Raggy Maggie (5 page)

“
F
our little rules,’ continued Caddie, barely pausing for breath after dropping her bombshell. ‘One, you’re not allowed to leave the school. Go outside and

something bad happens to Billy.’ ‘Something bad like what?’ Caddie shrugged. ‘Up to Raggy Maggie. She’s good at doing bad things.’

I nodded. ‘I bet. What’s the second rule?’

‘No shouting for help,’ Caddie warned. ‘If we catch you doing that, something bad happens to Billy. Something even
worse
than bad.’

‘Got it,’ I said.

‘Rule number C is that you’re not allowed to use your magic powers. We know all about them, and if you use them even once then that’s cheating.’

‘What’ll happen if I do?’

‘Something bad, of course!’ Caddie giggled. ‘How many rules is that?’

‘Three.’

‘OK. Rule number four is the most important of all, so listen very carefully.’ She got up from her chair and skipped round to where I was sitting, swinging Raggy Maggie by her arms.

When she reached me, she rested a hand on my shoulder. Her dark eyes stared into mine, her face solemn and sincere. ‘The most important rule of all,’ she said, quietly, ‘is: have fun.’ Her face broke into a broad, happy smile. ‘Winning’s not important.’

‘It’s pretty important for Billy,’ I pointed out.

‘Well, yes, but it’s the taking part that counts. If a game’s not fun, then what’s the point in playing it?’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Have fun. I’ll try.’

‘Oh, goodie!’ she beamed. ‘Any questions?’

‘Just one. What makes you think I’ll play?’ I asked. ‘I don’t even like Billy. What makes you think I’ll help him?’

‘Because Daddy said you would,’ Caddie replied. ‘He says you’d want to play at being the big brave hero.’

I frowned. ‘What? I don’t even know who your dad is.’

‘Not
my
daddy, silly.’

She turned away and looked up at the wall behind me. Her lips moved as she silently tried to work something out in her head. ‘What’s it called when the big hand is at twelve and the little hand is at two?’ she asked.

‘Two o’clock.’

‘And what’s one hour up from two o’clock?’

‘Four o’clock,’ I said, hoping to buy myself some more time.

‘Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ she sang. Her hand reached for the teapot on the table. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the pain.

A howl of anguish rose up from Mrs Milton. I opened my eyes and whipped my head round. Caddie was standing behind me, tipping the teapot over the head teacher. As before there was nothing to be seen coming from the spout, but Mrs Milton was thrashing around in pain, babbling and sobbing as her skin blistered and burned.

‘Stop it,’ I pleaded. ‘Stop it, leave her alone.’

‘Cheating is very naughty,’ Caddie tutted, tipping the teapot up to empty the last of the contents over the helpless headmistress. ‘This is what happens when you cheat.’

‘But it was me who cheated, not her. It’s me you should be punishing.’

Caddie stopped pouring and gave that little high-pitched giggle again. ‘See? Daddy was right,’ she said. Opening the lid of the teapot, she peeked inside. ‘All
done,’ she shrugged, and she let it drop to the floor.

I watched Mrs Milton lie there, still writhing in pain. I’ve never felt more guilty for anything in my whole life.

‘Three o’clock, don’t be late,’ Caddie said, slipping her feet back into her oversized shoes. ‘Billy’s counting on it.’

‘Are you going to untie me?’

‘Don’t be silly, that’s part of the game.’ She skipped her way towards the canteen door. Halfway there she stopped and listened to the whispers of her doll. ‘Oh yes, you’re right, Raggy Maggie, I nearly forgot.’

She turned back and flashed me another smile. ‘I brought some other friends to play too. You’ll have to get past them if you’re going to find us.’ Something menacing glinted behind her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, they’re lots and lots of fun.’

With one final giggle, she skipped on out of the canteen, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my head teacher.

‘It’s OK, Mrs Milton, I’m going to get us out of here,’ I promised, although I didn’t yet know how I was going to manage it. Whatever Caddie had used to tie my wrists was stronger than I was. No matter how hard I pulled I couldn’t get free. For a five-year-old, the girl could tie a serious knot.

From the corner of my eye I saw something move over by one of the canteen’s tall, narrow windows. A long green curtain fluttered as it was pushed aside, and a short little man popped his balding head out.

‘She gone?’ he asked.

I nodded. The man seemed to relax at this, and he stepped out from behind the curtain.

‘Twice I nearly sneezed back there,’ he said, blowing out his cheeks. ‘Dust in the ‘tache.’ He gave his greying moustache a brush with his fingertips. ‘Can you imagine if I had? Disaster.’

‘You were there the whole time?’ I scowled. ‘You just hid there and didn’t do anything to stop her?’

‘Stop
her?’ the man snorted. ‘How am
I supposed to stop her?’

‘Let me see. Maybe because she’s a little girl and you’re a sixty-year-old man?’

The man’s face lit up. ‘Sixty? Really? Sixty years old? Me?’ He shook his head in delighted disbelief. ‘Sixty. That’s made my day, that has. I’m actually sixty-seven.’

‘I don’t care,’ I hissed, as he took a few steps closer. ‘I still don’t…Hey, wait a minute, don’t I know you?’

Now I could see him properly, there was something very familiar about the man. The balding head. The moustache. The sagging jaw and podgy belly. I’d seen him before, but where?

‘We’ve met,’ he nodded. ‘You wouldn’t pull my cracker with me.’

‘You’re that policeman,’ I gasped. ‘From the station.’

Ameena and I had taken sanctuary in the police station when we were running from Mr Mumbles. Although he
didn’t seem to believe me when I told him we were being chased, the policeman had finally agreed to go outside and see if he could spot anyone acting suspiciously.

A few minutes later he’d come crashing through the door. I could still remember the noise he’d made as he struck the back wall. The sight and smell of his blood was as vivid now as it had been back then. I’d gone back to try to find him, but by the time I returned he had vanished. I had no idea what had happened to him until now.

‘I thought you were dead,’ I told him.

‘I just wished I was,’ he said, wincing at the memory. ‘For a while, at least. Being thrown head-first through a double-glazed door does that to you.’

He crossed to Mrs Milton and knelt by her. I couldn’t see his face from my seat, but the way he sucked his breath in through his teeth told me he was worried.

‘Will she be OK?’

‘Hard to say,’ he replied. ‘Caddie’s hurt her pretty
badly. Scrambled her brain right up.’

I paused for a moment, replaying the last couple of sentences in my head, making sure I’d heard him correctly. When I was confident that I had I asked, ‘How do you know her name?’

He turned, still crouching, and looked up at me. ‘Because I’m not really a policeman, Kyle,’ he said. I opened my mouth to ask more, but he silenced me with a wave of his hand. ‘No time for that now. You’ve got to find the boy before it’s too late.’

‘Billy!’ I exclaimed. I’d almost forgotten.

The man gestured down at Mrs Milton. She was still just lying there. Still sobbing. Still broken. ‘I can help you,’ he began, ‘or I can help her. Your choice.’

‘Help her,’ I said quickly, in case I changed my mind.

He nodded, then began to untie the ropes binding me. ‘She’s not alone. She’s brought…others,’ he warned. ‘And
don’t believe anything she tells you. You can’t trust her, so be careful.’

The tightness on my wrists loosened and I felt the blood begin to rush back into my tingling hands.

‘I will,’ I said, standing up. My head still ached from where the hockey stick had smacked into it, but I ignored it as best I could.

‘One quick question,’ the man began. I turned and looked down at him.

‘What?’

‘Your…abilities. You didn’t use them to get free. Why?’

‘How did you know about—?’

‘Tell you later. Why didn’t you?’

I hesitated, not quite sure how to explain it. ‘Because…I can’t. I haven’t been able to do anything. Not since…since I did those things. On the roof.’

That wasn’t quite the truth. The truth was I’d been too scared even to try. What my dad had said had only
confirmed what I’d suspected since Christmas. The power inside me felt dangerous. I was frightened by it. Every time I’d felt it flicker I’d pushed it back down as quickly as I could.

‘I see,’ he said, nodding his head. ‘Well, you heard her rules – don’t start using them now. If she says something bad will happen, you don’t want to be the one it happens to.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now, time’s running out. Go find that boy.’

‘Right,’ I agreed, heading for the door through which Caddie had left. Just before I reached it, I turned back. ‘I didn’t even get your name,’ I said, before realising that neither the man nor Mrs Milton were anywhere in the canteen.

I crept out into the corridor, a little weirded out by the man’s sudden disappearance. He was the second person to pull a vanishing act on me today, not including Billy, who
probably hadn’t had much in the way of choice.

According to the clock on the corridor wall it was already ten past two. That meant I had fifty minutes to find Billy. It also meant the school should be bustling with pupils on their way to their final classes of the day, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

The canteen corridor opened out into a wide hall area, off which ran half a dozen doors. The caretaker’s office was here, as well as a storeroom, some classrooms and a final glass door that led to a set of wide stairs.

The door to the caretaker’s tiny windowless room was open, but there was no sign of life inside. I listened at each of the classroom doors in turn, but heard nothing from within any of those, either.

Cautiously I turned the brass handle on one of the doors. It inched open without a sound, and I poked my head inside the classroom.

Textbooks lay open on every desk. Bags and coats hung
over the backs of chairs.

‘Hello?’ I ventured, pushing the door further open and stepping into the room. No one replied, but then there was nobody there
to
reply.

I’d never been in this class before, but I was vaguely aware of seeing it full of older kids with tufty goatee beards, who looked older than some of the teachers. A glance at a workbook on the closest desk confirmed this. The open page displayed an English essay that made almost no sense to me.

Two-thirds of the way down the page the essay came to an abrupt, sudden stop. Halfway through a sentence it just ended, mid-word.

The writer had left their pen sitting next to the book. A quick look round the room revealed a pen either on top of each desk, or on the floor directly beneath them. Wherever the class had gone, they’d gone there in a hurry.

Except none of the chairs had been disturbed. They
were all pulled in close to the desks, but not tucked under them. Either the students had partially pushed their seats back under the desks after standing up, or…no. I dismissed the idea. It was impossible. They
couldn’t
have.

An entire class couldn’t just vanish into thin air.

Still, the thought haunted me, and I felt a sudden urge to get out of the room. Besides, time was ticking away. I had only forty-five minutes to find Billy, and a whole lot of school to cover.

The hall was still empty when I left the class. I realised that no matter where I’d been in the school in the past there had always been some kind of noise. Pupils talking. Teachers shouting. The caretaker whistling. Always some kind of background soundtrack. Always something to be heard. Always.

But not now.

Now there was only silence, heavy and ominous. The calm before the storm.

I didn’t look in any of the other classes around the hall. I was sure they’d be pretty much identical to the one I’d just been in. Besides, I didn’t think Caddie would hide Billy so close.

So where
would
she hide him? The school had dozens of rooms – probably sixty at the very least – not to mention all the little nooks and crannies that filled its many corners. He could be anywhere. I didn’t even know where to start.

At least, I didn’t until I saw the sign.

The glass-panelled door that led to the stairs squeaked sharply as I edged it open and stepped through. I was too busy staring to hear it bang shut again behind me.

Fifteen stairs led up from where I was standing. They stopped at a little rectangular landing, before fifteen more steps doubled back in the opposite direction and continued upwards to the first floor.

A huge image – easily one-and-a-bit times my size – had been smeared on the wall of the halfway turning point. A
thick, red liquid had been used to paint the picture. It trickled and dribbled down the wall, forming dark crimson pools on the scuffed lino floor.

I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew the liquid was blood.
Lots
of blood, forming the shape of an arrow.

An arrow pointing up.

T
here was a stale, coppery tint to the air as I edged past the halfway landing and crept on up the stairs. The arrow towered over me, slowly dribbling down the wall, painting it with streaks of glistening red.

I tried to dodge past the puddles of blood, but there was no way to avoid them completely. I tried to concentrate on what lay ahead, but it was hard not to think about the squelching of my feet, or the sticky crimson footprints that followed me up to the first floor.

Another arrow – smaller, but just as disturbing – had been smeared on to the wall here too. This time, though,
the arrow wasn’t pointing up. Instead it was pointing along one of the two corridors that ran off at right angles from the stairway. The art corridor. Of course. I should have guessed.

It’s probably a good idea if I explain how the school is laid out, otherwise things might get a bit confusing.

Basically, if you were to be peering down on the building from above, it’d look like the outline of a big square. All four sides are exactly five classrooms long, and each side is three floors high, not including the ground one.

At every corner there is a set of stairs, identical to the ones I’d just walked up. They’re designed to be wide enough to let traffic move up and down at the same time, but more often than not it’s a running battle to try to get to wherever you’re going, with everyone pushing in every direction at once.

Each floor is painted a different colour. With the layout of every level being almost exactly the same, doing them
all in different colours was probably the only way of making sure anyone could figure out where they were. Either that or no one could decide on a colour scheme.

The first floor – where I was now – was mostly pale blue. It housed the music corridor, two language corridors and the art corridor. It was this last one that the arrow dripping down the wall was pointing to. This was not good news.

The art corridor is unique in the school in that it is the only one that doesn’t fit the colour pattern. Three of the corridors on the first floor are the pale blue I mentioned, but the art corridor isn’t. The art corridor just had to be different.

At some point in the dim and distant past, someone had decided to decorate the art corridor with a series of random murals. Judging by the results, they’d given a load of paint, rollers and brushes to the least artistically able pupils they could find, and left them to go mental.

It looked truly awful. Every available surface had been
covered, not just the walls. There were paintings on the floor, paintings on the doors – even the ceiling hadn’t survived unscathed, though what the picture up there was supposed to be was anyone’s guess.

Most significantly, given my current situation, some bright spark had decided to paint over the windows – right on to the glass itself. Not only did this look rubbish, it also more or less blocked out all the daylight that should have been coming in from outside. This meant the whole multicoloured mess was lit by just four low-powered fluorescent strips.

It was the darkest corridor in the whole school, and there was an arrow painted in blood pointing along it. It had to be a trap. Going that way would be insane. Maybe even suicide. Unfortunately time was ticking away, and I didn’t have a whole lot of choice.

Steeling myself, I set off, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. The overhead lights were doing their job, and
I could see right to the far end of the corridor where the stairs led up to the second floor.

The temptation to run to the other end was almost overwhelming, but running carried its own risks. Running meant I might not see trouble coming until it was too late. I could just as easily be running into danger as running away from it.

So instead I walked slowly along the corridor, my eyes darting at shadows every step of the way. I wasn’t sure what kind of ‘friends’ Caddie had been talking about, but I was certain I didn’t want to bump into any of them.

As I passed the first few doors I realised they were closed. Normally the classrooms were only closed when a lesson was in progress. Even though the doors were shut now, there was nothing but silence behind them, and I found myself wondering once again where everyone was.

They
could
have all left when I was in the Darkest Corners, but I didn’t know why they would. A fire alarm,
possibly? But then where were the fire engines? And one of the assembly points was right outside the canteen. No one had been lined up there. I’d have seen them.

Besides, I couldn’t shake the feeling everyone had left before then. Morag hadn’t been at her usual place in the reception area, and the whole school had seemed strangely still and silent when I’d escaped from Mrs Milton’s office with Billy.

Billy. Dislike him as I did, I still found myself worrying about him, which annoyed me a little. I’d had enough sense not to provoke Caddie too much, but I wasn’t so sure Billy would be able to do the same. By his very nature he was incredibly irritating. If he said the wrong thing to Caddie there was no saying what she would do to him.

I had to find him. I had to save him. As I continued down the corridor, though, I wondered whether he’d even appreciate it if I did. If we swapped places, I don’t expect for one minute he’d even attempt to rescue me.

Around a third of the way along, the hairs on my arm suddenly stood on end, and my skin puckered into tiny goosebumps. A shiver travelled the length of my spine. From nowhere a cold breeze tingled at the nape of my neck. Deep down in my stomach something primal tensed, warning me that I was being watched.

Still walking, I glanced back over my shoulder. For the tiniest fraction of a second I thought I saw something move across the floor. A shadow, maybe; there one moment, gone the next.

A trick of the light, that was all. Had to be. The corridor was empty in both directions. There was nobody here but me.

Nevertheless, I felt my pace quicken and my heartbeat race to keep up. I was halfway along the corridor now. It felt too narrow, claustrophobic; closing in. I couldn’t wait to be out of it.

Just a few seconds,
I told myself, fighting to ignore the
rising feeling of panic in my gut. I glanced back again, and this time saw something vaguely spider-like moving across the floor and up the wall. A shadow. Definitely a shadow.

But a shadow of what?

I broke into a fast jog, scanning the corridor behind me for any more signs of life. Nothing moved. Nothing scuttled. Nothing there.

I turned and faced ahead just in time to see a dark shape step out of the final classroom and directly into my path.

My arms flailed as I back-pedalled wildly, trying to stop before I crashed into the looming figure. I cursed myself for getting spooked into running. I was going to run right into them.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

‘There you are,’ said the girl blocking my way. ‘Been looking for you everywhere.’

‘Ameena?’ I wheezed, managing to bring my run to a stumbling end right in front of her. I was so relieved I almost
cheered. ‘It’s you! I thought you were…something horrible.’

‘Oh. Thanks for that,’ she replied, raising her thin eyebrows. ‘Very nice of you to say so.’

‘No,’ I said, hurriedly explaining. ‘I saw…I mean, I
thought I saw
something behind me, and…’ Her puzzled, vaguely amused expression suddenly made me feel like an idiot and I let the sentence fall away. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’

‘Came looking for you,’ she shrugged. ‘Glad I did,’ she said after a pause. ‘You look kind of freaked out.’ Her eyes fell on the black and blue splodge on my cheek. ‘And what happened to your face?’

‘Headmistress with a hockey stick, but I’m fine.’ I took a breath, preparing to tell her it all. Billy. Mrs Milton. Caddie. Every detail.

Before I could, the overhead lights dimmed to a dull glow, plunging the corridor into near darkness. ‘OK,
now
I’m freaked out,’ I admitted. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

I moved to go past her, but she caught me by the arm. Her grip was strong – much stronger than I’d expected.

‘Why, what’s going on?’ she demanded. She peered through the gloom behind me. ‘What did you see back there?’

‘Just shadows.’ I tried to pull my arm away, but she had it held tight. Her eyes bored into me, searching for answers. ‘Look, I’ll explain everything,’ I promised, ‘but can we please get out of the dark first?’

Her grip relaxed and I took my arm back. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But stop getting so freaked out. What kind of superhero gets scared by his own shadow?’

I was halfway through telling her I was no superhero when the darkness took her. It unfurled from the wall at her back, like a giant bat opening its leathery wings. In an instant it had snapped shut. Swallowing her. Devouring her whole.

The black shape that had been Ameena writhed and thrashed furiously. I could only watch, numb with shock, too stunned to help her. All around us, warped, deformed shadows began to skulk across the walls, across the floor, across the ceiling and the doors and the poorly painted windows.

Vicious, brutal shapes, they were. Spiders. Wolves. Flapping bats. Demented, demonic shadow puppets, seeping from the woodwork until every surface of the corridor moved and ebbed. A tide of pure liquid black.

At either end of the corridor the darkness on the ceiling poured down to meet the darkness on the floor. It hung there at either end, two curtains of night, cutting off any chance of escape.

A muffled scream from Ameena snapped me out of my daze. I sprang forward, ripping and clawing at the shadows that smothered her. They were thick and gloopy and cold to the touch. They came away in long stringy
threads as I fought to uncover her face.

Her eyes were revealed first. They were bulging and bloodshot, the pupils dilated in terror. I caught the edges of the black sludge and pulled down, fighting to free her nose and mouth. Fighting to keep her alive.

Thick strands of the stuff tore off with an elastic
snap.
I heard Ameena’s breath draw in sharply, but the blackness had already flooded back over her eyes. No matter how quickly I ripped it away, any gap I created closed back up almost at once.

‘Getitoff, getitoff.’ She barely managed to get the words out before her mouth was swallowed up once again.

The strands I’d already torn off had quickly wrapped themselves around my wrists. Even as I fought to free Ameena I could feel them slithering up the insides of my shirt sleeves, cold and clammy against my skin.

Twins bands of the goop squirmed up beneath my collar. For a moment they curled up in front of my face, coiling
and wriggling like tentacles, and then they were tight around my throat, cutting off my air.

Frantically I dug my fingers into them, trying to force my nails underneath, to prise them off. No use. Too tight.
Too tight.

A puddle of chill damp oozed over my shoes. A heaving mass of dark shapes rose from the floor. I watched on helplessly as the darkness began to creep and crawl up my legs.

I was still gasping for air as it passed my knees. Still spluttering as it oozed up over my stomach and chest. Still choking as the shadows wrapped their arms around me, cocooning me and dragging me down into an inky void of absolute black.