Читаем The Ribbajack полностью

Turning her back dismissively, Mrs. Carroll left the room, calling back to her daughter, “That’s your problem, miss. No coat, no ice rink tonight!”

It was less than fifteen minutes’ brisk walk to L.E.T. (Leah Edwina Tranter) School. Maggie hunched her shoulders as she slouched along. Feeling very badly done to, she ruminated on life’s injustices.

Only an idiot didn’t know school was closed on weekends, and she had an idiot for a mother! Late afternoon was starting to fade into November twilight. Maggie began imagining fictitious scenes. A young girl (herself) run down by a car whilst crossing the road. She pictured her grieving mother.

“I should’ve listened to dear Maggie and left it ’til Monday. But no, I made her go. Now I’ve lost my only daughter, and all because of a coat she didn’t even like. Oh, I’ll never forgive myself!”

Hah, that’d teach her a lesson. Maggie was not too keen on being killed by the car. Maybe it would just be an injury. She pictured both distraught parents waiting in a hospital corridor. Her father, grim and tight-lipped.

“Will she be alright, Doctor, will Maggie live?”

The doctor, shaking his head. “We’ll just have to pray, and wait for the results of the scan. There’s a fifty-fifty chance Maggie may recover. Mrs. Carroll, I hope you’ll think twice in the future before treating your daughter so harshly.”

Maggie crossed the road moodily. There was not a car in sight.

L.E.T. loomed large in the dwindling daylight. It was an old greystone school, built in the 1820s. She noticed for the first time how gloomy and hostile it appeared. Still, no need to worry—it was probably shut.

Maggie’s fertile imagination was working on another scheme. What if she caught a cold or a severe chill through being sent on a fool’s errand? She would willingly give up a visit to the ice rink just to get even with her mother. A week off school, wrapped snugly in bed, looking pale and interesting. Toying listlessly with her PlayStation and listening to a CD whilst picking at her food.

Mentally she could hear her dad speaking downstairs. “Good grief, Annie, what were you thinking of, sending the girl out with only an old denim jacket on?”

Maggie pushed the front gates of the school driveway. To her surprise, the heavy iron-barred structure creaked open. She paused. Maybe the caretaker had forgotten to lock them. There was no sign of activity from the building, and nobody in sight. Even before she reached the entrance door, Maggie could see it was ajar. She stopped on the steps, looking hopefully about. Behind her, the gravel path with its border of withered brown bushes stood silent and forlorn. Ahead of her she glimpsed the gloomy corridor through the partially open door. Maggie was left with a choice. Either she could return home and lie that the school was closed, or she could go inside and retrieve the coat, then go to the ice rink that evening. She blew a long sigh and shrugged. Might as well go and get the coat, now she had come this far.

How different the old school looked inside! Maggie had only ever been there when it was packed with students and staff. But here it was, dead as a mausoleum, with no heating or light switched on, devoid of everybody. Except herself. The only sound in the entire building was the thud of her own footsteps, echoing away down the passage. That and the beating of her heart, which had suddenly become abnormally loud in her ears. An uneasy feeling took hold of Maggie. She pulled to one side of the corridor. Walking close to the wall, she felt less exposed than if she were occupying the centre of the floor. Crossing a side passage, which led off to the lecture hall, something caught Maggie’s eye. A movement. She froze, keeping her face straight ahead, but straining her eyes sideways. Down the passage, in the last weak rays of daylight, something, or someone, was definitely moving. Also, there was a faint rattling sound.

Moving swiftly on, she collided with the corner of the wall. Maggie was not really hurt, but the impact caused her to turn slightly. She was forced to face the unknown terror. There it was, a high window with a pale shaft of light reflecting on the opposite wall. From outside, the overhanging branch of a tree was rattling its leafless twigs in the wind, causing them to tap against the glass, casting a moving shadow pattern on the far wall. She stifled a sob of relief, glad that nobody was there to witness her senseless panic. Taking a firm grip of herself, Maggie moved on fast.

It was a mistake. From the end of the corridor a figure was visible, standing by the end wall, right next to the library door. Maggie retreated immediately, ducking into the side passage. This was no shadow she had seen, it was a real person who had been coming toward her. Wide-eyed, and with the hair prickling on the nape of her neck, she heard her own voice calling out squeakily, “Who’s there?”