Shiverton Hall, the Creeper (17 page)

Jake was standing in the middle of the room, an uncanny smile on his face.

‘Hello, sir,’ Jake said.

Before Cornwall knew what was happening, he was pinned against the door, Jake’s freezing hand at his throat.

‘I won’t tell if you won’t,’ Jake whispered.

It took Cornwall a moment to work out what had happened. ‘Oh no . . .’ he whimpered. ‘What have I done?’

‘Nothing, Mr Cornwall,’ Jake giggled. ‘Nothing at all.’

Chapter Fourteen

Toynbee looked up from his desk and was surprised to find a pallid Arthur standing over him.

‘Arthur!’ Toynbee said. ‘What brings you to my classroom on this fine evening? Won’t you sit down? Mind the shark.’

The shark wasn’t easy to miss. It was an enormous great white that lay over six desks at the back of the room, its mouth open to reveal rows and rows of vicious teeth.

‘I plan to hang him from the ceiling,’ Toynbee said fondly.

‘Where did you find him?’ Arthur asked. ‘Actually, never mind . . . I wanted to talk to you about Cornwall.’

‘Are you going there for half-term?’ Toynbee asked.

‘No . . . what? I mean Mr Cornwall, Inigo Cornwall, the art teacher.’

‘Oh, Inigo! Yes, of course. I know he’s rather eccentric, but I like him very much, don’t you?’

‘That’s the problem, sir,’ Arthur said. ‘I think, well, me and my friends think something’s wrong with him.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Toynbee asked.

Arthur told him about the conversation in the maze, and Chuk’s discovery, and the more urgent fact that Jake had not returned after following Cornwall in the art block.

‘Jake?’ Toynbee said. ‘But I saw him just a moment ago in the corridor. He looked perfectly fine to me.’

‘What?’ Arthur asked confused. ‘But –’

‘Arthur,’ Toynbee said, ‘I think this may be the one occasion when I tell you your imagination may be running away with you.’

Arthur didn’t know what to say. He nodded.

‘Oh!’ Toynbee said. ‘That book you gave me.’ He opened his desk and took out the book. ‘I’ve read it cover to cover, and looked up every single thing in it. It seems to me that it’s just an old diary of some kind. Quite an interesting historical artefact, and rather odd in places, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.’

Toynbee handed it over.

‘Well,’ Arthur said quietly, ‘that is a relief.’

‘You’ll feel better after half-term, Arthur,’ Toynbee said gently. ‘I think you could do with a rest.’

Arthur chased around the Shiverton Hall corridors looking for Jake, and finally found him in the lower-school common room, staring out of a window.

‘Jake!’ Arthur cried. ‘Where did you go? We were so worried about you.’

Jake turned to Arthur. ‘Worried,’ Jake repeated. He looked a little dazed.

‘Are you all right, mate?’ Arthur asked. ‘Did something happen with Cornwall?’

Jake stared at Arthur blankly.

‘Jake?’ Arthur said.

‘I’m all right,’ Jake said, with an odd smile.

‘You don’t seem all right,’ Arthur said.

‘I’m all right,’ Jake repeated.

Arthur sighed. ‘OK,’ he said uneasily. ‘Well, it’s nearly prep time. Do you want me to walk you to Pootle?’

‘If you like,’ Jake said hazily.

Arthur and Jake walked in almost complete silence to Pootle, Jake’s boarding house. Jake walked along like a sleepwalker, as though Arthur wasn’t there. Arthur wondered whether something might have happened with Jake’s mother. He tended to clam up when something was wrong.

Arthur dropped Jake off at Pootle just as the bell for prep began to ring.

Arthur cursed under his breath. He would have to take the shortcut back to Garnons. He didn’t like to cut through the woods, but he also didn’t fancy getting detention for being late for prep.

The shortcut took him past Shiverton’s sludge-green lake. During the day the lake was filled with first-time kayakers wobbling along the water, or unenthusiastic biology students fishing for ecology samples, but of course it was deserted now.

As with most places at Shiverton Hall, the lake had seen some unpleasantness. A woman had drowned there in the eighteenth century and there were rumours that her ghost loitered by the shore at night. Arthur couldn’t see any sign of the poor woman tonight, though; it was only him and the still, glassy water, and the bulrushes and the moon.

And then it wasn’t.

A breeze shivered through the trees and blew ripples across the surface of the lake. And Arthur had that dreadful feeling again.

He was not alone.

He looked out over the lake. There, in the centre, seemed to be something bubbling underneath the surface. And then all was still again. Arthur was about to leave when he heard the sound of splashing behind him.

Slowly, and with great reluctance, he turned around. In the middle of the lake was a still, outstretched hand, with long, grey fingers. Arthur looked at it with mounting horror, frozen to the spot. Slowly, the fingers began to move. Arthur couldn’t work out what was happening at first, and once he did, he felt like he might be sick: the hand was waving at him.

Arthur wasn’t an idiot: he ran.

He heard another splash of water, and then wet footsteps behind him. Arthur could smell the dank, lake water: the thing was close. Arthur sprinted as fast as he could, tripping over his own feet; he was gripped with terror that the hand was reaching out for him, that those grey fingers were just about to grasp his blazer and yank him back into the woods.

He ran until he reached the edge of the trees and saw Garnons’ warm light in the distance. As he pelted for the door, he nearly knocked over Dan Forge.

‘Oi!’ Dan yelled, momentarily forgetting his recent cordiality.

‘Sorry,’ Arthur gasped. He turned, but nothing was behind him. The thing had slunk back into the darkness.

‘I was just looking for you,’ Dan said. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I was just walking back from Pootle,’ Arthur said, catching his breath.

‘Through the woods?’ Dan said. ‘You should be more careful.’

‘Do you know what,’ Arthur said, ‘for once, you are completely right.’

Back in his room, after prep, Arthur shrugged off his blazer and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He sank down on to his bed, trying to calm his frayed nerves, but it was no use.

He took the burned book from his trouser pocket and tossed it on his bedside table.

Eventually, too exhausted and full of adrenalin to pack for half-term, he got up to make himself a cup of tea. As he did, he noticed something odd.

He reached for his blazer with a shaking hand, and spread it out on his bed.

On the grey wool on the back of it were four long, thin tears. He tried to tell himself that they had been caused by a tree branch, desperate to rationalise it. But, it was of no use: he knew what they were.

They were scratches.

Chapter Fifteen

‘I saved you a seat, Arthur,' Xanthe lisped from the back of the London bus.

As Arthur made his way down the aisle, he noticed Chuk, who waved as he walked past.

‘Everything OK?' Xanthe asked as Arthur took his seat. ‘You look a bit peaky.'

‘Thanks,' Arthur muttered. He hadn't got much sleep the night before.

‘Well, at least we have a week off now,' Xanthe said. ‘Do you want to come to the cinema with me? There's a French film about mime that I want to watch.'

‘Sorry, Xanthe, I'd probably better hang out at home. I haven't seen Mum and Rob for ages. Plus that film sounds terrible.'

‘It's won lots of awards,' Xanthe said sniffily.

The bus rumbled along to London, the students getting louder and rowdier as they approached the city. Xanthe was busy annotating her copy of
The Picture of Dorian Gray
while Arthur looked out of his window, trying to shake off the dread that seemed to have become a constant presence in his life.

He had never been more relieved to see his mother, or his little brother Rob, who seemed to have grown a couple of inches since Arthur had last seen him. When the bus pulled into the station, he grabbed his bag, jumped off and folded them both into an enormous hug.

‘Ugh!' Rob complained, wriggling out of Arthur's arms. ‘Get off me!'

Halfway through the week, the novelty of being at home had worn off somewhat. Rob spent the entire time annoying him, his mother had got tired of their bickering and he missed his friends. He'd tried to call Jake, but it was impossible to get through to their landline and Jake wasn't picking up his mobile. George and Penny were miles away with no reception. By Thursday night, Arthur gave in, called Xanthe and agreed to go and see the film with her.

He arrived at the cinema in Leicester Square to find Xanthe wearing a floor-length pink dress, her hair in a stiff, beauty-queen beehive.

‘You're a bit dressed up for the cinema, aren't you?' Arthur laughed.

Xanthe's whole person, including her hair, seemed to deflate.

‘Sorry, I mean, you look lovely,' Arthur said quickly.

Xanthe beamed. ‘Oh, this old thing!' she said, smoothing down the brand new dress. ‘I wear it all the time.'

‘Cool,' Arthur said, ‘shall we go in?'

Once they had stocked up on popcorn, lemonade and sweets in the foyer, they made their way into the cinema. It was completely empty.

‘This looks promising,' Arthur sighed.

‘I know!' Xanthe replied. ‘I've no idea why everyone is going to see that dinosaurs thing next door.'

‘
Dinosaurs on Mars!
' Arthur cried. ‘I didn't know that was on yet!'

He grumbled as they found their seats and prepared himself for an excruciating couple of hours.

About an hour into the movie, Arthur still had absolutely no idea what was going on. It was black and white, with almost no dialogue, and seemed to be about a man who had lost his cat. Xanthe sat next to him, completely absorbed.

With a sudden sinking in his stomach, Arthur had the feeling again: he was being watched.

He turned around, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. The cinema seemed empty at first glance, but then Arthur saw it. Someone sitting in the back row, close to the door.

‘You're missing the film,' Xanthe whispered, elbowing him.

‘Shhhh!' Arthur whispered back. ‘There's someone in here with us.'

‘Well, duh,' Xanthe said, ‘it is a cinema.'

‘No, Xanthe,' Arthur said. ‘Look!'

He turned around again and pointed to the back of the cinema . . . only now it was empty.

‘There's no one there, Arthur,' Xanthe said.

‘But –'

‘Look, if you're not enjoying the film then we can leave. You don't need to make excuses.'

‘I'm not making excuses!'

Arthur got up and went to look at the back row, searching underneath the chairs. Nothing.

He settled back into his seat, his mind churning over the possibilities.

‘There are only two hours left,' Xanthe said, with a comforting pat on his hand.

‘
Mon chat!
' the actor cried. ‘
Où est mon chat?
'

Arthur wondered fleetingly whether it would have been better to have been attacked by the thing in the back of the cinema.

 

Arthur and Xanthe discussed the movie over an ice cream afterwards. Xanthe said it was the most moving film she had ever watched, and Arthur said that he would rather be kicked to death by a gang of mimes than ever watch it again.

They walked to the Tube together, Xanthe holding her dress out of the grimy puddles and Arthur wondering whether he was even less safe in London than he had been in Shiverton. He felt apprehensive in the crowds; it was too easy for someone to hide in them.

He walked Xanthe to the Northern Line and waited for the Tube with her. Just before the train doors opened, Xanthe quickly turned around and gave Arthur a peck on the cheek. She jumped on to the train, her face now as pink as her dress, and waved shyly as the train pulled out of the station.

Arthur wondered whether he had accidentally taken Xanthe on a date, and felt a little guilty that he hadn't cottoned on to it sooner.

He walked through Leicester Square Tube station towards the Piccadilly Line, avoiding the shouting drunks and gangs of squealing girls, and jumped on to his train as the doors were closing.

The carriage was full of people dressed up as though it was Halloween. There were sailors, bumblebees, mermaids, scarecrows, a hangman, a butterfly and someone who had dressed as Death, with a hooded, black cape and a plastic scythe.

‘What's going on?' Arthur asked the man standing next to him, who was dressed as a giant prawn.