Groosham Grange (11 page)

He had to find a police station. But even as he began to search for one, he was struck by a nasty thought. Horace Tobago hadn’t believed a word he had said. Why should the police? If he went in there spouting on about black magic and witchcraft, they would probably call the local asylum. Worse still, they might hold him there and call the school. He was thirteen years old now. And it was a fact of life that adults never believed thirteen-year-olds.

He paused and looked around him. He was standing outside a library and on an impulse he turned and went in. At least there was something he could do – find out more. The more he knew, the more he could argue his case. And books seemed the best place to start.

Unfortunately, Hunstanton Library did not have a large section on Witchcraft. In fact there were only three books on the shelf and two of them had accidentally strayed out of Handicrafts, which were on the shelf next door. But the third looked promising. It was called
Black Magic in Britain
by one Winny H. Zoothroat. David flicked through it, then carried it over to the table to read in more detail.

David lost track of time as he sat there reading the book. But by late afternoon, he had learnt just about everything he wanted to know about Groosham Grange, as well as quite a bit that he didn’t. The book had one last surprise. David was about to pick it up and return it to the shelf when it fell open on another page and his eyes alighted on an entry that leapt off the page.

Curiously, David turned to the end of the book. There was a brief note on the last page, written by the publisher.

An academy of witchcraft! The words were still buzzing in David’s head as he left the library. But what else could Groosham Grange have been? Fluent Latin, wax model-making, weird cookery and very un-Christian religious studies … it all added up. But David had never wanted to be a witch. So why had they chosen him?

He was walking down the High Street now, past the shops which were preparing to close for the day. A movement somewhere in the corner of his eye made him stop and glance back the way he had come. For a moment he thought he had imagined it. Then the same misshapen, limping figure darted out from behind a parked car.

Gregor.

Somehow the dwarf had reached Hunstanton and David knew at once that he must be looking for him. Without even thinking, he broke into a run, down the hill and out towards the sea. If he was found, he knew what would happen to him. The school would kill him rather than let him tell his story. They had already killed twice for sure. How many other people had ended up in the cemetery at Skrull Island earlier than they had expected?

It was only when he had reached the sea front that he stopped to take a breath and forced himself to calm down. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Nobody at the school could possibly know that he was still in Hunstanton.

A few feet away from him, Gregor giggled. The hunchback was sitting on a low brick wall, watching him with one beady eye. He pulled something out of his belt. It was a knife, at least seven inches long, glinting wickedly. Still giggling, he licked the blade. David turned and ran again.

He had no idea where he was going. The whole world was swaying and shuddering each time his foot thudded against the cold concrete pavement. All he could hear was his own tortured breathing. When he looked back again, the dwarf was gone. Hunstanton lay in the distance behind him. He had reached the end of the promenade.

Sagging tents and warped wooden kiosks surrounded him. The funfair! He had wandered right into the middle of it.

“Fancy a ride, sonny?”

The speaker was an old man in a shabby coat, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He was standing beside the ghost train. Three carriages – blue, green and yellow – stood on the curving track in front of the swing doors.

“A ride?” David glanced from the ghost train to the sea front. There was no sign of Gregor.

“A test run.” The old man squeezed his cigarette and coughed. “Bit of luck you turning up. You can have a free ride.”

“No thanks…” Even as David uttered the words, Gregor appeared again, shuffling into the fairground area. He hadn’t seen David yet, but he was searching. The knife was still in his hand, held low, slanting upwards.

David leapt into the carriage. He had to get out of sight. A couple of minutes on a ghost train might be enough. At least Gregor couldn’t follow him in there.

“Hang on tight.” The old man pressed a switch.

The carriage jerked forward.

A second later it hit the doors. They broke open, then swung shut behind it. David found himself swallowed up by the darkness. He felt as if he were suffocating. Then a light glowed red behind a plastic skull and he breathed again. If the skull was meant to frighten him, it had had the opposite effect. It reminded him that this was just an entertainment, a cheap funfair ride with plastic masks and coloured light bulbs. A loudspeaker crackled into life with a tape-recorded “Awooo!” and David even managed a smile. A green light flicked on. A rubber spider bounced up and down on an all-too-visible wire. David smiled again.

Then the carriage plunged into a chasm.

It fell through the darkness for so long that the air rushed through David’s hair and he was forced back into the seat. At the last moment, when he was sure he would be dashed to pieces at the bottom of the track, it slowed down as if hitting a cushion of air.

“Some ride…” he whispered to himself. It was a relief to hear the sound of his own voice.

Another light flashed on – a light that was somehow less electric than the ones that had gone before. A soft bubbling sound was coming out of the loudspeakers, only suddenly David wondered if there were any loudspeakers. It sounded too real. He could smell something too; a damp, swamp-like smell. Before the fall, he had been able to feel the tracks underneath the carriage. Now it seemed to be floating.

A figure loomed out of the darkness – a plastic model in a black cloak. But then it raised its head and David saw that it was not a model at all but a man, and a man that David knew well.

“Did you really think you could escape from us?” Mr Kilgraw asked.

The ghost train swept forward. Mrs Windergast stepped out in front of it. “I never thought you’d be so silly, my dear,” she twittered.

David flinched as the carriage hurtled towards her, but at the last moment it was pulled aside by some invisible force and he found himself staring at Mr Fitch and Mr Teagle, both of them illuminated by a soft blue glow.

“A disappointment, Mr Fitch.”

“A disaster, Mr Teagle.”

The ghost train lurched backwards, carrying David away. Miss Pedicure waved a finger at him and tut-tutted. Monsieur Leloup, half-man, half-wolf, howled. Mr Creer, pale and semi-transparent, opened his mouth to speak but sea water flowed over his lips.

He could only sit where he was, gripping the edge of his seat, scarcely breathing as, one after another, the entire staff of Groosham Grange appeared before him. Black smoke was writhing round his feet now and he could make out a red glow in the distance, becoming brighter as he was carried towards it. Then suddenly something clanged against the back of the carriage, just above his head. He looked up. Two hands had clamped themselves against the metal, the fingers writhing. But the hands weren’t attached to arms.

David yelled out.

The ghost train thundered through a second set of doors. The red glow exploded to fill his vision, a huge setting sun. A cool breeze whispered through his hair. Far below, the waves crashed against the rocks.

The ghost train had carried him back to Skrull Island. The yellow carriage was perched on the grass at the top of the cliff. There were no tracks, no models, no funfair.

It was the evening of his thirteenth birthday and the darkness of the night was closing in.

The school was deserted.

David had gone to bed, too depressed to do anything else. His escape had come to nothing. He had been unable to find Jill. He had just had the worst birthday of his life. And if things went the way he was expecting, it would probably also be the last.

But he couldn’t sleep. Where was everybody? It had been about six o’clock when he had got back to the school. In four hours, lying in the dark, he had neither seen nor heard a soul. Not that there were any souls at Groosham Grange. They had all been sold long ago – and David knew who to.

A footfall on the bare wooden planks of the dormitory alerted him and he sat up, relaxing a moment later as Jill walked in.

“Jill!” He was relieved to see her.

“Hello, David.” She sounded as depressed as he felt. “So you didn’t make it?”

“I did. But … well, it’s a long story.” David swung himself off the bed. He was still fully dressed. “Where is everybody?” he asked.

Jill shrugged. It was difficult to see her face. A veil of shadow had fallen over her eyes.

“What happened to you after I took the boat?” David asked.

“We can talk about that later,” Jill replied. “Right now there’s something I think I ought to show you. Come on!”

David followed her out of the dormitory, slightly puzzled by her. She looked well enough and he assumed that nobody had punished her for her part in the escape. But she seemed cold and distant. Perhaps she blamed him for leaving her behind. David could understand that. In a way, he still blamed himself.

“I’ve found out a lot of things about Groosham Grange, David,” she went on as they walked down the stairs. “And a lot about the staff.”

“Jill…” David reached out to stop her. “I’m sorry I had to go without you.”

“That’s all right, David. It all worked out for the best.” She smiled at him, but her face was pale in the gloomy half-light of the hall. Breaking away, she pressed forward, moving towards the library. “All the staff here are … well, they’re not quite human. Mr Kilgraw is a vampire, Mrs Windergast is a witch. Mr Fitch and Mr Teagle are black magicians. They used to be two people until one of their experiments went wrong. Mr Creer is a ghost and Miss Pedicure has lived for ever.”

“But what do they want with us?” David said.

“They want to teach us.” Jill had reached the library door. She turned the handle and went in. “You’re a seventh son of a seventh son. I’m a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.”

“What about it?”

“It means we’re witches. We were born witches. It’s not our fault. It’s not anybody’s fault, really. But like all the kids here we have powers. The teachers just want to show us how to use them.”

“Powers?” David grabbed hold of Jill and swung her round so that she faced him. She didn’t resist, but her eyes seemed to look through rather than at him. “I don’t have any powers. Nor do you.”

“We’ve got them. We just don’t know how to use them.” Jill was standing in front of the mirror. She reached out and rapped her knuckles against the glass. Then she turned to David. “Use your power,” she challenged him. “Go through the mirror.”

“Through the glass?” David looked from the mirror to Jill and back again. He remembered his dream, how he had walked through the glass and into the underground cavern. But that had been just a dream. Now he was awake. The glass was solid. Only Jill, it seemed, had cracked.

“You can do it, David,” she insisted. “You’ve got the power. All you have to do is use it!”

“But…”

“Try!”

Angry, confused, on the edge of fear, he wrenched himself away from her, hurling his shoulder at the glass. He would smash the mirror. That would show her. Then he would find out what was wrong with her.

His shoulder sank into the glass.

Taken by surprise, thrown off balance, David almost stumbled. His head and his raised palms made contact with the mirror – made contact with nothing – passed through the barrier as if there were no barrier at all. It was like falling into a television set. One moment he was in the library, the next he was breathing in the cold air of the tunnel, leaning against the damp and glistening rock.