Shiverton Hall, the Creeper (11 page)

‘It’s OK. Please don’t worry about it,’ Arthur replied, ushering the others down the path.

‘No, no, please come in,’ Mrs Farnham said, standing to one side. ‘Let me get it for you.’

‘We’d love to come in, thank you, Mrs Farnham,’ Xanthe said.

‘I didn’t invite you,’ Mrs Farnham snapped.

‘Come on, Xanthe,’ Penny said, guiding her away from the doorstep.

‘We’ll be at Lily’s Tea Rooms, Arthur,’ George called as Arthur was pulled into the darkness of the Farnham home.

The door slammed behind him. The house looked as empty and unkempt as Mrs Farnham herself. Flyers and leaflets bearing Andrew’s face littered the floor.

‘No use handing them out any more,’ Mrs Farnham said. ‘Everyone in town already has dozens of them.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Farnham,’ Arthur said quietly.

Mrs Farnham nodded, not, Arthur soon realised, as an affirmative gesture; it seemed more compulsive, as though she was counting the nods. Arthur waited for a few moments as she stared into the middle distance, her head bobbing up and down like something lost at sea.

‘Come with me,’ Mrs Farnham said suddenly. ‘I know your jacket’s somewhere.’

Mrs Farnham showed Arthur up the stairs, and Arthur felt more uncomfortable with every step he took. He wanted to leave, but Mrs Farnham had his hand tightly gripped in hers.

They walked along the landing and Mrs Farnham paused outside one of the bedrooms.

‘That’s my daughter Debbie’s room,’ she said. ‘She and her father have gone to stay with my mum. They don’t like to be in the house without him.’

‘Are you going to join them?’ Arthur asked.

‘What if he comes back?’ Mrs Farnham replied. ‘And no one is here. He’ll think we’ve forgotten him.’

Arthur nodded. They continued down the corridor, stepping over piles of newspapers bearing Andrew’s name.

‘That’s Andrew’s room,’ Mrs Farnham said, gesturing towards it.

Andrew’s room, unlike the rest of the house, was pristine.

‘I clean it every day,’ Mrs Farnham explained. ‘For when he comes back.’

Mrs Farnham released Arthur’s hand and wandered away, leaving Arthur standing awkwardly outside Andrew’s room.

It was not unlike Arthur’s own bedroom at home. The walls were covered in posters and photos, and every surface held a clutter of books and odd childhood knick-knacks that had not yet been thrown away. Andrew seemed keen on fossils, and had a little glass cabinet full of ammonites and broken pots.

Then Arthur spotted his jacket, in a crumpled heap on a chair.

‘Mrs Farnham,’ he called, ‘I think I’ve found my jacket.’

He paused; there was no answer. He waited a few moments, and then walked over to the chair. As he picked up his blazer, he noticed something odd about Andrew’s desk. It was a perfectly ordinary pine desk, but it was scratched to pieces. Arthur looked closer and realised that they were not just random scratches; someone had written on the desk. And it was the same word over and over again:

SCRACCHENSHODDEREN.

Arthur ran his fingers over the indentations, and his body gave an involuntary shudder that he felt deep in his bones.

‘Someone walking over your grave?’

Arthur jumped. Mrs Farnham was standing in the doorway.

‘Pardon?’ Arthur said.

‘When you have the shivers,’ she said, ‘they say someone is walking over your grave.’

‘Right,’ Arthur said, a little unsettled.

Mrs Farnham nodded towards the marks on the desk.

‘He did that before he went,’ she said.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Arthur said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I just saw my jacket in here.’

‘Oh, there it is,’ Mrs Farnham said hazily.

‘You said he did this before he went,’ Arthur said. ‘Do you know what it means?’

‘No,’ Mrs Farnham said. ‘It was from the book.’

‘The book? What book?’ Arthur asked.

‘The old book he found up at Shiverton Hall. He shouldn’t have taken it. I gave him a ticking off about it. But boys will be boys,’ she said quietly. ‘I regret ticking him off now.’

‘Do you know where the book is now?’ Arthur asked.

‘He gave it to Ronnie,’ Mrs Farnham said. ‘He was frightened of it, I don’t know why. I had a look at it – it was only an old book.’

‘Sorry, who is Ronnie?’ Arthur asked.

‘Ronnie Townsend,’ Mrs Farnham replied. ‘Lives across the road.’

A few minutes later, Arthur found himself knocking on the Townsends’ door. A boy his age opened it; he had the same air of exhaustion and sadness that Mrs Farnham did.

‘Are you Ronnie?’ Arthur asked.

‘Yeah,’ the boy replied.

‘I’m sorry, but I was just wondering whether you had that book Andrew lent you?’

Ronnie tried to close the door.

‘Please,’ Arthur said, ‘I think that book might have something to do with Andrew’s disappearance.’

‘Of course it does!’ Ronnie hissed. ‘Now I don’t know who you are, or how you know about that book, but believe me you want nothing to do with it.’

‘I know someone who might be able to work out what it is,’ Arthur pleaded.

Ronnie looked sceptical.

‘I’ll give it back, I promise,’ Arthur said.

‘I don’t want it,’ Ronnie laughed bitterly. ‘If you take it then I don’t want it back.’

‘OK, agreed,’ Arthur said.

Ronnie opened the door fully and let Arthur in.

A woman leaned out of the kitchen.

‘Who’s this?’ she asked jovially. ‘One of your school friends?’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Ronnie mumbled, ushering Arthur upstairs.

‘Is he staying for tea?’ Ronnie’s mum asked.

‘No, Mum,’ Ronnie yelled down.

He slammed his bedroom door and reached into his cupboard. At the back was a wooden box, fastened with a heavy padlock. He unlocked it and took out a package encased in a cocoon of Sellotape. Arthur looked at it quizzically. ‘It was the only thing that stopped me from opening it.’ Ronnie shrugged.

‘What do you mean?’ Arthur asked.

‘Andrew begged me not to look in it but, well, put it this way, that’s easier said than done,’ Ronnie said, picking up the package with two fingers as though it was poisonous.

‘Do you know what it is?’ Arthur asked.

‘No,’ Ronnie said. ‘All I know is that whatever was inside it made Andrew go completely nuts.’

‘Nuts how?’

‘He thought he was being followed – that someone was watching him.’

‘And were they?’

Ronnie sighed. ‘I never saw anything.’

‘Do you really know someone who can help?’ Ronnie asked quietly, as he showed Arthur back downstairs to the front door.

‘I hope so,’ Arthur replied.

Ronnie took a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’ Suddenly, something occurred to him. ‘Sorry, I just realised I don’t know your name,’ he said, holding out his hand.

‘Arthur Bannister.’

Ronnie stared at Arthur disbelievingly. ‘Did you say Arthur Bannister?’ he said slowly.

‘Yes,’ Arthur replied, confused. ‘Why?’

‘Then this book belongs to you,’ Ronnie whispered.

‘What do you mean?’ Arthur asked.

Ronnie gave an odd laugh. ‘We stole it from your pigeonhole.’

Chapter Nine

Arthur glanced around Toynbee’s cluttered classroom. The chaotic collection of historical artefacts had been added to over Christmas. A monkey’s paw in a velvet box now sat on the desk, and a rusting suit of armour stood awkwardly next to the Egyptian sarcophagus, as though they were on a date.

Toynbee examined the book with interest. ‘He said it was put in your pidge?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘By a hooded figure?’

Arthur nodded.

‘Well, that doesn’t sound good,’ Toynbee said grimly.

Toynbee opened the drawer in his desk and retrieved a long, thin knife, with an elaborately bejewelled hilt.

‘What is that?’ Arthur asked.

‘Oh, this?’ Toynbee said, looking at the knife. ‘Splendid, isn’t it? It is rumoured to have belonged to Queen Nefertiti. I mostly use it to open letters.’

Toynbee began to cut away at the reams of Sellotape, until he revealed the book itself. He picked it up and sniffed it.

‘It’s certainly been burned a fair few times,’ Toynbee said. ‘It’s an odd sort of book that doesn’t burn, wouldn’t you say?’

Arthur shifted nervously from foot to foot.

‘What is it, Arthur?’ Toynbee asked gently, peering at him over his gold-rimmed glasses.

‘Someone paid me a visit in the holidays,’ Arthur said.

‘Someone . . . ?’

‘A man wearing a hood,’ Arthur said.

Toynbee put the book to one side. ‘Where did you meet him?’ he asked.

‘He came to our flat, in the middle of the night. And . . .’ Arthur stopped.

‘And . . . ?’

Arthur bit his lip. ‘He threatened me,’ he replied. ‘He told me not to come back to Shiverton Hall.’

‘Do you have any idea who he was?’

‘None,’ Arthur said. ‘But when he took off his hood . . .’

‘Go on, Arthur,’ Toynbee said softly.

‘His whole face was scarred. It looked like he had been in a fire,’ Arthur whispered.

Toynbee considered this for a moment. ‘And you think this man may have been the one who put this book in your pidge?’ he asked.

‘Well, it would make sense,’ Arthur said. ‘Ronnie said the figure was wearing a hood, and the book is burned.’

Toynbee nodded. ‘It does seem like a reasonable hypothesis,’ he agreed.

‘Sir,’ Arthur said, ‘I can’t help thinking that this is all my fault – Andrew going missing. That book was meant for me. I should never have come back here.’

‘Arthur,’ Toynbee said kindly, ‘it is not your fault. You cannot blame yourself for this. Those boys were trespassing and took something that did not belong to them. What’s more, we do not yet know that this book has anything to do with Andrew’s disappearance.’

‘Wouldn’t it be safer for everyone if I left the school?’ Arthur asked miserably.

‘Of all the things this place may be,’ Toynbee said, ‘safe has never really been one of them, with or without your presence.’

‘I just seem to attract disaster wherever I go,’ said Arthur.

‘You’ve not been lucky, I’ll grant you that,’ Toynbee chuckled. ‘But you’re a good boy, Arthur, and the good will always out.’

‘I’m a Shiverton, though, aren’t I? I can’t be all good.’

‘No one is all good,’ Toynbee said quietly. ‘Let me have a look at this book. Leave it with me. I promise you, if I find anything that might be a danger to you or any of the other students, I’ll put you on the first train to London. You have my word.’

‘All right,’ Arthur agreed.

‘Who have you told about all of this?’

‘No one,’ Arthur said. ‘I came straight to you, and I haven’t even told the others about the burned man – I didn’t want them to worry.’

‘I think you’re right. There’s no use in everyone panicking. Try to keep it to yourself if you can for the moment.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Arthur.

‘Oh, and Arthur?’ Toynbee said, as Arthur was leaving.

‘Yes?’

‘Chin up.’

Arthur smiled and hurried away from Toynbee’s classroom. Now that the book was out of his hands he felt two stone lighter; he almost wanted to skip back to house.

The grounds were completely deserted; prep would have already started. Arthur groaned as he remembered the maths homework that he had to hand in the following morning. At least the pages and pages of equations would take his mind off Andrew Farnham and his poor mother.

Suddenly, Arthur stopped. Someone was watching him. He looked around the empty grounds, but saw no one. Yet he felt, with absolute certainty, the uneasy sensation of eyes on his skin.

‘Hello?’ he called out. There was no response.

‘Hello?’ he called again.

Arthur felt something tug at his sleeve.

He yelped and looked down, but there was nothing there.

‘Is someone there?’ Arthur asked, his voice shaking.

He thought he heard laughter, or was it just the wind in the trees?

He wanted to bolt, but he had the feeling that he mustn’t run, that whatever it was that was watching him wanted to play a game and would certainly chase him. He set off calmly towards Garnons, concentrating with all his might on steadily putting one foot in front of the other.

After a few steps, he knew he was right. The presence seemed to lose interest, and the feeling of being watched disappeared as quickly as it had come. Arthur shivered, and walked faster towards Garnons.

‘Please!’

Arthur paused again. What was that? The voice came from within the maze.