the boy who was asking about you?’

  Mac, she was talking about Mac. ‘What boy?’ I asked anyway.

  ‘He’s gorgeous … Asian. He was playing football at our school at the weekend. He was asking all about you.’

  ‘And I suppose everybody took great pleasure in telling him all about me and all the crazy things I said.’

  She let out a long exasperated sigh. ‘I certainly didn’t tell him anything.’ She was going to hang up in a minute if I didn’t stop talking to her like this. ‘Look, some of the boys told him … you know what boys are like … but, I’ve been dying to ask … is he your boyfriend?’

  ‘No!’ I snapped at her. ‘I don’t even consider him a friend. He thinks I’m weird. Now he’ll think I’m even weirder.’

  ‘Oh, Tyler, I wish I could come and visit you … but because of this girl going missing, my mum and dad won’t let me out of the house after dark.’

  I would have loved in that moment to confide in her, tell her everything that had happened. Annabelle and I had been good friends once, going to sleepovers in each other’s houses, whispering secrets to each other. All that had stopped when I started seeing things. Her parents had made sure of it. So how could I talk to her now? And again I realised there was no one I could tell.

  ‘Debbie Lawson didn’t go missing,’ I said. ‘She just ran off, didn’t she?’

  ‘On the telly tonight the police said they are beginning to think she never left the area. That something might have happened to her here in the town. They’ve warned everybody to be extra vigilant, young girls especially … that was the words they used. Extra vigilant.’

  I spent a lot of time thinking after Annabelle’s phone call. Mac hated me. Mr Hyslop had heard all about me too. I would soon lose Jazz and Aisha as my friends if things went on like this. But I still had the power to change things. Make it all right. And I vowed tomorrow, I would make it all right. I was going to forget the boy I had seen sitting in the back of the class. I’d tell Jazz and Aisha … and Mac to
o. Especially Mac, that I had been mistaken.

  And my common sense told me I probably had been. I mean, how could I have seen a dead boy? Ben Kincaid. That was too stupid to be true. No wonder no one believed me. I had kept quiet about the statues. Why hadn’t I kept my mouth shut about the boy I’d seen? Well, I would keep my mouth shut from now on. I wanted friends and fun. I didn’t want this.

  Maybe, I thought, having an imagination like mine could drive you into madness. Into believing things that were impossible.

  I wanted to prove that I wasn’t mad. That I didn’t want to be the centre of attention. I was going to end this.

  Before I went to bed, I wrote everything that had happened down in my diary, as if it was a story I was writing. But I finished this story off. The boy never came again. He disappeared from my life. And I woke the next morning to discover it had all been a dream, a terrible nightmare.

  And by the time I closed my diary, I felt so much better. Ben Kincaid was dead again.

  17

  I woke just after midnight. Alert immediately. I could see the time illuminated on the clock beside my bed.

  12.01.

  Something had awoken me. In an icy second I knew what that something was.

  Someone was in the room with me.

  Not just in the room. Someone was sitting at the foot of my bed.

  ‘Mum … ?’ my voice croaked out in a whisper. And why was I asking that? It wasn’t Mum, I knew that. I tried to pull my duvet up around me and it wouldn’t move. Trapped by the weight of whoever was sitting there.

  Ice cold.

  I was ice cold. The bed was ice cold. My feet, my hands, my whole body shivered with cold. I didn’t know what to do. I lay facing the clock. 12.01. Too terrified to turn, too terrified to peer over the covers and see who was there.

  And yet, somewhere inside me I knew who it was.