Shiverton Hall, the Creeper (22 page)

‘I am saying nothing of the sort!’ Toynbee said. ‘But if I turn around to talk to Arthur and you two slip out, well, what can an old man do?’

Chuk grinned. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.

‘For what?’ Toynbee replied innocently, and turned to talk to Arthur.

Penny and Chuk took their cue, and slipped away from the room.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about Cornwall, Arthur,’ Toynbee said.

‘That’s all right,’ Arthur replied. ‘Right now I’m more concerned about where the Creeper is.’

‘That makes two of us,’ Toynbee agreed grimly.

Arthur and George hurried towards Long-Pitt’s study which had a dusty, old computer in the corner, the only computer in the whole school, and Long-Pitt’s reluctant concession to the modern world.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ George said nervously. ‘Long-Pitt will string us up if she catches us.’

‘At this point, I think Long-Pitt is the least of our worries,’ Arthur said.

They reached the main school and sneaked down the dark corridors towards Long-Pitt’s study.

Arthur opened the door and stepped in. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘You stay out here and keep guard, and whistle if someone comes.’

‘Not a flawless plan,’ George said, as Arthur disappeared into the room.

The study was pitch black, but Arthur didn’t want to draw attention to himself by turning the lights on. A stuffed crow, one of the room’s many taxidermied creatures, glowered down at him from the rafters.

He hopped over Long-Pitt’s desk to the computer and switched it on. It wheezed into life, booting up painfully slowly as the light of the monitor filled the room with a blue glow.

Arthur started typing. He had searched for the Creeper online while he was at home during half-term, but had come up with no more information than Cornwall had already told them. He combed through a few sites about monsters, hoping he might find something there. There were plenty: the Pale Man, the Slender Man, the Bunny Man, all internet legends, but not what Arthur was looking for.

He sat in front of the screen for a moment, his fingers poised hesitantly over the keyboard. He knew he had to do it.

He reluctantly typed it in.

SCRACCHENSHODDEREN

One result.

Arthur clicked on it.

The computer glitched, then the screen flickered up again. The website looked old and homemade. It was a single page – no links, no pictures.

It looked like a letter.

I’m sorry
,
it read.

If you are reading this, then I can’t help you.

If you know his name, then you have called him. And he always answers.

I know I don’t have long – I can feel him behind me. But I wanted to warn you.

This is my story.

My name is Liam. I am sixteen years old. I live in Oxford.

I was researching an essay in the Bodleian Library – my parents work at the university and so I have access to some of the old archive books. My essay was on a town called Grimstone and the witch-hunts that took place there in the eighteenth century. I’d found one book on the catalogue with the keywords ‘Grimstone’ and ‘witch’, an old diary from Grimstone. My mother dug it out for me from deep in the book stacks below Oxford, where it had sat untouched for years – she said it was so thick with dust that it took her ages to identify it.

The book itself was gobbledegook. I nearly didn’t bother with it at all, but I changed my mind at the last minute and took it home.

I wish I hadn’t. But I was fascinated by the middle page, and the weird word written on it:

Scracchenshodderen
.

I should never have read that book. From the moment I did, I felt, well, you must know how I feel . . . Hunted. Watched.

I think I see him all the time, in reflections, in shadows, but when I look properly he’s gone.

I first read that book two months ago, and every day that passes he is closer to me. Even standing in the sun I can feel his shadow on my back.

Sometimes I think others can see him too. A little girl on a train. My brother. But I’m never sure.

I know this sounds mad. I feel mad.

He thrives on fear. The more frightened I am, the closer he comes. He will try and scare you. He enjoys it. Try to keep him from your mind. You’ll last longer.

Don’t talk about him to anyone. There is a boy at school, my best friend, Alister. I showed him the book early on, before I fully understood what it meant. I can already see the greyness under his eyes, and the haunted look I know so well from my own reflection.

I cannot tell you what will happen to me. To us. But my hope is fading by the day. Kids go missing all the time. I don’t know why I didn’t think of them more before this. All those missing kids on the posters . . .

I’m almost looking forward to it. I don’t want to think about him any more.

Good luck.

Liam,

October 2003

The website crashed before Arthur had the chance to reread it.

‘Come on, come on!’ Arthur murmured, clicking back to the original website. But the link was gone.

He typed
Alister and Liam Oxford
into the search engine. Hundreds of news websites appeared in the results.

LIAM REYNOLDS, 16, MISSING.

Arthur looked at the date. October. Maybe only a few days after Liam had written his warning.

A few weeks later were the next news stories.

SECOND BOY MISSING FROM OXFORD: ALISTER PARKER.

Arthur sat back in his chair, staring at the photograph of Liam Reynolds. Smiling. Happy. A little sunburned.

‘What happened to you?’ Arthur whispered.

Arthur realised he was shivering. The temperature in the study had plunged. He felt something move behind him, something brushing the hair on the nape of his neck.

Arthur wanted to call for George, but Liam’s warning stilled his tongue.

A shape blinked on to the computer screen.

It was a hand. The hand he’d seen in the lake, and he was sure that it was the hand that had been tugging at his sleeve and tapping him softly on the back for the past few weeks.

The grey fingers unfurled, and then slowly they began to scratch at the screen. The sound made Arthur’s whole body shudder, as though the long nails were scratching at his skin.

Arthur jumped up, desperate to get away, turning his back on the computer screen and the demonic hand.

He felt the bloodless fingers clasp his arm, catching him by the elbow.

‘Get off!’ Arthur shrieked, as the fingernails pierced through his shirt and tore at his skin.

‘ARTHUR!’

Arthur spun around, blinking. The overhead light was on, and Long-Pitt was looming in the doorway, George standing behind her apologetically.

The monitor was black and silent, the hand nowhere to be seen.

‘What on earth do you think are you doing in here?’ Long-Pitt shouted.

‘I-I . . .’ Arthur said faintly. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Long-Pitt.

‘Count yourself lucky that it’s nearly the end of term,’ she said sharply. ‘Otherwise I’d suspend you both.’

Arthur nodded.

‘I realise that living without the internet can be trying for students with the attention span of gnats,’ she sneered, ‘but breaking into my office after lights-out is a serious infringement of the rules.’

‘But it’s an emergency!’ George protested.

Long-Pitt raised her eyebrows.

‘What kind of emergency?’ she asked.

Arthur shook his head imploringly at a panicking George.

‘Er . . .’ George said, ‘Nothing. Never mind.’

Long-Pitt studied the boys.

‘You look pale, Arthur,’ she said. ‘Are you quite all right? I wouldn’t want you perishing on my watch.’

‘I’m fine,’ Arthur replied tightly.

Long-Pitt narrowed her eyes.

‘Well,’ she said finally. ‘Back to house with you both. Don’t let me ever catch you out of bounds again!’

‘Sorry, Professor,’ they mumbled in unison.

‘Some lookout you are,’ Arthur whispered as they walked away.

‘Hey!’ George said. ‘That woman is like a ghost. I didn’t hear her until she was right behind me.’

‘It’s all right,’ Arthur said. ‘As it happens, I needed to get out of there anyway.’

‘Did you find anything? About the Creeper?’ George asked.

‘Nothing new,’ Arthur lied.

Chapter Twenty-two

‘What is up with you, Arthur?’ Penny said, a week later. ‘You look terrible.’

‘I think it’s just a bit of flu,’ he replied.

She was right though. Arthur had been sleepless for so many nights he could barely keep his eyes open. Yet he didn’t dare close them, because every time he did he saw the ghastly, grasping hand. He could hear the noise all the time now.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Even in broad daylight. It was getting louder by the day.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
And all the time he went over what he knew in his head, but it didn’t add up. Was
Scracchenshodderen
the name of the Creeper? He felt certain that it must be, that the two things were linked, but he had the nagging sensation that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

‘Are you going to be all right on the CCF camping trip?’ Penny asked. ‘You look like you’re about to keel over.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Arthur replied.

He didn’t feel fine. Back in his room, he felt like death as he packed his camping gear.

Toynbee knocked on his door. ‘May I step in?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Arthur replied.

‘Arthur, I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you’ve been looking rather unwell this last week,’ Toynbee said.

‘I don’t feel that well either,’ Arthur sighed.

‘Is something the matter?’

‘I think something is after me.’

‘What do you mean,
something
?’ Toynbee asked.

Arthur stayed silent.

‘Arthur,’ Toynbee said gently, ‘whatever it is, you must tell me.’

‘I can’t,’ Arthur whispered.

‘I won’t leave until I have it out of you.’ Toynbee sighed. ‘If I have to suspend you, I will.’

Arthur took a deep breath. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

After Arthur had detailed Liam’s letter, Toynbee sat and thought for a minute.

‘It is peculiar,’ Toynbee conceded. ‘Perhaps this creature, this
Scracchenshodderen
, possesses objects. That might explain why it was in the book and the painting.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Arthur said.

‘There are stories of object possession,’ Toynbee said, ‘but I have never encountered it myself. It is highly unusual. But a creature that inhabits two different objects – unheard of!’

Toynbee cleaned his glasses on his cardigan, obviously thinking hard.

‘Well, the first thing is,’ he said finally, ‘you’d better stop packing for the CCF trip. The last place you should be right now is in the Grimstone woods.’

Arthur looked crestfallen.

‘Surely it’d be better than being here by myself? Everyone in my year will be there,’ Arthur said.

‘It would be better for me to keep an eye on you here,’ Toynbee said.

‘I guess,’ Arthur said, ‘It’s just . . .’

‘Just what?’

‘I was really looking forward to it,’ Arthur replied quietly. ‘The whole year is going.’

Toynbee considered this.

‘I don’t want to keep you from your friends, Arthur.’

Arthur looked up at his housemaster hopefully. ‘Does that mean I can go?’ he asked. ‘Do you think it’s safe?’

‘I wish I knew,’ Toynbee replied, ‘but I don’t know that the school will be any safer.’

Arthur nodded.

‘You can go,’ Toynbee said hesitantly, ‘but you must promise me to stay in sight of someone at all times. And I’ll give you your mobile back from the lock-up, just in case. I know Long-Pitt hates them but I think you’ll agree that this is an extenuating circumstance.’

‘Yes!’ Arthur said. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Toynbee sighed. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Arthur said.

The Grimstone woods were freezing as the CCF squadron struggled to put up their army-issue tents. It took Penny almost an hour, during which she threatened to throw it on the campfire at least three times.

‘Honestly, Penny,’ George said. ‘Even I managed it.’

‘Shut up, George,’ Penny sighed.