Authors: James Dawson
Chapter 2
The shrill, unanimously ignored pleas of Mrs Craddock, the housemistress, haunted the long corridors and high ceilings of the dormitory blocks. As it was Hallowe’en, the strung-out housemistress had allowed the young ladies of Piper’s Hall some free cord to run riot with but, as midnight neared, her patience had finally run out.
‘Ladies! Into your rooms now please!’ She was a woman on the edge, but who wouldn’t be after shepherding adolescent girls for twenty-five years?
Bobbie, Naya, Grace, Sadie, Lottie, Mark and Caine listened from downstairs, next to the fire escape they’d just crept in through. Their faces and hands were red and raw, even from the short dash across the rain-lashed hockey pitch. Naya was in a tug of war with the door, struggling to pull it shut in the fierce winds.
Checking the coast was clear, Sadie pushed on an oak panel located between the kitchen and dining room. ‘I can’t believe you have legit secret passages!’ Caine said with boyish glee.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Grace snapped. ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble we’ll be in if we get caught?’
‘Sorry.’
The so-called ‘secret passages’ had been Bobbie’s only reason for agreeing to come to the school – the promise of
Scooby Doo
revolving bookcases and
Temple of Doom
caverns filled with bugs had appealed to her eleven-year-old self.
Turned out, the ‘secret passages’ were, in fact, little more than servants’ passageways from when the main block of the school was a stately home. Allegedly there were priests’ holes too, dating back even further, although Bobbie had never seen one. The corridors and stairwells weren’t even ‘secret’ as such, but Lowers – the younger girls – tended not to use them once Uppers had over-egged how much trouble they’d be in if found trespassing in them. Oh, and naturally they were ‘haunted’.
‘Come on,’ Sadie instructed. ‘Follow me.’ They slipped through the panel and into a narrow, carpet-less corridor, only marginally wider than Mark’s blocky shoulders.
At the end of the passage, a rickety, creaking wooden staircase zigzagged all the way up the back of the old block, with exits on each floor. In a conga line they followed Sadie until they reached its exit point on the second floor, outside the dorms. Bobbie was wedged at the very back of the queue. She very much doubted anyone but Naya even knew she was there.
Behind the exit panel – a concealed door in the bay window on the landing between Austen and Brontë House – Bobbie could hear girls giggling and Mrs Craddock becoming more exasperated. Hopefully, the scurrying mass of girls would mask the fact that five pupils were missing from their dorms, not that Mrs Craddock checked anyway, at least not when
CSI: Miami
was due to start in five minutes.
‘Wait until it goes quiet … it’s way past Craddock’s bedtime, she’ll be asleep in a few minutes,’ Sadie breathed, ear pressed to the panel.
‘Whatever,’ Grace moaned. Ironically, as Head Girl it was her responsibility to ensure all girls were in their dorms after 9 p.m. and to report any visitors trespassing on the school site. Bobbie couldn’t suppress a curious smugness that Grace wouldn’t get her wicked way with Caine, at least not tonight. Assuming they survived Bloody Mary, of course. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. That said, if she was really honest, she was half curious to see if they’d go through with it, and if nothing else, Caine was particularly moreish eye candy.
The dorms, part of the original school building, were divided into four houses, each named after noted female writers – Austen, Brontë, Christie and Dickinson. The fact they weren’t just labelled A, B, C and D was further proof, as if any were needed, that Bobbie’s school was massively pretentious. Austen and Brontë were on opposing wings of the second floor, while Christie and Dickinson were the floor above that.
Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, footsteps and voices had faded to silence. Only the electric hum of strip lights and the pained moans of the storm filled the school.
‘Right, let’s get it on!’ Sadie led the brigade out from their shelter.
Lottie left them to it, tiptoeing back to Christie House on the next floor. Bobbie hung back, tugging on Naya’s arm. ‘Why are we doing this?’
‘Oh come on, Bob!’ Naya took her hand. ‘I’ve done this at a hundred slumber parties. I’m just messing with Grace and Sadie! It’ll be hilarious!’
‘Really? Do explain.’ She shrugged, incredulous.
‘Duh! I go through with it and then spend the next week creeping around writing stuff on mirrors and hanging nooses everywhere! It’ll spectacularly freak them out – I want to see Grace Brewer-Fay wet her bed!’
Bobbie watched as Grace hung off Caine’s arm like a B-movie heroine. It was such an act; Grace had more testosterone than both boys put together. Would it be funny to take her down a peg or two? Hell, yes.
In the lead, Sadie and Mark reached Brontë House. Only a skittering night light illuminated the long line of peaceful dormitories – a dim silver light to guide girls to the fire exit. The coast was clear and the bathroom door stood ajar, awaiting them. Bobbie couldn’t help but feel it looked a little ominous in the dark, on Hallowe’en night, in a raging storm …
She mentally threw a bucket of reality over herself. She should know better. Idiot kids all across the globe were chanting ‘Bloody Mary’ at mirrors; if it were true she was pretty sure the press would have covered it by now.
‘Come on!’ Sadie tiptoed into the shower room. Taking a deep breath, Bobbie allowed Naya to pull her across the threshold.
As always, the damp, tiled room carried the eggy scent of hair-clogged drains combined with an infusion of soap and shampoo. Behind the torn plastic curtains, the rusty showerheads leaked continually, dripping against the ceramic floor. Bobbie doubted even the most desperate spirit would be summoned to this hole.
‘Shut the door,’ Sadie commanded and Bobbie obliged. Sadie pulled open her shower bag, which she’d already filled with candles and matches from her dorm, and started to set them up around the long, communal sinks that stood before the mirror. This whole thing had been orchestrated to the finest detail – Bobbie wondered how long Sadie had been planning it. There was some sort of unresolved tension between Grace and Sadie: both were in ‘The Elites’, a long-standing Piper’s Hall institution-in-an-institution. Every year, one or two girls from rich, powerful or famous families were initiated into a ‘special club’ to have secret get-togethers and generally be vile – sort of like the Masons but with lip gloss. From what Bobbie could ascertain as an outsider, Grace and Sadie constantly jostled for Top Bee/Queen Dog.
It was total bull. Because her mum was kind of famous, Bobbie had been invited to join in her first year. She’d declined because it looked like some sort of sugar-fuelled, miniskirted anorexia cult, and as a consequence had suffered ever since. She was social roadkill, not that she gave a rat’s ass. Naya
had
badly wanted in, however. Grace, who had taken an instant dislike to the sultry American newcomer when she’d arrived in second year, had seen to it that it’d never happen.
Bobbie gave her reflection only the briefest glance in the long mirror, pausing to fluff her rod-straight mousy hair before switching her gaze to the infinitely more interesting Caine – the bronze tone of his skin and the velvet texture of his hair. When the Caine-reflection caught the eye of her own, she whipped her head down, praying he hadn’t noticed her staring. Or worse, what if Grace caught her in the act? She needed to get it together.
‘Okay. Almost midnight … who’s going first?’
Grace drew herself up to full height and admired herself in the mirror, smoothing flawless blonde strands of hair. ‘I’m not doing it, full stop. It’s for kids.’
‘Then why are you here?’ Naya repeated.
‘Because I know what
you’re
like.’ Her voice was ripe with accusation.
Caine, apparently sensing the brewing catfight, stepped forward to the looking glass, pulling stocky Mark alongside him. ‘We’ll go first!’
The shorter boy whipped his arm back. ‘I’m not doing it. What if it’s real? I’m just gonna film it so I can mock you till the end of time!’
‘What is wrong with everyone?’ Caine’s irresistible smile broke again. ‘You are all so soft!’
Naya, hands on hips, joined him in front of the mirror. ‘They don’t make soft New Yorkers, honey.’
Bobbie raised an eyebrow, unsure whether Naya was trying to be alluring or not. If she was, it wasn’t working. And then she felt her feet doing something almost alien … they started to move towards the others. It was as if Caine were a computer virus completely infecting her personal hard drive … all her usual heuristics were blocked, all the sensible self-defence invisibility mechanisms overwhelmed in her desire to impress a boy she’d met only hours earlier and hadn’t even spoken to.
Naya looked to her, a mixture of shock and pride. ‘Bobbie?’
‘What?’ she replied. ‘I’m not scared. It’s stupid.’ She was annoyed that Naya thought she was a weakling when she knew the real her. Grace shot her a look of pity normally reserved for three-legged dogs.
‘Go, Bobbie! Love a girl with balls!’ Caine stopped. ‘Well not like that … you know what I mean.’
Bobbie lost herself in his eyes for a second, the first time he’d given her more than a fleeting moment’s attention.
He knows my name
. She pulled herself tall. Boys are like dangerous dogs – if you show fear they might eat your face. ‘Well, let’s get this over and done with before we all get expelled.’
‘Yes please,’ Grace agreed. ‘Bloody Mary is one thing, state schooling is another.’
Sadie backed away to where Grace sulked and Mark flicked his mobile open and started to record their personal, low-budget horror film.
‘Whenever you’re ready. It’s past midnight. If you dare.’ Sadie whispered the last word like a somewhat camp crypt keeper.
The three of them looked into the mirror. Predictably, three reflections stared back. Bobbie: petite and delicate, hiding behind her thick glasses; Caine: tall, broad, swimmer’s build; and Amazonian Naya: thick black locks tumbling about her shoulders. As unlikely a trio as you could find in a girls’ toilet at midnight.
Noisily inhaling through his nostrils, Caine looked at each of them in turn. ‘Ready?’
‘Yeah.’ Naya seemed less certain at this stage in the game. Bobbie responded with a slight nod.
‘Okay. After three … ’ he continued. ‘One, two … three … ’
They stalled, no one wanting to go first.
‘Come on!’ he laughed. ‘This time … ’
‘B … Bloody Mary,’ Naya started and the others dutifully joined in, their voices low and monotone. Bobbie felt the air rush out of the room. The night itself had heard them start and held its breath accordingly.
‘Bloody Mary … ’ The tension became too much. Caine and Naya dissolved into giggles and Bobbie joined in, not wanting to be left out of the mirth.
‘Keep going,’ encouraged Sadie from the outskirts. ‘That’s only two.’
They suppressed their laughter. ‘Bloody Mary … ’ and again, ‘Bloody Mary.’
The candles flickered and sputtered as a thin, icy breeze infiltrated the bathroom; voodoo shadows danced across the walls and all about the three faces framed within the mirror. The uplighting made their faces gaunt and hollow-cheeked, skull-like.
‘One left.’ Bobbie looked deep into Naya’s eyes and saw that only an iota of bravado remained.
‘All together,’ Caine rallied them. Between the girls, he took Naya’s right hand and her left. Bobbie’s heart rattled against her ribs; she couldn’t even breathe, let alone say the two remaining words. She looked to the furthest point at the back of the mirror. Crazy, but it seemed to stretch as if she were looking down a long, black tunnel. There wasn’t even a reflection any more, but a dark passage. Miles away, at its furthest point, something stirred.
Caine’s lips parted. Naya gave her a discreet nod. Bobbie inhaled and closed her eyes.
‘Bloody Mary.’ They all said it together.
The light in the room dipped as if the candles were going to go out altogether. And then nothing. The bathroom was silent aside from the monotonous drips within the shower stalls. Bobbie looked to her companions. Naya was clenched so tight she could see the sinew in her neck. Caine chewed his bottom lip nervously.
Nothing.
Bobbie actually caved first. She cracked up and the others followed suit. Wild hoots of laughter tore from their lungs, a bizarre mixture of relief, hysteria and sheer embarrassment. For a fraction of a second, each of them had been well and truly suckered in. ‘As if any further proof was needed … I’m such a massive loser!’ Bobbie giggled.
‘The look on your face was something else!’ Caine pointed at Naya, doubled up.
‘Me? Dude, you didn’t look so hot yourself!’
Sadie was in a similar state, supporting herself against the wall next to Grace, who maintained her uncanny impression of a cold, wet fish. Sadie cackled, ‘That was priceless! You looked like you were going to actively soil your pants!’
‘Thanks for that, Sadie!’ Bobbie offered her an outstretched hand, which Sadie shook. ‘Okay, I’ll admit that was diverting fun for a Hallowe’en night. Well done on a first-rate frightfest. Now, I don’t know about you but I’m going to bed.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Grace sneered. ‘Caine?’
‘Babe, we gotta head back. I’m staying at Mark’s tonight.’
Grace’s lip curled with disappointment before she remembered who she was: nobody’s fool, and above all else, a Piper’s Hall Lady. ‘Fine. I’ll catch you later then.’ She swept out of the bathroom, closely followed by Sadie.
Caine cringed at Mark. ‘Dude, never mind Bloody Mary, I’m in deep trouble now!’
‘She’ll get over it,’ Naya smiled sweetly. ‘No offence, hon, but she drags a different village boy up here every weekend. Can you find your way out?’
‘The way we got in?’ Mark replied.
‘Yeah, you’re a quick study.’
‘Good times tonight, girls.’ Caine said ‘girls’ like ‘gewls’ and Bobbie kind of loved it. She wondered where he was from – it wasn’t a local accent. Caine embraced Naya in a friendly hug. ‘See you soon, yeah?’ He approached Bobbie with an identical gesture, which she awkwardly returned. Her heart stopped beating and she forgot to exhale, taking in a giant mouthful of his boyish scent – washing powder and macho deodorant. It was a nothing, throwaway gesture to him – he’d never think about it again and she’d remember it forever. Typical. ‘Good to meet you, Bobbie – cool name by the way.’