Authors: James Dawson
Chapter 26
Bobbie was falling. Arms folded over her face, Bobbie crashed onto Dr Price’s desk, scattering pens, papers and empty coffee mugs. She felt the impact on her hips, elbows and knees, the edge of the desk hitting her right in the gut and winding her completely. Bobbie slid to the floor, her eyes adjusting to the gloom in the empty office.
Outside, the sky was almost pitch-black – how long had she been in Mary’s realm? It had felt like minutes, but the dark skies said otherwise.
The echoing drip was louder than ever. Pushing Price’s desk chair out of the way, Bobbie clambered to her feet, aching all over from the impact of the fall. ‘Ow,’ she groaned, brushing down her crumpled pyjamas. So that was what had happened to Mary Worthington. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. She’d died in this very spot sixty years ago. An accident, but an accident that was Kenton Millar’s fault.
Something flickered in her peripheral vision, and Bobbie knew just what it was. What a rookie mistake to make …
She had her back to the mirror.
It isn’t over.
Oh-so-slowly, Bobbie turned. No … sudden … moves. There
she
was in the reflection, inching across the room towards Bobbie’s mirror image. Bobbie finally saw Mary properly. Judy was correct, Mary was beautiful in a way – full, defined lips, high cheekbones and icy blue eyes. She had a strong, Roman nose though, which, instead of pretty, made her almost handsome.
To get to that conclusion, however, Bobbie had to see past the blood. The falling mirror and shattering glass had left dozens of cuts all over Mary’s face and body, and, unlike Bobbie’s phantom cuts, Mary’s bled. Vivid scarlet blood ran all down her face in thick, worm-like rivulets. Her uniform was saturated in crimson and her lank black hair was matted to her head.
Mary’s eyes, burning through the blood, never left her. With each step, she edged closer to Bobbie, her hands reaching for her. Bobbie knew her time had come. Acting on instinct, Bobbie did the only thing she could think of. Grabbing the smaller chair at the side of the grand desk, Bobbie swung it at the glass at the very same moment Mary’s red fingers reached through the mirror’s surface.
With a shriek, Bobbie struck the mirror. There was an ear-splitting crack and Bobbie felt her arms strain as the chair bounced back. It was enough though. Jagged triangles spilled out of the ornate frame, jangling and shattering to the floor. Not leaving anything to chance, Bobbie took another swing, attacking what was left at the edges. Soon glass was piled up around her feet and she took a cautious step backwards. ‘Good luck getting through that.’
Hands shaking, she let the chair fall to the floor. If the room would just stop spinning she might be able to figure out what to do next. Bobbie clung to the desk for support. All she could feel was sadness and despair circling around her, but she couldn’t let them win when she still needed to work things out. Caine
and
Naya. She’d lost them. She’d failed them. That
emptiness
she’d felt in the darkness behind the mirror – was that what death was, just
nothingness
? Eternal nothingness, but a nothingness that you’re aware of – it was too awful to comprehend. The thought of Naya and Caine falling through that vacuum forever …
Can they feel it?
Are they awake?
For their sakes she hoped not; she preferred to think that they were sleeping – dreaming of something nice.
There was a shrill creak behind her and she whirled round, half expecting Mary to burst out of a mirror on the far side of the room. Bobbie clutched her chest. It was just a wardrobe door swinging on a hinge that needed a drop of oil. For a horrible moment, Bobbie wondered if it had a mirror on the inner door like the ones in the dorms, but she remembered it didn’t from when she’d helped Dr Price tidy up.
Wait a second. Bobbie no longer believed in coincidence.
‘That cupboard
again
,’ she said to herself, switching on the table lamp for a better look. Bobbie gave the heap of shattered glass one last check before stepping out from behind the desk. She recalled Mary lingering by that cupboard the last time she’d been in here
and
that it had tumbled open then too. Now that she thought about it, the very first time she’d followed Mary (when she’d taken her glasses), she’d been led to this room. For whatever reason, Mary wanted Bobbie to see inside.
Bobbie decided that if she did somehow get through the next few hours, she was so expelled that a little cupboard break-in couldn’t hurt. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she got to work. The cupboard contained files and files, most marked as some sort of policy: Food Policy, Religion Policy, Policies Policy. The top two shelves were made up of pupil records – the very top shelf held files called ‘Former Pupils’. Bobbie knew exactly what she was looking for: 1954. There was a folder for every five years or so (Bobbie guessed about the time it took a girl to go through the school). Not caring how much mess she made, she tossed irrelevant files to the floor in her search for the right one. She was soon standing in a crisp, white sea of paper.
It was no good – they were all too recent, only dating back to the 1990s. On the very top floor of the school was a records room, where Bobbie guessed most of the older files were kept. But if that were true, Mary wouldn’t have directed her here. ‘Where is it?’ Bobbie hissed through gritted teeth. She stopped and squashed all the remaining files to one end of the shelf.
Behind
the other files was a simple manila folder bound with a leather strap.
Bobbie pulled it out. The file was marked ‘Confidential Pupil Records – For Head Teacher Only’. What the hell – Bobbie tore the band off and sat on the floor in the midst of her file destruction.
It was a folder full of girls’ portraits. Taylor Keane and Abigail Hanson were on top, along with police and newspaper reports of their disappearances. There were more girls – all Piper’s Hall Ladies, all missing. All
Mary’s
. Now Sadie and Naya could be added to the gruesome roll call. Instinctively, Bobbie turned the pack upside down to find the first girl who’d gone missing – Mary herself.
Sure enough there was everything she hadn’t found online. A school portrait, a year-group photo (with Mary stood slightly apart, no other girl wanting to be shoulder to shoulder with her it seemed) and her report cards. A life story too; Bobbie lingered on her registration forms.
Mary Eloise Worthington, born 1938. Father: unknown. Mother: Eliza Worthington (no fixed abode). There was a letter on Radley Comprehensive headed paper too – the school that would one day become Radley High, no doubt: ‘Mary has struggled to settle at Radley, but due to her excellent attainment in all fields we firmly feel she could flourish at Piper’s Hall. We have no doubt she would excel in such an establishment. Mary is a shy, withdrawn young lady who would benefit from the more nurturing environment boarding could provide.’ Bobbie scoffed at that; there was nothing like sending your kids away to school to put an end to any nurturing one might have had. Bobbie didn’t
hate
boarding school, but while she had felt safe, secure, even encouraged, she had never felt nurtured.
There was a separate sheet – a different handwritten letter to the then Head, Mr Fisk. ‘Dear Mr Fisk,’ it read, ‘I am writing to you to insist that my daughter, Phyllis, is moved from her current dormitory in Brontë House. Her letters home are increasingly agitated since she was placed in a room with a young woman called Mary. Phyllis is quite simply terrified of her and has been struggling to sleep since she arrived at your school … ’ It went on in much the same tone.
The final sheet was a typed letter to Eliza Worthington from Mr Fisk. ‘Further to our conversations, we wished to write to express our sorrow that we were unable to provide a safe environment for your daughter. All evidence suggests that on the evening of the 17
th
September, Mary absconded from Brontë House. You must understand that we operate a school, not a jail, and try as we might, if a Piper’s Hall Lady chooses to leave the premises there is little we can do to stop her. We have fully cooperated with the police and I understand the search continues … ’
A tear splattered onto the page, blotting even the old ink. Bobbie wiped her cheek. Poor Mary. It all made sense – a horrid sort of sense. Kenton Millar, on purpose or not, had killed Mary Worthington
and
her unborn child. God knows how, but a part of her had got stuck in that, and every, mirror.
Another tear rolled down her cheek. Mary was lost in that awful blackness, listening for her name. They’d called her, some sort of lighthouse, guiding her back from the other side of the ocean. The same way Caine had somehow brought her back.
Millar must have done something with her body. Bobbie rifled through the remaining sheets on her lap, but knew he’d never be stupid enough to leave evidence behind. There was nothing about a body in the pages, cementing Bobbie’s certainty that the key to the haunting was finding Mary’s resting place.
Think, brain, think!
She struggled to put herself in the guilty teacher’s shoes – if it were her, what would she do with a body?
Bobbie didn’t even notice the door opening. ‘There’d better be a really, really good explanation for this … ’ Dr Price’s eyes cut through the gloom like lasers.
Bobbie dropped the folder, shocked.
‘And let’s start by talking about how you got out of the Isolation Room.’
She was so over this. ‘Or we could talk about how you left me in there even when you thought the school was on fire.’
‘Touché. We knew it wasn’t a fire. We decided to focus on locating whoever had set the alarm off. I imagine it was your
friend
from Oxsley.’
Bobbie glowered at her, no longer intimidated by the ginger witch.
‘Now, given that your entire future at Piper’s Hall depends on this, I suggest you explain yourself. Just what do you think you’re doing?’
‘You lied.’ Bobbie stood, fighting to maintain her composure. Screaming and shouting wasn’t going to get her taken seriously. ‘You knew full well that girls go missing from Piper’s Hall, and you’ve done nothing to stop it, and now Naya and Sadie are gone and I’ll be next.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes I do and so do you. This is about Mary Worthington.’
‘There was no such girl.’
‘I have proof!’ Bobbie raised her voice and pointed at the array of paperwork at her feet. ‘There’s actual evidence – although I see the school did a pretty good job of covering it up.’
Dr Price put her hands on her hips and smiled. ‘Roberta, I have to hand it to you, you don’t give up. Creativity, enterprise, perseverance. A perfect Piper’s Lady.’
Bobbie bit down on her jaw, resolute. ‘Mary Worthington died right where you are standing.’
In the dim lamp light, Dr Price’s gaze looked to her office wall. ‘Oh my God, what have you done to my mirror?’
‘Listen to me!’ Bobbie yelled. ‘Kenton Millar got her pregnant and then killed her right here! Well,’ she conceded, ‘it was an accident, but it was his fault.’
The temperature in the room dropped to way below zero. Dr Price advanced and Bobbie had no choice but to back into the corner. ‘What did you just say?’
Bobbie withered under the intensity of her stare. ‘I … I said that the old Head, Mr Millar, he was having an affair with Mary – not while he was Head, but before that, in 1954.’ She backed into a potted palm next to the wall. There was nowhere left to go, but Price continued to advance on her, cornering her.
‘How
dare
you?’ Price breathed. ‘Kenton Millar was one of the most brilliant and generous Heads this school has ever had.’
‘I swear on my life it’s true. When Mary told him she was pregnant they had a fight and she died. He … he must have hidden the body.’
Price pinned her to the wall, both hands clamped on her shoulders. Bobbie was scared, far more scared than she’d ever been of Mary; there was nothing ghostly about the vice-like grip. The older woman’s nostrils flared. ‘I think I’d know if my father had killed someone, don’t you?’
The ‘sudden plummet’ sensation in Bobbie’s stomach was getting far too familiar. ‘Wh-what?’
‘My maiden name was Ellen Millar. Are you really trying to tell me my father murdered someone? I want you to think very,
very
carefully before you answer … ’
Bobbie’s lips opened and closed like a fish out of water. Price was trembling with rage – her knuckles white and veins swollen in her forehead. Kenton Millar had killed to keep his secret buried and Bobbie couldn’t help but wonder if his daughter would kill to keep it that way.
Chapter 27
‘How? How can you be Millar’s daughter?’ Bobbie was finding it so difficult to make sense of what was unfolding.
Price frowned. ‘It’s no big secret. I don’t advertise the fact; I want to build my own legacy here, not just trail after my father’s. However, he was a great man and a fantastic teacher and what you just said is
slander
!’ Her lips curled, the anger firing up again in her eyes.
But Bobbie had come too far and seen too much to crumble now. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Price, but it’s true. Why would I make it up?’ Her voice wobbled, but didn’t break. ‘You’ve seen how many girls have vanished. Don’t you think it’s weird? There’s no way it’s coincidence. It’s all because of what your dad did to Mary. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like she can’t rest because no one ever found the body.’
Dr Price’s gaze fell to the floor, her eyes twitching like she was trying to solve an equation in advanced algebra.
‘Please let go of me,’ Bobbie said softly. ‘You’re hurting me.’
Price let go, her arms flopping to her side as if they were made from spaghetti. Shoulders hunched, she fell into the spinning office chair, which she pulled away from the shattered glass and gaping gold frame. ‘Oh God. Is that what … ? All that time … ’ She seemed to be talking to herself. Her head fell into her hands.
Bobbie backed away to a safe distance. ‘What?’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Dr Price,
please
. She’s coming for me … ’
Price deflated like a balloon. ‘Just before my father died, he was very, very sick. On his deathbed he was talking absolute gibberish, but he kept saying this one thing over and over.’ She stopped, shaking her head.
‘And?’ Bobbie urged.
‘He kept asking to confess. He kept asking for a priest, saying that he needed to confess his sins before he died.’ Price muffled a laugh. ‘We weren’t even Catholic! I thought he was delirious … but now … ’
‘Mary
was
pregnant. He
was
responsible for her death,’ Bobbie finished.
Price looked her dead in the eye. ‘Oh God. He also said he was sorry. Over and over again. We never knew what for … ’ A tear fell off her cheekbone and splashed onto her skirt.
Bobbie shook her head. This whole situation was awful, but she wouldn’t feel sorry for the man who’d preyed on a vulnerable schoolgirl. ‘It was a little late for sorry.’
Price didn’t reply.
‘Did he say
anything
that might lead us to her body?’ Bobbie asked. ‘She died in here – he wouldn’t … couldn’t have gone far.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Please, Dr Price, there must be something that stood out –’ Bobbie stopped as she became aware of a steady dripping noise. The lamp on Price’s desk flickered before dying entirely. ‘Oh no.’
Price frowned and tried to turn the lamp back on. ‘Strange … ’
Behind Price, near the wheels of her desk chair, there was one broken fragment of glass larger than the rest – a vicious-looking scalene triangle reflecting the ceiling as it lay flat on the floor.
A dripping hand burst through, closely followed by the top of a head. Bobbie shrieked and stumbled away from the desk. Price sprang off the chair. ‘What? What are you looking at?’
‘You can’t see her?’
‘What on earth are you talking about? There’s nothing there!’
Mary squeezed a second arm through the narrow shard, dislocating her shoulder with a moist crack to fit through the narrow gap. Splinters of mirror jangled as Mary pulled her body through into the room. Dripping crimson dots all over the carpet, she moved unnaturally fast, her joints and bones clicking and clacking as if she hadn’t used them in a very long time. She emerged fully from the mirror and drew herself upright.
Bobbie backed away, colliding with an office chair. ‘She’s here! She’s right behind you! We have to get out of here!’
‘Bobbie, there’s nothing there.’ Dr Price’s voice was cold with impatience.
Mary started towards them, heavy spots of blood splattering as she went. It ran from her fingers. The dead girl moved slowly, on uncertain legs, as if she wasn’t accustomed to solid ground beneath her feet. Bobbie remembered the infinite darkness behind the mirror and shuddered.
‘Please!’ Bobbie cried. ‘She’s coming for me.’
Price seized her arm. ‘You need to pull yourself together. We have to talk about my father. I will not have you going all over telling people what he did. You have no proof.’ The teacher dragged her away from the exit and towards the silent, oncoming Mary.
‘No!’ Bobbie snapped. Snatching her arm back, she did something she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of. She pushed Dr Price into the dead girl’s path. The teacher was expecting it even less, her mouth falling open in shock. In true haunting style, Price fell
through
Mary as if she were made of smoke and straight into the nest of paperwork Bobbie had left all over the floor. One step onto the loose leaves and Price’s court shoe slipped out from under her, sending her clattering into the open cupboard. With a shrill cry, her forehead clashed with the second shelf down and then the third as she fell.
Price lay in an untidy heap, half in and half out of the cupboard. She moaned slightly, hovering somewhere close to unconsciousness.
Bobbie backed away, not taking her eyes off Mary. There was only one problem: Mary now stood between her and the only exit. ‘Mary, stop!’ Bobbie pleaded, trying to stay cool. ‘Where did he put you? Do you even know?’ Bobbie’s bottom collided with the desk, knocking an overturned coffee cup to the floor. Bobbie felt her way around the desk.
The pain in her sock-clad foot when she stepped on the glass was excruciating. It shot up and down her spine and red flashed before her eyes. Howling, Bobbie stepped back further, only to tread on more shards. The pain was acute, intense, throbbing all the way up her legs. She leaned against the hole she’d made in the centre of the huge mirror, with Mary still edging towards her. Bobbie raised her left foot to examine the damage: a little-finger-sized glass sliver stuck out of her sole. Her white sock was quickly turning red. Gritting her teeth, she pulled it free – her own blood now dripping onto the carpet.
The wall beneath her shoulder felt strange – too flimsy to be a wall. It was wooden. Office walls aren’t made of wood. That was when Bobbie noticed the outline. It wasn’t a wall at all, it was a
door
: a small hatch concealed behind the mirror. Of course! Another secret passage, or a priest’s hole – one of the legendary priests’ holes.
Whatever it was it didn’t matter. With all her might, Bobbie pushed on the hidden panel and it swung inward. The space behind the door was pitch-black, but Mary was only centimetres away. A blood-stained hand reached for Bobbie’s face, and, with a gasp, she ducked to avoid it, clambering through the hole.
Ignoring the pain in her feet (which now seemed to
burn
), Bobbie reached up and slammed the hatch in Mary’s face. It clicked shut but Bobbie had no idea if secret doors could stop ghosts. Leaning back against it, Bobbie strained to see in the darkness. Feeble grey light bled around the edges of the panel and it was just enough to recognise that she was at the top of a staircase, which had to lead
somewhere
. That meant it was more than just a hidey-hole; it could go anywhere in the school.
The penny dropped. This was exactly how Kenton Millar must have moved Mary’s body all those years ago. There’s no way you could have a secret passage behind your mirror and not know about it. That made her mind up. Her only option was to follow the passage and pray it hadn’t been bricked up over the decades. If she ran into a dead end, it was game over.
Bobbie hobbled forward, her feet stinging with every step. She left ketchup-red, sticky footprints as she went.
The stairs were steep, slick and icy cold. With each pained step, the air became staler, like she was descending into a cellar. Bobbie felt her way along the walls as the darkness crept closer. By the time her foot found flat slabs, she couldn’t see at all; it was almost like being back inside the awful abyss of Mary’s realm.
The echoing drops of water that fell from the ceiling – real this time – suggested she was in a confined space: a tunnel or cave – nothing like the functional servants’ passages. She must be
underneath
the school from the sheer number of stairs she’d taken.
Something crawled over her toes. Bobbie cried out and kicked it off, the thing giving an angry squeak before tiny paws scurried away. The passage was infested with rats – Bobbie grimaced and set off into the shadows. Trying to run, but only managing a feeble limp while clinging to the walls, Bobbie hoped there was nothing in the darkness to cut her feet.
Oh … wait a sec …
Despite everything she laughed. Was that actually funny or was she hysterical? Either way the evil doll giggle she was making was more than a little creepy.
Stop. You have to keep it together. Keep going.
Bobbie froze. She leaned against the wall, which, this far down, was slimy with damp. Even over her unsteady, heaving breaths and chattering teeth she heard unsteady footsteps scraping down the stairs behind her.
That wasn’t rats … Mary was on the stairs.
The hysterical laughter swung into a sob. Bobbie pushed off the wall and continued her excruciating run. At least the freezing stone tunnel went some way towards numbing her feet. She tried to stay on tiptoes to keep the pressure off the cuts in her soles and heels. Hobbling as fast as she could, Bobbie didn’t even look back.
Mary was advancing in the darkness. She wouldn’t see her until she felt those fingers.
The tunnel seemed endless. There were no bends, no corners, the blackness stretching on forever. Bobbie wondered if it was already over and this was Hell – one infinite, black tunnel.
She wheezed as she ran and her breathing switched to panting. Pausing for a moment, she heard feet shuffling behind her.
Way
too close. Bobbie ran on, hands outstretched. Within seconds she realised she could see brickwork up ahead. The fact she could see
anything
meant there was light entering the tunnel. With renewed vigour she charged forward, only for her spirit to wilt: there was a dead end up ahead. No, it wasn’t a dead end, it was a wall. A wall with a ladder.
Bobbie threw herself at it and looked over her shoulder. If there was something moving back down the long corridor it wasn’t close enough for her to see. Looking up she saw the light was filtering through a vent at the top of a narrow shaft. A way out. It felt like dawn breaking at the end of her longest night.
She grabbed the rung of the ladder at eye level. The wooden rungs felt wet and greasy, covered in moss or mould. Bobbie feared the wood was rotten, still it felt sturdy enough. Gripping the ladder with the tips of her toes, she started to climb. Jolts of pain tore through her body every time she tried to put weight on her feet, so she tried as hard as she could to
pull
herself up the ladder, utilising all the strength she had in her arms. It hurt so, so much, but all she had to do was get to the vent and at least she’d be out of the tunnel and (hopefully) in fresh air.
There came footsteps from the bottom of the ladder and out of the corner of her eye Bobbie saw a shadow shift in the meagre light. She climbed faster.
The rusted mental vent overhead was within reaching distance, although God knew what was on the other side. Bobbie stretched for the final rung and heaved herself up.
There was a sickening crack and the rung broke off in her hand. She dropped it, scrabbling for something else to grab. The second the weight went onto her feet, she howled in pain and, in reflex, let go.
She fell. She fell fast, like a stone dropping down a well. All she could do was brace for landing. The end was mercifully swift. Bobbie hit the floor with a thud, her feet (her poor feet) taking most of the impact. At first she was too shocked to register any pain. She lay flat on her back, staring up at the shaft, blinking like an idiot. Then the pain
really
hit. If she thought lacerated feet had been bad, it was nothing to the agony that started to spread through her ankles like lava.
It hurt so much she couldn’t breathe. Nor could she move.
Something warm dripped onto her cheek. Like a teardrop. There was another, then another.
Drip, drip, drip.
Bobbie was mobile enough to tilt her head back an inch on the cold stone slabs.
Mary stood over her, blood running from her fingers onto her face. ‘No,’ Bobbie muttered. After everything she’d done. After fighting so hard … it had done her no good.
Mary’s cold, impassive face leaned towards Bobbie’s own. Bobbie felt her shallow, raspy breaths on her skin, as if the other girl’s lungs were filled with fluid. ‘Please … ’ she begged.
A freezing, dewy hand touched her cheek. A bloody lock of her hair grazed Bobbie’s lip. The stench of her breath was overwhelming – like the girl’s insides were rotten. Bobbie whined and tried to wriggle away, but she was pinned down; Mary was right on top of her, leaning in. All Bobbie could do was close her eyes and wait for it to end.