Shiverton Hall, the Creeper (12 page)

Reluctantly he crept towards it, stepping over the flaking
OUT OF BOUNDS
sign that hung on a chain across the entrance.

‘I’m doing everything I can,’ the voice whispered frantically.

Arthur peeked around a corner of the maze, and was surprised to see Cornwall, his jewellery glinting in the moonlight. He was pacing up and down one of the pathways, biting his nails.

‘I can’t do it,’ Cornwall said.

‘It’s too late for that now,’ a voice hissed back.

Arthur craned his head a little further around the maze, but Cornwall’s companion was too far in the shadows to be seen.

‘There must be something else I can do,’ Cornwall said desperately.

‘Do you have any suggestions?’ the voice replied. Arthur could hear the mockery in its tone.

‘It’s just . . . it’s a school. It’s not right,’ Cornwall said.

The voice chuckled. ‘You’re wrong about that, Cornwall,’ it replied. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘I don’t want to do it. I’ve changed my mind,’ Cornwall cried.

A hand reached out of the shadows and grabbed Cornwall by the wrist. Cornwall whimpered.

‘It’s a little late to have a conscience now, don’t you think?’

Cornwall nodded dumbly.

‘Good,’ the voice said. ‘Run along now.’

Arthur darted out of the maze and along the path before Cornwall could see him.

He replayed the conversation back in his head as he hurried back to house.

It’s a school
,
Cornwall had said.
It’s not right.

Arthur dared not think about what he meant.

Chapter Ten

Arthur relayed Cornwall’s curious conversation to his friends in the school library the following morning.

‘And did you see who he was talking to?’ George asked.

‘It was too dark,’ Arthur replied.

‘It doesn’t sound that suspicious,’ Jake said.

‘No? Then why have a conversation in the maze in the pitch dark?’ Arthur asked.

‘Cornwall’s eccentric.’ Jake shrugged.

‘You have to admit it does sound pretty dodgy,’ Penny said.

‘You think everything sounds dodgy,’ Jake huffed. ‘You know, I’d just like to get through one term at this place with no bloody intrigue or excitement.’

‘Good luck with that, mate,’ George said.

‘Wait, look!’ Penny whispered, nudging Arthur. Cornwall had wandered into the library. He looked a little sweaty and rather out of sorts.

‘Hello, Mr Cornwall,’ Jake called out.

Cornwall flinched. ‘Oh,’ he said, waving half-heartedly. ‘Hello, Jake.’

Cornwall seemed to be eyeing up the Gainsborough painting, although he was pretending to read a book.

‘What is he up to?’ Arthur whispered.

‘No idea,’ George said. ‘But the Creeper’s still on the hill. So that’s one less thing to worry about at least.’

Arthur looked up at the dark figure. ‘For now,’ he replied grimly.

That afternoon, Arthur and his friends stood on the concrete parade ground in the driving rain and waited as the Forge triplets screamed at them. CCF, the Combined Cadet Force, was mandatory for all second years, and training mostly constituted getting yelled at by Dan Forge while wearing army camouflage. Every Thursday they had to learn how to make a shelter, how to read a map, and how to shoot a gun. The whole thing culminated in a camping exercise at the end of the term.

Arthur quite enjoyed it, especially since the Forge triplets had inexplicably decided to be extra nice to him, although they did appear to be taking out whatever surplus aggression they had on George, who had been called every swear word in the dictionary, and even some new ones.

‘Grant!’ Dan Forge screamed. ‘Pay attention or drop and give us fifty.’

George groaned. He had already given them ten and could barely feel his arms.

After doing what felt like a million star jumps, the students were split into groups, and Arthur, George, Jake, Penny and Xanthe collected their map and compass for orienteering. They clambered on to the school bus with the others, and were taken to a desolate stretch of land a few miles from the school.

‘I hate CCF,’ Penny grumbled.

They were supposed to find their way back to Shiverton Hall, but in spite of Jake and Xanthe’s best efforts, George’s appalling sense of direction and Penny’s insistence that they avoid walking up any hills meant it wasn’t long before they found themselves well and truly lost.

‘Where are we?’ Arthur asked, rain dripping into his eyes.

‘I think . . .’ Jake said, studying the map, ‘that we’re on Bone Hill.’

Bone Hill was so called, because it was the site of a medieval grave. It was also studded with pale rocks, which looked like crooked teeth jutting out of a skull.

‘Brilliant!’ George said. ‘We get away from our haunted school for five minutes and find our way on to an ancient burial ground. Top marks.’

Xanthe looked out at the grey landscape. ‘How far are we, exactly?’ she asked uneasily.

They peered through the haze of rain, but could not make out anything that could be Shiverton Hall.

‘Wait,’ Penny whispered. ‘I see something.’

Her friends followed her eye line.

About a mile away, on the brow of the opposite hill, stood a figure. Even though it was barely more than a silhouette, the shape of it filled Arthur with lurching primordial dread.

‘Maybe it’s one of the Forges,’ George said weakly.

‘No, it isn’t,’ Arthur replied.

No one argued with him.

‘We’ve got to run,’ Penny whispered.

‘You don’t need to tell me twice,’ George said.

They ran screaming through the rain, too terrified to turn back. They sprinted over the hills, hauling themselves over fences; even Penny, wheezing at the back, managed to keep up. Eventually the rain cleared enough to let them get their bearings and they limped back to the school, sodden, and shivering with cold and fright.

The Forge triplets asked where they’d been, since they hadn’t ticked off any of their check points, and Dan Forge was even angrier than usual when they said they’d been lost.

‘It’s dangerous around here,’ Dan sneered. ‘And I don’t rate any of your chances against Skinless Tom up on the hills. Especially not you –’ he pointed at George – ‘he’d wear your face as a hat.’

‘We didn’t do it on purpose!’ Penny protested.

‘Use the bloody map next time,’ Dan said. ‘Or I’ll have you all stitching name labels into the first years’ pants for the rest of the year.’

As they began to leave, Dan grabbed Arthur tightly by the arm and whispered in his ear threateningly, ‘Be careful, Scholarship. We don’t want something horrible happening to you, do we?’

Arthur shook Dan off, resisting the urge to flick one of his cauliflower ears, and he and his friends trudged back to their houses, their boots squelching as they went.

Back in the Garnons library, drying by the fire and with a cup of tea in his hand, Arthur took a deep breath.

‘All right,’ he said to George. ‘Who on earth is Skinless Tom?’

George grinned. ‘I was afraid you’d never ask.’

Skinless Tom

Lizzie Compton was furious about moving to the middle of nowhere. She and her family had lived in Liverpool her whole life, but her mum had recently inherited a house near a place called Grimstone, and since her dad had been laid off, her parents had the bright idea of ‘starting afresh’.

It was the summer of 1979, and Lizzie had been about to go to secondary school with all her friends. She had not spoken to her parents since the move was first discussed the month before.

‘I’m not coming!’ Lizzie had screamed, slamming her bedroom door shut. ‘You can go without me!’

Unfortunately for Lizzie, her parents had refused to leave her behind, and she found herself stuffed in the back of their old Volvo surrounded by boxes of items that were too precious to send in the van, with her grandfather’s ashes in an urn on her lap.

If there was any consolation, it was that her older sister, Susan, was even more miserable about the move than she was, and had spent the entire journey so far sobbing loudly, mascara running down her face.

‘What is this place?’ Susan wailed as they drove down Grimstone high street. ‘It’s so small! Where are all the shops?’

‘There are shops, Susan, dear,’ her father said patiently. ‘Look, there’s a fishing shop there, and a bookshop over there.’

‘WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO BUY IN A BOOK SHOP?’ Susan screamed, collapsing into another gale of tears.

They drove through Grimstone and just as they emerged out into the countryside, they turned down a somewhat overgrown drive. Ahead of them, sitting on top of a hill, was their new house. It was much larger than the photographs had implied, more of a mansion than a house. Three storeys high and perfectly symmetrical, it was painted cream with duck-egg blue shutters.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Lizzie breathed.

The Compton family stepped out of their car and looked up at their new home.

‘It looks like a doll’s house!’ Mrs Compton said.

The house was even prettier inside, with delicate floral wallpaper and enormous sash windows that looked out over the hills.

‘What do you think, girls?’ Mr Compton asked.

‘It’s OK,’ Susan sniffed.

The family started to settle in. Susan yelled until she got the bigger room on the first floor, with its own frilly dressing table, complete with a set of enamelled hairbrushes and mirrors. Lizzie was given the attic room, which – from the look of the rocking-horse wallpaper – had once been a nursery. As she and Susan had shared in Liverpool, Lizzie loved the fact that she had a bedroom all to herself, even if it was smaller. The novelty of privacy would take a long time to wear off.

Grimstone was only a twenty-minute walk away, and even though Susan had dubbed it ‘The Most Boring Place in England’, Lizzie rather liked it. A wonderful old lady ran Aunt Bessie’s Sweet Shop and always gave Lizzie an extra lollipop when she stopped by. Lizzie didn’t much care for Bessie’s young daughter, though, or the way she stared at the customers accusingly while pretending to smoke a pack of candy cigarettes.

The other children in the village hadn’t been terribly friendly; in fact, they hadn’t said a word to Lizzie or her sister. Susan was extremely pretty, and was usually surrounded by admirers and girls wanting to borrow her coral lipstick. The lack of attention had made her even more unbearable than normal and Lizzie hoped that matters would improve once they started school.

They didn’t. On their first day of school, they were completely ignored. When Lizzie was asked to introduce herself in front of her new class, the other students averted their eyes. At lunch she was forced to sit with her sister, because every time one of them tried to sit with a group, the other children would move silently to another table.

‘What is going on?’ Susan hissed. ‘I’m the prettiest girl here by miles.’

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

‘Why aren’t they talking to us?’ Susan continued. ‘Probably intimidated, stupid country bumpkins.’

‘And you’re so nice too!’ Lizzie said.

‘I know!’ Susan agreed, oblivious.

At the end of the day Susan stormed back to their house, while Lizzie walked through the town, with the intention of stopping by Aunt Bessie’s.

‘Pssst,’ Lizzie heard.

She stopped.

‘Psst!’ someone said. ‘Over here!’

Lizzie saw a small, bespectacled face peeping out from an alley. She walked over and found a short, chubby boy in a blue mackintosh, his hand thrust in a packet of crisps.

‘Hi,’ Lizzie said.

‘Shhhhh,’ the boy replied. ‘I can’t be seen talking to you.’

He pulled her into the alley, checking that no one was coming.

‘Why not?’ Lizzie said, outraged.

‘It’s nothing personal,’ the boy replied. ‘You and your sister, you live in the house on the hill, right?’

‘Yes,’ Lizzie said.

‘You’ve got to move out,’ the boy said.

‘What do you mean?’ Lizzie laughed. ‘We’ve only just got here.’

‘And you’ll be leaving one way or another, you can be sure of that, so my advice is: do it now.’

‘Why?’ Lizzie said.

‘Didn’t you wonder why you moved in the first place?’ the boy asked.

‘Mum inherited it,’ Lizzie said.

‘Who from?’

‘From an aunt.’

‘And have you ever met this aunt?’ the boy said, a touch of smugness in his voice.

‘Well . . . no,’ Lizzie admitted.

The boy sighed. ‘I couldn’t help but notice,’ he said, ‘that your sister is rather good-looking.’

Lizzie sighed. ‘Look, if that is why you dragged me here then –’

‘It isn’t!’ the boy replied. ‘If you want to know, I actually think you’re prettier, but that isn’t the point. The point is that every few years, a family moves into that house, and they always have children our age, and one of them is always . . . attractive.’