Authors: James Dawson
There was another stairwell leading down to the reception and main exit and further black corridors to the left and right. The space smelled heavily of the cabbage they’d had earlier. Above her she heard faint laughter – some girls in Brontë getting ready for bed. ‘Hello?’
Bobbie crossed the Accy Area to the top of the next staircase. Sure enough, the girl was already silhouetted in the milky moonlight flooding the main entrance. The intricate leading in the glass panels cast shadows over the floor: curling, twisting vines and leaves. She just stood in the centre of them, facing the door, back to Bobbie. That was weird. Bobbie paused on the first step down. The other girl was wet … in fact she was dripping onto the tiles, a black puddle glistening like an oil slick about her feet. She was fully clothed, but soaking wet. ‘Hey,’ Bobbie asked. ‘Are you okay?’
There was a crash and a squeal from the floor above and Bobbie whipped her head around, almost tumbling down the stairs in shock. With sweaty palms she gripped the banister. ‘Give it back, you bitch!’ some girl screeched, followed by shrill laughter. When Bobbie turned back to the stairs, the curious girl was no longer by the front doors. Bobbie frowned. How could she have moved so fast? Bobbie warily descended the remaining stairs to the hallway. Okay, weirder still. The floor wasn’t even wet. Bobbie stooped down and ran a finger over the floor: dusty and bone dry. She’d
seen
that girl dripping all over the tiles. Or had she? Her eyesight really was dreadful without her glasses.
There was a sinking sensation in Bobbie’s gut – the kind you get when a lift drops too quickly. The hallway was freezing cold, much colder than the stairs. Her skin prickled and she had a powerful urge to get far, far away from this place. Perhaps she should look for her glasses tomorrow morning …
Bobbie flinched, startled. The girl was silently waiting at the end of the corridor beyond the reception desk – towards the nurse’s station and the Head’s office. Just waiting. Bobbie tried to focus, but it was futile – she could hardly see beyond her hands. ‘Look, ha ha, very funny, but can I have my glasses back please?’
The girl was framed by the tall, arched window at the end of the hall. She stood as still as any statue, almost unnaturally still. Bobbie could just about make out long, lank hair hanging rod straight from a skinny frame. Well, at least she was cornered now. ‘Listen, I won’t grass you up – I just want my glasses back.’
The girl’s pale face was almost in focus. Bobbie realised that something about the girl wasn’t right. There was something wrong about the way she was standing. Was she hurt? Maybe she needed help.
‘Stay there, okay?’ Arms held out in front of her body, clutching at the dark, Bobbie approached the shadowy girl.
Chapter 6
The Head’s office door swung open in Bobbie’s face. Light flooded the corridor and Bobbie screamed – she wouldn’t have had herself down as a screamer, but she’d been holding her breath and then the door burst open and then and then …
Her head teacher’s hand flew to her chest before she composed herself. ‘Oh my goodness me! You’ll give an old lady a heart attack! Roberta, isn’t it?’ Dr Price stepped out of her office, laptop bag on her shoulder like she was leaving for the night. ‘What are you doing down here? Is there something wrong, dear?’
‘I … Someone ran off with my glasses.’ Bobbie stepped back and pointed to the end of the corridor, to the arched window.
There was nothing there. Well, there was a comfy armchair for visitors to use, and a spiky pot plant, but no
person
stood in the window, certainly no creepy, weird, silent girl. ‘Oh, Roberta, you’re going to kick yourself.’
‘What?’
‘They’re on your head, dear – your glasses. I do that all the time too. Don’t worry,’ she added with a faint smile, ‘it only means you’re cracking up.’
Bobbie checked her hair. Sure enough her glasses were tucked behind her ears and resting on the crown of her head. No way … she’d put them by the sink. She was
not
some flaky ditz. ‘But I … ’
Dr Price smiled. Even when she smiled, the Head was a little glacial. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Now off to bed, young lady, it’s a school night.’
‘Okay,’ Bobbie said. She was frustrated but wasn’t about to enter into an argument with the headmistress. What was she going to do? Stamp her foot and swear there was some stupid Lower running off with her glasses who’d then somehow put them on her head? ‘Sorry.’
‘Not a problem. Now scoot.’
Bobbie ran all the way back to her dorm, not wanting to spend a second longer than necessary in the draughty corridor. The whole way she couldn’t shake the sensation of eyes on the back of her head. She shut the bedroom door behind her and dived onto Naya’s bed. ‘Naya, something really super-weird is going on.’
Naya’s copy of
Heat
had flopped to the floor and she was half asleep with her bedside light still on. ‘What?’
‘This is going to sound mental, but I think I just saw Bloody Mary.’
‘Girl … ’ Naya rolled onto her front, burying her head in the pillow.
‘It’s true. Someone took my glasses out of the bathroom.’
Naya lifted her head. ‘Oh well then, it’s definitely Bloody Mary. Call the hotline now.’
‘Don’t,’ Bobbie moaned. ‘I followed her because I thought it was just a Lower, but there was something
wrong
with her. It was really scary.’
‘Of course it was. Everything in this school is scary at night. Go to sleep. In the morning you’ll feel like a total moron, I promise.’
Another thought occurred to Bobbie. ‘Naya, is this you?’
‘What?’
‘You said before we did the mirror thing that you wanted to freak Grace out … Is this all some sort of prank?’
Her friend propped herself up onto her elbows. ‘Girl, I swear on my mom’s Louis Vuitton handbags that I someday hope to inherit that this is nothing to do with me. It’s nothing to do with anything – you’re freaking yourself out. Go. To. Sleep.’ She flopped back down onto her pillow.
Bobbie realised she wasn’t going to get any sense out of Naya now, and her friend did have a point. Everything
would
feel different in the morning. She looked around their dorm, at the embellishments they’d made – their furry throws, their framed photos, their Hello Kitty, John Green and
Satanville
posters. It felt safe. ‘Can we keep a light on?’
‘I don’t care. Just stop talking.’
Bobbie couldn’t remember falling asleep. She read through her story for a bit while Naya lightly snored, but she must have nodded off eventually. She didn’t even remember closing her eyes – for the longest time she stared at the centimetre gap under the door to check that no feet were coming past their room.
‘MARY!’
Bobbie was in class. It was the music room – the same floor-to-ceiling bay windows and the view overlooking the hockey pitch. Only, for some reason, everything was different. For one thing, although it was November, it was mild and sunny and the classroom smelled of freshly mown grass. The furniture was arranged differently for a second; all the music stands and instruments had been cleared away. Now there were rows upon rows of vintage-looking individual desks – the sort Bobbie had only seen wheeled out for exam time. They were the really old-fashioned ones with the surface that lifted up to reveal a compartment within.
This all felt very odd. There was a summery haze over the room, as if she were seeing the world through a Vaseline-smeared lens. A couple of girls milled around her, distributing exercise books, but they moved in half-time as if they were walking on the moon.
‘Mary!’ the same voice trilled.
Bobbie looked behind her, only to realise she was in the last row. She wore her hair in a neat plait, something she hadn’t done since she was very young.
‘Mary Worthington, are you listening to a word I’m saying?’ Bobbie didn’t recognise the teacher. She wore the scratchiest-looking cardigan and skirt combo Bobbie had ever seen, with thick wool tights sagging around conservative court shoes. It took her a moment to realise that the severe woman was glaring at her.
‘Me?’
‘Well, is there another Mary Worthington whom I don’t know about?’ The girls tittered, all looking at her. They were all strangers. Prim, white girls, all wearing the Piper’s Hall uniform, but a slight variation of the one she was so familiar with. The kilts were longer and the white socks were higher. ‘Could you please answer the question?’
Bobbie felt her cheeks blaze. ‘I … I don’t know, Miss.’
‘Of course you don’t – you were half asleep. Miss Worthington, do you have any idea how
lucky
you are? A girl like
you
in a school like
this
?’ The word
lucky
stung like a slap.
The bell rang out, the same bell that still rang out to signal the change of lessons. The girls gathered their belongings. ‘Don’t all charge at once, please.’
The other girls glowered at Bobbie with barely concealed disdain, giving her a wide berth as they filed past her out of the classroom. Bewildered, Bobbie followed them. This was a dream, but it felt fragile somehow, like she was on the very verge of waking up. A dream made out of the finest spun sugar.
The hallway looked almost identical to how it did now, but Bobbie sensed this was some time ago – the way the teacher was dressed, the lack of display boards, the blackboard where there was now an interactive whiteboard. There were subtle differences everywhere.
Bobbie drifted, feeling lost in her own school. Sideways glances and whispers all aimed at her. She couldn’t be sure, but the loudest whisper sounded something like ‘Scary Mary’.
It was one of
those
dreams. She was half in it, half looking in on it. She wasn’t herself. She didn’t feel like Bobbie Rowe, she felt sadder, like there was nothing to look forward to, nothing to laugh about. She felt a kind of inky, hopeless black inside, the type of which she’d only ever written about. Wanting to be away from the other girls, Bobbie ducked into the nearest toilet. There was something she had to do.
The ground-floor bathroom was almost the same as it was now – the pipework all painted a sterile jade-green colour to match the aqua-green tiling. Bobbie crossed to the nearest mirror.
She woke up at once.
Dawn was breaking outside of the dorm windows, the curtains barely holding back the light. At some point in the night, Naya had crawled into bed alongside her. Either the conversation or a nightmare had spooked her – Naya often snuck in if she’d had bad dreams. Bobbie snuggled up next to her for heat and, if she was honest, security. Tonight the bad dreams were hers. With Naya there she felt safer.
Bobbie was almost too scared to close her eyes. She couldn’t remember what she had seen in the mirror. It had been too awful.
Chapter 7
It took a superhuman effort for Bobbie to drag herself out of bed the next morning. Her sleep had been so shallow, so wafer-thin, that it barely counted as rest. In daylight though, it seemed safer to close her eyes and so she deployed the snooze button three times.
Naya was no longer beside her and the other bed was empty, so Bobbie guessed she must have crept out to beat the shower stampede. Breakfast was at seven and classes didn’t start until nine, so it was her call as to whether she showered and got into her uniform before or after eating. Bobbie eventually flopped out of bed at ten to eight, the last possible minute she could join the breakfast queue. Grabbing a pair of leggings, Naya’s Yankees hoodie and some flip-flops, Bobbie trudged towards the bathroom.
She hadn’t got far when she realised something was wrong. Instead of eating breakfast, girls were scurrying up and down the hallways and in and out of each other’s rooms like agitated bees. The air was loaded – a buzz of activity and nervous chatter. Caitlin emerged from one of the rooms in Brontë and hurried towards the stairs. ‘Caitlin, what’s going on?’
‘Oh my God, didn’t you hear? Something’s wrong with Sadie. No one’s even allowed in Christie. Some people are saying she’s … she’s dead.’
The floor started to spin until Bobbie forced it to be still – the rumour mill was clearly working overtime. She gripped the banister at the top of the stairs for support. ‘What? No way.’
‘Swear down. I’m gonna find Grace. She’ll know what’s going on.’
Bobbie took off down the stairs at once. She knew how fast gossip could travel around this place. Last year Maisie Spence-Guillame had told
one person
she’d slept with Mr Granger, the vaguely handsome Maths teacher, and within
two hours
the police were in school. It hadn’t even been true, but it showed you had to watch your mouth in a school that had ears.
Naya was stationed in the Accy Area, acting as another node of information with Lower girls crowding around her. They parted to let Bobbie through. ‘Naya, what’s going on?’
‘Oh there you are. We have no idea – nobody’s saying anything. Just that something’s wrong with Sadie.’
Bobbie let out a mighty sigh of relief. ‘Oh thank God – Caitlin said she was dead.’
‘She might be,’ said ferret-like Rose Clarkson. ‘No one’s been in or out of her room. Dr Price and Mrs Craddock are up there now.’
‘Be real.’ Naya gave her a stinky glare. ‘If there was a dead girl upstairs don’t you think we’d have seen some police or an ambulance by now?’
‘Not necessarily,’ whined Rose.
Mrs Craddock leaned over the landing balcony that overlooked the Accy Area, looking harassed. ‘Girls! Dr Price says she wants you in uniform and in the main hall in fifteen minutes. No arguing, no exceptions.’ The gaggle of girls around the table tennis set started firing questions at the housemistress. ‘Oh, just get on with it, girls! Go!’
Naya pouted. ‘They can’t possibly be making us go to lessons. If Sadie
has
died, we’ll at least get a couple of days off, right?’
Bobbie raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re all heart.’ Her appetite for breakfast was now non-existent. ‘Come on, let’s get front-row seats in assembly.’
Unfortunately, everyone wanted front-row seats. Once they were in the grey with claret trim of the Piper’s Hall uniform, Bobbie and Naya had to settle for a position in the third row. Bobbie’s heart was an unswallowed lump at the back of her throat, refusing to go down. It was more than just nosiness or curiosity – Bobbie
needed
to know what had happened to Sadie. There were only so many coincidences she was willing to write off.
Rumours and speculation bounced off the oak-panelled walls of the main hall. Thick-framed portraits of former headmasters looked on with stern disapproval. ‘Meningitis’, ‘pregnancy’ and ‘suicide’ were popular suggestions, although Bobbie was particularly impressed with ‘she injected heroin she bought from a tramp in Oxsley’. Still, she didn’t crack a smile. Her jaw was clenched tight and she chewed on the inside of her cheek until Dr Price blew into the room, as collected as ever, but with a steely glint in her eye.
‘Settle down NOW.’ She wasn’t taking prisoners. Every girl fell silent. The Head took her place at the podium and looked out across a sea of gossip-hungry faces. ‘This is very, very serious. Sadie Walsh is missing from Christie. No one has seen her since lights-out last night.’
There was a ripple amongst the crowd. Naya whispered something in Bobbie’s ear but she shushed her.
‘Quiet!’ Dr Price went on, smoothing her strawberry-blonde bob. ‘I don’t care what’s going on, what’s been said, what anyone has done – legal or otherwise.
All
that matters is finding Sadie and making sure she’s safe. If anyone knows anything about her whereabouts I need to know right now.’
More mutters as each girl asked their neighbour what they knew. Bobbie found herself short of breath. She and Sadie weren’t bosom buddies or anything, but the thought of something happening to her was awful. There was something else too, a niggling feeling that there was something she should be remembering.
‘If you don’t stop chatting I’m going to get really angry, ladies. I do not want to hear gossip, ideas or speculation. Obviously Sadie has gone somewhere and I don’t believe for a second that she didn’t tell someone where she was going.’
This time, at the point where someone
needed
to stand up and confidently say ‘she eloped to New Zealand with her internet lesbian lover’, the room was as quiet as a chapel.
‘You don’t need to say anything now, but if you do, genuinely, know something about Sadie please see me at once. Clearly I am going to be very busy dealing with this all day and the police are on their way. That means the rest of you need to make sure you are in the right place at the right time. You will all go to first period at once, is that understood?’
There was a droned ‘Yes, Miss’ by way of response.
Bobbie made her way to class on autopilot. First period on a Monday, cruelly, was double English Lit and, unusually for her, she hadn’t done the reading homework. As she filed into class, she overheard Grace talking to Caitlin, both of whom, even at times of crisis, were so effortlessly gorgeous they made the kilt and blazer look like a fashion statement rather than a uniform. Grace always proudly displayed the gold Head Girl badge on her blazer like she was the sheriff of the goddamn town. ‘God, she’s such an attention whore,’ Grace bitched. ‘She’ll be in Oxsley with some dykey Radley High girl who looks like Justin Bieber. I bet you anything.’
Bobbie ignored them and slipped into her seat. The lesson was on Poe’s
The Fall of the House of Usher
, which she should have been excited about, but she couldn’t focus. A worry worm bored into her skull. She drummed her HB pencil on the side of her exercise book, her fingers overloaded with energy. Fragments of ideas, noises and images sloshed around her head – nothing making any sense. Nosebleeds, her dream, the girl in the corridor … how did that connect to Sadie … ? Then another piece of memory flotsam drifted to the front of her brain, something she’d completely forgotten.
The pencil slid from her fingers and rolled to the floor with a sharp ping.
She stood, almost knocking her chair over. The metal legs made an ugly screech as they scraped along the floor. Grabbing her books, she turned and darted for the door, almost colliding with Miss Foster, her English teacher, as she entered the room. ‘Bobbie, where are you … ?’
‘I have to talk to Dr Price.’ The lie felt lumpy on her tongue, but it would have to do. Bobbie knew Miss Foster would assume she had information about Sadie and let her go without hesitation. With her head down, she ducked past the teacher. This was so unlike her, but she knew there was no way she’d be able to work until she knew the answer to the noisy question that roared inside.
The first mission was finding Lottie Wiseman, Sadie’s BFF and room-mate. She did a ton of languages – where would she be? Bobbie initially set off towards where she knew Naya had Spanish, banking on Lottie being in the lesson with her, only to have a last-minute change of heart.
Instead, Bobbie left the shiny Millar Wing, with its clean sandstone walls and glass partitions, and headed back to the old building, towards Dr Price’s office. It made sense to Bobbie that those nearest to Sadie (including Lottie) were probably still being interrogated.
There was an open concrete courtyard in the middle of the school, and a fine drizzle had turned everything charcoal grey to match the heavy cloud that squatted above the school. Bobbie darted under the rain shelter and slipped in through the fire escape on the opposite side of the quad. Few lessons were taught in the old part of the school any more; only the music room, hall, dorms, canteen and offices were situated there. As such it was eerily quiet at this time of day, with almost all the girls either in classrooms or shivering on the playing field.
Bobbie ducked past the dinner ladies setting up the dining room and straight into the entrance hall, which seemed so different in the light of day. Her pursuit of the mystery girl seemed so much longer ago than last night. Now, fuzzy amber light diffused through the stained glass in the grand front doors, shining down on the reception desk. Lorraine, the school’s long-standing receptionist, looked up to greet her. ‘Hello … ’
‘Bobbie.’
‘That’s it! Is everything okay, love?’
‘Yeah.’ She used the same lie again. ‘I need to see Dr Price.’
‘Well, she’s in with the police at the moment, dear. Is it about Sadie?’
‘Sort of. Yeah.’ Bobbie leaned past the desk and glanced down the corridor towards Dr Price’s office. Sure enough Lottie and Kellie, her other room-mate, were waiting on the sofa near to where last night she’d seen the awkward figure of the girl. The impossible ghost girl.
‘Okay, love. Go wait with the others.’
Bobbie thanked her and shuffled down the corridor, trying to think of a way she could phrase this without sounding like a crazy person. Poor Lottie, who looked gaunt and frail at the best of times, looked awful, eyes red from crying and her face clammy and grey. If Sadie
had
been planning something, her best friend evidently hadn’t been in on it.
Kellie looked up at her. There was a long black hair trapped in her lip gloss and for some reason it really bothered Bobbie. ‘Hey hey hey, Bobbie. Do you know something about Sadie? Did you see her last night?’
‘No,’ Bobbie admitted. ‘I need to speak to Lottie.’
‘Me?’ she sniffed. ‘Why?’
Bobbie took a deep breath, suddenly not sure what to do with her hands. She clasped them in front of her to keep her fingers still. ‘Can you remember Hallowe’en night?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You know Sadie’s dumb story about Bloody Mary?’
Lottie’s eyes widened. ‘Yeah.’
‘Well, can you remember when Sadie said she’d already done it? You said you were with her.’
The skinny girl now looked thoroughly confused. ‘Yeah, so what? She did it in front of the mirror inside her wardrobe.’
Bobbie’s pulse felt much too fast. ‘Did you do it too?’
‘No.’
‘When did she do it?’
Lottie thought about it, forehead creased. ‘It was Tues— no, Wednesday night. Yeah, it was after choir.’
Bobbie had to reach out and steady herself against the wall. Her feet felt disconnected from the floor. Just as she’d feared. This couldn’t be happening. ‘That was five days ago.’ The last word got caught in her throat and came out as a hoarse whisper.
The message on the mirror.
Five days
.