Книга - Raggy Maggie

Raggy Maggie
Barry Hutchison


Afraid of a cute little dolly, are you? Well, you should be…Billy is the hardest kid in school and a horrible bully. So Kyle could almost find it funny that Billy's childhood invisible friend was a little dolly named Raggy Maggie.Almost, but not quite.Because now Raggy Maggie is back, and she wants Kyle to play a game. The game is very simple. Find where she's hidden Billy – or Billy dies…








Invisible Fiends




Raggy Maggie

Barry Hutchison












To Mum and Dad.



For believing, even when I didn’t, and for

having confidence when I had none.

Oh, and for all the food and money.




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u3f843dda-c7ca-5c29-976c-333c61df1edc)

Title Page (#uc7f8f798-5db6-56a8-8513-2bd860e1d233)

PROLOGUE (#ud73af444-70c4-57cf-a7ff-caa64fa2b0c9)

TWENTY-THREE DAYS EARLIER… (#u7e581f07-9a33-56f2-8caa-b838e73fb4d2)

Chapter One I DON’T LIKE MONDAYS (#u9362b3f5-825e-5e6b-94d9-d3178503c24c)

Chapter Two BILLY GIBB (#u98f338ad-10c9-52c2-a5df-0165f0617bf9)

Chapter Three FAMILIAR FACES (#ud68cce0f-f420-527b-aedc-32396865d872)

Chapter Four TAG, YOU’RE IT (#u04eaea27-0252-54c7-a1c5-4a3778e1c14c)

Chapter Five SOMEWHERE ELSE (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six TEA FOR THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven THE GAME BEGINS (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight SHADOWS OF THE LOST (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine SWALLOWED WHOLE (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten CADDIE CADDIE HA-HA (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven CREAMING IT (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve THE CLIMB (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen THE RED ROOM (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen COMPLETE SURRENDER (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen THE CHASE (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen HOME SWEET HOME (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen DOLL’S HOUSE (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen SUDDEN DEATH (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




PROLOGUE (#ulink_06b47626-858f-5605-bb02-ca9950d5c4f0)


What had I expected to see? I wasn’t sure. An empty street. One or two late-night wanderers, maybe.

But not this. Never this.

There were hundreds of them. Thousands. They scuttled and scurried through the darkness, swarming over the village like an infection, relentless and unstoppable.

I leaned closer to the window and looked down at the front of the hospital. One of the larger creatures was tearing through the fence, its claws slicing through the wrought-iron bars as if they were cardboard. My breath fogged the glass and the monster vanished behind a cloud of condensation. By the time the pane cleared the thing would be inside the hospital. It would be up the stairs in moments. Everyone in here was as good as dead.

The distant thunder of gunfire ricocheted from somewhere near the village centre. A scream followed – short and sharp, then suddenly silenced. There were no more gunshots after that, just the triumphant roar of something sickening and grotesque.

I heard Ameena take a step closer behind me. I didn’t need to look at her reflection in the window to know how terrified she was. The crack in her voice said it all.

‘It’s the same everywhere,’ she whispered.

I nodded slowly. ‘The town as well?’

She hesitated long enough for me to realise what she meant. I turned away from the devastation outside. ‘Wait…You really mean everywhere, don’t you?’

Her only reply was a single nod of her head.

‘Liar!’ I snapped. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening.

She stooped and picked up the TV remote from the day-room coffee table. It shook in her hand as she held it out to me.

‘See for yourself.’

Hesitantly, I took the remote. ‘What channel?’

She glanced at the ceiling, steadying her voice. ‘Any of them.’

The old television set gave a faint clunk as I switched it on. In a few seconds, an all-too-familiar scene appeared.

Hundreds of the creatures. Cars and buildings ablaze. People screaming. People running. People dying.

Hell on Earth.

‘That’s New York,’ she said.

Click. Another channel, but the footage was almost identical.

‘London.’

Click.

‘I’m…I’m not sure. Somewhere in Japan. Tokyo, maybe?’

It could have been Tokyo, but then again it could have been anywhere. I clicked through half a dozen more channels, but the images were always the same.

‘It happened,’ I gasped. ‘It actually happened.’

I turned back to the window and gazed out. The clouds above the next town were tinged with orange and red. It was already burning. They were destroying everything, just like he’d told me they would.

This was it.

The world was ending.

Armageddon.

And it was all my fault.



TWENTY-THREE DAYS EARLIER… (#ulink_5c7eb066-0f2e-5996-8eac-fc8c91f9a00d)




Chapter One I DON’T LIKE MONDAYS (#ulink_edcfbc55-1b98-52f6-aa2d-be5a32dfe6ad)


Iawoke with a start, clutching at my covers, my skin slippery with sweat. It was the dream again. The long, dimly lit corridor. The locked door. The clop-ssshk of strange, unknown footsteps chasing me, then the soft giggle as I was dragged down into the darkness. The same story, night after night after night.

As always, the details of the dream quickly began to fade. I usually remembered the bigger things – the lights in the corridor going off; the grey, shapeless figure battering against the windows; even the voices on the other side of the locked door. It was the little details that got lost. I always remembered the voices whispering to me, but I could never recall a single word of what they actually said. Hopefully it wasn’t anything important.

I lay there for several minutes, slowly letting myself come round. There’d be no getting back to sleep, but lazing in bed for a few hours would be better than nothing.

Assuming I had a few hours. I had no idea what time it was. It was dark outside, but that didn’t help at all. It was early January, and dark until almost half past eight these days.

From the corner of my eye I could make out the red glow of my radio alarm clock. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and look at it. If I did then I might discover I had to get out of bed, and that was something I wasn’t ready to do. Not yet.

There were noises downstairs. That had to be bad news. The rattling of plates meant Mum was up, and the burning smell meant she was making breakfast. It would soon be time.

I shuddered at the thought of what awaited me today, and snuggled down into my covers. Despite the dream, right at that moment I felt completely safe and secure – something I hadn’t felt in a fortnight now. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, wanting to prolong the sense of security for as long as I could.

It had been less than two weeks since Christmas Day. Less than two weeks since “The Incident”. Since then, I’d been constantly on edge, always expecting something to come jumping out of the shadows, or crashing through my bedroom window.

But there had been nothing. No monsters. No journeys to other worlds. No cryptic messages from long-lost relatives. Nothing.

As the days passed, the sense of dread faded a little, only to be replaced by a new creeping terror. Another nightmare had been drawing steadily closer, and now it loomed on the horizon. Something that promised to be almost as bad as Christmas Day had been. Something horrible.

‘Kyle,’ Mum shouted from the bottom of the stairs. ‘It’s time to get up.’

I groaned into my pillow, knowing there was no way of escaping my fate. Knowing without doubt that the time had finally come.

Raising my head, I looked in the direction of my bedroom door. Through the gloom I could make out a grey shape hanging there, its long, thin arms flapping loosely down by its sides.

My shirt. Mum had ironed it. That confirmed things. The holidays were officially over.

It was time to go back to school.



Mum was scraping the black bits off a slice of toast when I shuffled into the kitchen, tucking my shirt into the itchy grey trousers of my uniform. She had quite a fight on her hands – the toast seemed to be nothing but black bits.

‘I made you toast,’ she said, ‘but it might be a bit…crispy.’

I caught sight of another few slices of burned bread and headed for the food cupboard. ‘I’ll just have cornflakes.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Mum shrugged, but I could tell she was secretly relieved. She let the toast drop into the bin, then turned to face me. I could feel her watching my every move as I poured myself the final dregs from the cornflakes box and sloshed them with the last of the milk.

She waited until I had crammed the first spoonful into my mouth before she started to speak.

‘Excited about going back?’

I couldn’t reply, so I just shrugged.

‘It’ll be fun,’ she smiled. ‘It’ll do you good to get out of the house and mixing again. You’ve hardly set foot outside the door since…’ The sentence was left hanging there. ‘It’ll be fun,’ she repeated, at last.

Mum didn’t like talking about what had happened. I’d tried to bring it up in the days after Christmas, but she’d always changed the subject. Now I didn’t even bother to mention it, because I couldn’t stand the awkward silences it created.

‘We’ve got a visitor this afternoon,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘Little Lilly from down the road. I’m babysitting.’

‘Little Lilly who?’ I asked, through a mouthful of cereal.

‘Lilly Gibb. She’s three. Angela’s little one.’

That didn’t help. I didn’t even know who Angela was. ‘What does she look like?’ I asked.

‘You’ve seen her before. Little girl. Blonde hair,’ Mum said. ‘Isn’t her brother in your class? Billy, I think.’

‘Billy Gibb’s sister’s called Lilly?’ I snorted. ‘Billy and Lilly. Very imaginative.’

Mum’s smile was thin-lipped. ‘Not everyone has your imagination.’

She wasn’t wrong there. I doubted anyone had an imagination quite like mine. Lucky for them.

‘She won’t be here for long, will she?’ I asked. I couldn’t be bothered with a little kid running around the house.

‘Just an hour or so after you get home,’ she said. I must’ve pulled a face or something, because she followed up with: ‘I know, honey, but…well, the money’ll come in handy.’

I nodded and adjusted my face into something resembling a smile. ‘It’s fine,’ I said, then I stuffed some more cornflakes into my mouth to stop me saying anything else.

I chewed in silence for a few moments. Mum was watching me. I could tell by the way she was breathing she was building up to saying something.

‘You know you can’t tell anyone?’ she finally said.

I swallowed down the soggy milky mush. ‘About babysitting Lilly Gibb?’

‘No, about what happened. About any of it.’

‘I was kidding,’ I said. ‘I know.’

‘Right. Because they wouldn’t understand,’ she continued. ‘It’d cause…problems.’

‘You mean they’d think I was mental.’

She smiled. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t think…’ Her voice cracked and her head suddenly dropped. When she looked up again she was ten years older. ‘It’s over now, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘You can put it behind you. We all can.’

I nodded in what I hoped would be a reassuring way. Inside, though, I knew she was wrong. ‘It begins.’ That’s what had been written on the card my dad had left for me.

Whatever was happening, it was far from over. Christmas had just been the start. I didn’t know what danger awaited me. I didn’t know what horrors I was going to face. I just knew something was going to happen, and I had a horrible suspicion it was going to happen soon.



‘Have fun!’ chirped Mum from the kitchen, as I pulled my red school jumper over my head, slung my bag over my shoulder and headed out into the hall. I got there in time to see a bundle of junk mail spew through the letterbox and spatter on to the mat.

‘Will do. Post’s here,’ I replied, kneeling to pick it up. ‘I’ll put it on the side.’ I flicked through the envelopes, looking for anything with my name on the front. There was nothing. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

As I moved to stand up, my gaze drew level with the letterbox. Two chubby fingers held it propped open. A pair of eyes stared in at me through the gap.

‘Um…hey, Hector,’ I said, recognising our postman from his grey eyebrows and wrinkled, weather-beaten skin. He watched me, unblinking. ‘You OK?’ I continued. ‘What…what are you doing?’

His gaze continued to bore into me, making me uncomfortable. Hector could be a bit quirky sometimes – that was part of what made him so popular on the street – but even for him, this was extra weird.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and lifeless, lacking its usual colour: ‘Peek-a-boo,’ he muttered. ‘I see you.’

Slowly, without another word, he let the letterbox creak back down into place. A second later, I heard him break into his familiar whistle as he walked back along the garden path.

Unsure of what had just happened, I stayed where I was – kneeling on the floor – until the whistling had faded into the distance. Hector’s weirdness shouldn’t have bothered me, but for some reason my heart was pumping like it was about to break out of my chest.

‘What are you doing?’ demanded Mum. Her voice made me jump upright in fright. I turned and saw her standing in the kitchen doorway, her hands on the hips of her pale brown dressing gown. ‘You’ll miss the bus. You’re going to be late for school.’



Mum was right. I was late for my first lesson, English, though not by much. The fact I arrived only two minutes after class had started didn’t seem to matter to Mr Preston, though. He was lounging in his chair with his hands behind his head when I stumbled my way into his classroom.

‘Well, well, speak of the devil,’ tutted the teacher, swivelling his seat to face me. ‘We were just discussing you, Mr Alexander.’

I glanced at the neatly spaced rows of not-so-friendly faces sitting in front of me and felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I offered, making a move towards the one empty desk in the class.

‘Not so fast there,’ Mr Preston said. His chair gave a squeak as he leaned forwards and stood up. His fingers brushed the polished surface of the motorbike helmet that sat, in pride of place, on his desk, then he shuffled lazily across to the blackboard.

Mr Preston is into motorbikes in a big way. I know this because he spends at least one whole lesson a week talking in excruciating detail about his own motorcycle. Once he joked that he loves the bike more than he loves his wife.

At least, I think he was joking.

The rest of the class and I watched as he chalked the words ‘What I Did in the Holidays’ on to the board.

‘To break us in gently, we were about to discuss what we did during the Christmas break,’ he explained, turning to face me. ‘Since you’re already up on your feet, perhaps you’d do us the honour of going first?




Chapter Two BILLY GIBB (#ulink_6d7df22e-2c77-560c-a133-b175dd3a83c6)


My cheeks felt like they were burning. I don’t like talking in front of people. I reckon if I’m ever forced to choose between speaking in public and having my fingernails torn out with pliers, I’ll have to give both options some really serious thought.

‘I didn’t do much,’ I shrugged, hoping that would be enough to get me off the hook. Of course, it wasn’t.

‘You didn’t do much?’ Mr Preston smirked. He half sat, half leaned on his desk, both hands now in his pockets. ‘Surely you can give us a bit more to go on than that?’

My mind raced. What could I say to get this over and done with quickly? I had to be careful not to reveal anything about Christmas Day itself, but I had to tell him something.

‘I…met a friend. A girl friend. I mean not a…Just a friend. Who’s a girl.’

As one, the class erupted into a chorus of ‘Ooohs’.

‘Who was it, your gran?’ called a voice from the back of the class. I recognised it as Billy Gibb. I’d know those smug tones anywhere.

Billy had a lot of muscle, but not much going on between the ears. He’d been kept back for two years in primary school, and so was much older – and bigger – than anyone else in class. The first time he had been forced to repeat the year on account of having had too many days off. And then, two years after that, he’d been kept back again. On account of being thick.

‘Quieten down,’ Mr Preston warned, giving the entire class one of his glares. As silence fell, he turned back to me. ‘I’m not sure if I want to hear the details or not,’ he frowned, ‘but carry on.’

I hesitated, boxing off in my head all the things I didn’t dare reveal about Ameena, the girl who had saved my life. I realised quite quickly that what was left wasn’t very interesting at all.

‘Nothing to tell, really,’ I said. ‘Just met her at Christmas.’

‘Where’d you meet her?’ demanded one of the other boys sitting near Billy.

Another pause. Telling them she’d saved me from being strangled to death on my front doorstep wasn’t really an option, even if it was the truth.

Christmas Day felt more and more like some distant, half-remembered nightmare. It had been no dream, though. It had happened. All of it.

I was alone in the house when he’d appeared, crashing through the living-room window in a shower of broken glass. Mr Mumbles had been my childhood imaginary friend. He’d been my funny little buddy, accompanying me everywhere I went. As I grew up I forgot all about him. Turned out he wasn’t happy about that.

When he came back he was different. Bigger. Stronger. His body and face twisted and disfigured. This time round he wasn’t interested in being friends. He had one goal and one goal only.

Killing me.

He would’ve managed too, had it not been for Ameena. She had appeared like an avenging angel, charging out of the darkness, swinging wildly with a baseball bat. She drove him back, buying us time to get away.

She’d stayed with me for most of the day, helping me when no one else could. How many times did she save my life? Twice? Three times? I couldn’t even remember.

Without her I never would have beaten Mr Mumbles. I owed her everything – my life, Mum’s, Nan’s. We all would have died had it not been for Ameena.

But I couldn’t tell the class that.

‘Earth to Kyle. Earth to Kyle.’

I blinked back into the present. Mr Preston was standing there, waving a hand slowly in front of my face. I could feel all eyes in the room on me. Somewhere off to the left, someone let out a low snigger.

‘Just bumped into her outside my house,’ I said. ‘We…we hung out for a bit.’

‘What was her name then?’ asked someone else.

‘Ameena,’ I replied. My mouth was going dry. I felt like I was being interrogated by the Secret Service.

‘What kind of name’s that?’

‘A made-up one by the sounds of things,’ sneered Billy. He and his neighbour cackled and exchanged a high-five. I glanced up at Mr Preston imploringly, but he wasn’t ready to let me off the hook just yet.

‘And where is she now?’ he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching. ‘This new friend of yours?’

I was free to answer truthfully this time. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see her again after that.’

Mr Preston took his hands out of his pockets and waved them as if he was conducting an orchestra. ‘Ready, everyone? One, two, three…’

On cue, the whole class joined together in one collective ‘Awwww!’

‘Fascinating stuff, Mr Alexander, truly fascinating,’ said Mr Preston sarcastically. ‘Now sit down, and please – for your sake as well as mine – don’t be late again.’



I shuffled sideways along the slow-moving line, holding my breath when I passed the soggy mound of cabbage that seemed to be crawling up and out of the plastic tub it lurked in.

Turkey burgers – I could hardly believe it. The first day back to school after the Christmas holidays and the canteen was serving turkey burgers. Someone somewhere had decided this was the perfect choice for the first-day-back menu. Incredible.

‘You not meeting your new bird for lunch then?’ I heard someone shout.

Billy Gibb had barged into the queue a few places ahead of me. He was staring at me now, waiting for some kind of response. I just shook my head and looked down at my cracked wooden tray. I didn’t need this. Not today.

I could spend all day describing the things that made Billy such an unpleasant person to be around. I could talk about his stupid, wispy facial hair. I could mention the way his nostrils were always flared and curving upwards, as if a dog had taken a crap on his top lip and his nose was doing its best to crawl away. I could even go on about his smell – fifty per cent stale cigarette smoke, fifty per cent even staler sweat, one hundred per cent revolting.

Really, though, what bothered me most was his personality. Or, to put it more accurately, his total lack of one.

‘She must’ve been a right dog to fancy you,’ he continued, trying to goad me into a fight. I wasn’t going to rise to it. I was better than that. Plus, he could kick my head in with one leg tied behind his back.

I heard him and a few of his mates jeering at me as I picked up my tray and walked away, but I tried not to listen. The healthy-eating counter didn’t have a queue – the healthy-eating counter never had a queue – so I could hopefully get served there and have my lunch eaten before he’d even ordered his.

The dinner lady on duty had her back to me as I approached. I waited patiently at the counter. I didn’t dare say anything, in case the shock of having a customer in this part of the canteen killed her stone dead.

After almost a minute, when she still showed no sign of turning in my direction, I gave a low, gentle cough.

That seemed to do the trick. With her two-sizes-too-small nylon uniform almost bursting at the seams, she at last shuffled round to look at me. Well, not exactly look. As she turned, I could see she was holding a chipped and dirty plate in front of her, completely hiding her face.

‘Um…hi,’ I began, assuming she’d move the plate when I started speaking. ‘Have you got anything that’s quite healthy, but not too healthy?’ The plate didn’t move. Maybe this was what being stuck on the healthy-eating counter all day did to you.

‘Like, do you do low-fat hot dogs or something? Or veggie burgers, but with, like, a little bit of meat in them?’

She just stood there, not responding, the plate not moving. I glanced across at the rest of the canteen. Everyone was going about their own business – ordering lunches, scoffing food, stuffing chips up smaller kids’ noses. No one was paying me or Plate Face the slightest bit of attention.

‘Er…hello?’ I tried. ‘Can you hear me?’

A low breath escaped her lips, like the ominous rumblings of a once dormant volcano. Slowly, she leaned her head a little to the right, as she tilted the plate slightly to the left. A single eye peered at me from around the cracked crockery’s edge.

‘Peek-a-boo,’ she whispered. ‘I seeeee you.’

The plate slipped from her fingers. A roar of delight went up from the kids in the canteen as the crockery shattered loudly on the patterned linoleum floor.



‘Nice work killing the dinner lady,’ grinned Billy, punctuating the sentence by punching me hard on the arm.

‘I didn’t kill her,’ I told him, pulling my schoolbag higher up on to my shoulder and quickening my pace along the science corridor. ‘She fainted.’

She had fainted. The second the plate had shattered on the ground, she’d kind of slumped down, like a puppet whose strings had all snapped. Complete pandemonium had followed, with the teachers all trying to help her up, and the pupils all falling over each other to take photos on their mobiles.

Most of the kids had been laughing, or chattering excitedly. Not me. There was something unsettling about the way the dinner lady had behaved. And what she’d said to me – she’d spoken the same words as Hector the postman had spoken this morning. Something was happening, I knew, but what that something was I had no idea.

Two of Billy’s friends rushed up to join him, and all thoughts of the dinner lady and the postie melted away. The three boys surrounded me – a minion on each side, Billy walking backwards in front of me.

‘Must’ve been your way with women,’ one of the lackeys snickered.

‘Or his smell,’ Billy suggested. All three of them laughed at that. I wanted to tell Billy I couldn’t possibly stink as badly as he did, but on the other hand I also wanted to live to see my next birthday.

Around us, other kids hurried on their way, not one of them so much as glancing in my direction as they scuttled past. I wasn’t expecting anyone to jump in and save me, but even a bit of supportive eye contact from someone would have been nice.

Every few steps, Billy would jab one of his sausage-like fingers into my shoulder. Each time was harder than the one before. I had to get him talking and get his mind off pushing me around, before he did me some serious damage.

‘My mum’s babysitting your little sister today,’ I said.

‘I know. My mum’s paying her twenty quid to do it.’ Billy’s face stretched into a mocking grin. ‘She says she feels sorry for your mum because she’s too useless to get a proper job. It’s like charity, she says, since you’re so poor.’

I felt my teeth clamp together and my fingers curl into fists. I didn’t mind him pushing me around. I could take that. But not my mum. Nobody made fun of my mum.

I stopped dead. The other boys carried on a few paces before they realised what had happened. Billy stopped, then looked me up and down, pausing briefly at my clenched fists. ‘Oh yeah?’ he sneered.

All three of them stepped in close to me, looming above me. Billy was right in my face, his nose next to mine, his stinking breath swirling up my nostrils. I stared up into his narrowed eyes, not flinching.

The other two were right at my sides. There was no way I could swing a punch without them stopping it. They were both poised, ready to grab my arms. Ready to hold me while Billy pummelled.

I felt my nerve go. The anger that had burned through me was snuffed out by a wave of fear.

‘You want to say something to me?’ Billy snarled. ‘Eh?’

I wanted to say a lot of things to him, but I didn’t dare. He made a sharp move towards me and I flinched. All three boys laughed at that.

‘So?’ he hissed. ‘What was it you wanted to say?’

My mind raced. My mouth went dry. I had to think of something to say, and fast.

And then I remembered – well, not exactly remembered, because the experience was one I would never, ever be able to forget. Right then, though, was the first time I’d put two and two together properly.

While hiding from Mr Mumbles I’d somehow transported myself to somewhere called the Darkest Corners. It was a horrible, terrifying place, full of horrible, terrifying creatures. That was where I’d met the girl.

She couldn’t have been more than five years old, but something about her had chilled me to the bone. Her skin was as pale as death, but caked here and there with thick blobs of make-up. A smear of lipstick across her mouth. Rings of black shadow around her eyes. A little girl playing at dressing up.

She had mentioned Billy. Or a Billy, at least. I doubted she was talking about this one, but it was worth a shot.

‘I met another girl I think you might know,’ I said shakily.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Billy crowed. ‘I know a lot of girls. What did she look like?’

He stepped back a little, so I quickly continued.

‘She was young,’ I said. ‘Maybe five or something?’ I glanced up at him. ‘She had a doll.’

‘A doll?’ he snorted. ‘Don’t know who you’re talking about.’

‘Weird-looking thing. The doll, I mean. The girl too, actually. What was her name again…?’ I wracked my brains. ‘Caddie,’ I announced. ‘That was it.’

The colour drained from Billy’s face, leaving him an ashen shade of grey. He eyeballed me, his head shaking ever so slightly from side to side.

‘Who told you about that?’ he demanded.

‘No one,’ I answered. ‘I met her. She asked if I knew you, said that you used to play with her or something.’

‘Shut up,’ Billy hissed. ‘You can’t…You…Who’ve you been talking to?’

I smiled nervously. Billy looked like a bomb about to explode, and I was standing directly in his path. ‘No one,’ I insisted. ‘I wasn’t speaking to any—’

The punch crunched into the soft bit between my stomach and my chest, and I felt my lungs instantly cramp up. Before I realised what was happening, Billy had me by the front of my shirt. He was shouting something, but all my attention was focused on trying to draw a breath, and I missed most of what he said.

‘…ever talk about that again,’ was the only bit I caught, before he pushed me to the floor and stalked off, his two minions following close behind.

Fighting the urge to puke, I crouched on the floor, feeling my breath gradually return. A few of my classmates glanced pityingly at me as they rushed past, but none of them bothered to stop.

Then, just as I had begun to think about getting up, a hand reached down, palm upwards. I looked at it, then up into eyes I hadn’t seen in a fortnight.

‘OK,’ frowned Ameena. ‘And you let that jerk get away with that because…?’




Chapter Three FAMILIAR FACES (#ulink_8d1ee967-97ee-55b8-9f8d-4fd19238dbff)


Ilet Ameena help me up, then stood there brushing myself down, not quite sure what to say to her. I’d begun to think I would never see her again, and now I couldn’t decide whether to hug her or shout at her. I decided, for the moment, to do neither.

She looked just as she had done when we’d first met, only now her long dark brown hair wasn’t matted to her face with rain, and her deep brown eyes weren’t wide with panic. She still wore the same shabby black jacket and jumper; still had the same oversized walking boots on her feet; still looked like she needed a good meal.

Seeing her brought everything rushing back. Every feeling from Christmas Day – the pain, the fear – came washing over me, all hitting me at once, making my legs go shaky and my head go light.

‘You should’ve kicked that guy’s ass,’ she told me, glaring along the corridor in the direction Billy had gone. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘Uh, well, because I can’t? You saw the size of him.’

She looked at me like I was crazy. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No, I’m not kidding,’ I said. ‘He’d kill me.’

‘What?’ she spluttered. ‘But…Christmas. The stuff you did. The stuff you can do.’

I pulled my bag back up on to my shoulder and set off along the corridor. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I said.

‘Maybe not, but it happened,’ she replied. ‘I saw it.’ She quickened her pace and stopped in front of me. ‘What, you think that guy’s anywhere near as tough as Mr Mu—’

‘Please,’ I implored, ‘can we not do this right now?’ I stepped past her and carried on towards my next class. ‘I’ll talk about it later, but just…not right now.’

She hesitated for a few moments, not following me. ‘No can do,’ she said at last. ‘I’m leaving town. Just dropped in to say goodbye.’

I stopped; turned to face her. I wanted to ask her where she was going. I wanted to ask her why she was going. There were a dozen questions I’d have liked the answer to. In the end, though, I just said: ‘Oh.’

‘Try not to get too cut up about it,’ she said sarcastically.

‘No, I…it’s…I thought you’d already moved on. I haven’t seen you since…you know.’ We stood there, several metres apart, all alone in the corridor. Virtually strangers.

‘Where were you?’ I asked, more forcibly than I’d intended.

‘I’ve been around,’ she shrugged. ‘Just thought you might need some space after everything that happened.’

‘What I needed was someone to talk to,’ I told her.

‘You had people to talk to. You mum. Your gran.’

‘Mum didn’t want to listen,’ I said. ‘And Nan…Nan doesn’t make a lot of sense half the time.’ I glanced down at the floor, then back up at her. ‘I needed someone who’d been through it. But you weren’t there.’

‘Hey, kiddo, I’m not a counselling service,’ Ameena shrugged. She folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight on to one foot. She was about the same age as me, but insisted on calling me “kiddo”. It drove me nuts.

‘No. But I thought you were a friend.’

‘Friends don’t get you anywhere,’ she scowled, before wincing slightly at the harshness of her words. ‘Listen, you want to talk? Here I am.’

‘I told you, not now,’ I answered. ‘Can we meet up later?’

‘And I told you, I’m leaving.’

‘Just ten minutes after school,’ I said. ‘Please.’

She looked at me for a few moments, then gave a sigh. ‘Ten minutes, then I’m gone. I’ll meet you outside.’

‘OK,’ I replied, fighting back a grin of delight. ‘I better run.’

‘Later.’

I gave her a goodbye nod, then hurried off towards my next class. Halfway along the corridor, I paused. ‘Oh, and Ameena,’ I said, turning round, ‘it’s good to see—’

But the corridor was empty. Ameena was already gone.



I started the first afternoon lesson – History – the same way I’d started the first class of the morning – late. The teacher, Mrs Ennis, didn’t look impressed when I scurried in, but at least she didn’t put me through any ritual humiliation before letting me take a seat.

It was a relief to see that Billy’s desk at the back of the class was empty. He skipped lessons quite a lot, and I was glad he’d chosen to give this one a miss. I’d had more than enough of him for one day.

The rest of the class were already studying a textbook by the time I got settled at my desk. I peeked across at the girl sitting next to me to find out what book we were supposed to be looking at, then began rummaging in my bag for my copy.

A faint, nervous knocking on the classroom door made everyone look up from their work. I ignored it, still busy looking for the book.

‘Enter,’ called Mrs Ennis, in the posh voice she only ever uses when inviting someone in, and I heard the door swing open just as I found the right textbook. As I pulled it out of my bag, I caught a glimpse of a first-year boy hurrying across the classroom, his face red with embarrassment. He thrust a note into Mrs Ennis’s hands, and then quickly beat a retreat.

I flicked through the pages of my book, trying to find the right chapter. Most of my classmates had turned back to their work, leaving only the really nosey ones to watch Mrs Ennis unfold and read the note.

‘Kyle Alexander,’ she said. I looked up to find her looking back. ‘The headmistress would like a word.’



Making my way along the deserted corridor, a sense of dread began to rise from the pit of my stomach. Whatever Mrs Milton wanted to see me for, it was unlikely to be good.

Classroom doors lined the walls on either side of me. Teachers’ and pupils’ voices drifted out of every one as I passed. I recognised some of them, but not all.

A clattering, jeering and the occasional sharp blast of a whistle could be heard from the gym hall, which was also accessed from this part of the school. The trophy cabinet stood proudly by the hall entrance, stocked with cups and shields and medals. My name wasn’t etched on to any of them.

I pushed through the final set of double doors. A bleached, clinical smell wafted up to meet me as I headed towards the headmistress’s office. This was usually as far as any parents made it into the school, so Mrs Milton made sure the janitor kept it sparkling clean.

I’d only been called to see the headmistress once before, and I’d been a gibbering mess of nerves by the time I’d made it down the first flight of stairs. No one ever got summoned for anything good. If Mrs Milton called for you, you could be pretty sure you were in serious trouble.

This time, though, I wasn’t all that bothered. It’d be about the dinner lady, I was certain. She’d want to ask me what had happened, that was all. No harm in that. Nothing for me to worry about.

Morag the school secretary was sitting behind the reception desk as I approached, her eyes fixed on her computer screen. It was common knowledge that Morag could be used as a kind of barometer as to how bad Mrs Milton’s mood was. If she was smiling, things were unlikely to be too terrible. If she didn’t make eye contact, you’d best get your will written before setting foot in the office.

‘I’m supposed to see Mrs Milton,’ I said, stopping in front of the reception desk. Morag looked up at me and beamed broadly. I was filled with relief.

‘Ah yes, Kyle, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Just go through and wait in the office, she’ll be in in a minute.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, returning the smile. I made for the office, a spring in my step. If I spun the story out, I could probably waste the entire lesson filling Mrs Milton in on what had happened. Maybe – if I really went into detail and repeated myself a bit – I could fill the whole afternoon. Not only would I avoid lessons, I’d also be able to avoid—

‘Billy?’ I frowned, as I eased open the door to the headmistress’s office and stepped inside.

He was standing by the window, looking out through the slatted wooden blinds. He whipped round at the sound of my voice, his eyes narrowing to slits when he saw me. ‘What you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘I…a kid came in with a note,’ I explained, feeling my confidence start to crumble. If Billy had been summoned too, then I wasn’t here to talk about the dinner lady. It had to be about what had happened on the way to class. That wasn’t good.

Mrs Milton was ruthlessly strict when it came to fighting in school, and I doubted she’d care that my only contribution to the “fight” was taking a punch to the guts.

Billy made a noise a bit like a horse sneezing and turned back to the window. ‘We’ll say we were just mucking about,’ he instructed. He had obviously come to the same conclusion as I just had. ‘It was nothing, just two mates having a laugh, all right?’

I stepped further into the room, but didn’t answer. He turned and fixed me with a glare. ‘All right?’

‘Right,’ I nodded. Like it or not, going along with him was the only way of cutting our losses. We’d probably still get into serious trouble, but not fighting serious.

We stood there for a while, neither of us speaking. Mrs Milton was taking her time. I suspected she might be waiting just outside the door, enjoying making us sweat. Teachers could be nasty like that, and head teachers in particular.

The office had been redecorated since the last time I was in it. The walls were covered in a cream wallpaper with a swirling design made up of varying shades of brown. A row of filing cabinets stood shoulder to shoulder along one of the walls, facing the high bookshelves that leaned against the wall directly opposite.

There was a thick carpet below me, also brown. As I looked down at it, I realised it was the only time I’d seen carpet in any part of the school. Maybe she got special treatment because she was the head. Or maybe all the teachers’ areas were carpeted.

It struck me that there were whole areas of the school I’d never even seen inside. For all I knew, the staffroom could have disco balls hanging from the ceiling and tiger-skin rugs on the floor.

‘So…’ Billy said. He was still looking outside, but I knew what was coming next. ‘Who told you?’

‘About what?’ I asked innocently.

‘You know what.’

I should never have mentioned the girl and her doll. It had been a knee-jerk reaction to the threat of being beaten up. My meeting with Caddie definitely fell under the heading of “Things Not To Talk About”.

‘Your mum told my mum,’ I lied. ‘She told me.’

‘I knew it,’ he muttered, still not looking at me. I had a suspicion as to who the girl was, but wasn’t sure whether to say anything and risk another beating. I decided to chance my luck.

‘I had an invisible friend too,’ I said. ‘When I was young. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’

He didn’t answer, which itself told me all I needed to know.

‘I’m not waiting round here any more,’ he scowled, turning from the window. He barged past me on his way to the door.

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ I asked. I didn’t like the idea of being the only one around for Mrs Milton to shout at.

‘Tell her I was sick and had to go home,’ he told me. ‘Tell her anything, I don’t care.’

I was about to reply when he yanked open the door. He drew up short as we both realised Mrs Milton really had been lurking just outside the office. She stood framed in the doorway, leaning slightly forward, her arms hanging limp and loose by her sides.

‘Mrs M,’ Billy smiled. ‘There you are. I was just going to come and look for…’

His voice trailed off. He’d realised what I had – something was very wrong with Mrs Milton.

Her breathing was noisy; wheezy and rattling at the back of her throat as she inhaled. Her face was as pale as chalk dust, its expression blank and empty, like something dead. Or something that had never been alive in the first place.

Ringing her eyes were two circles of make-up; caked-on, thick black swirls of tar. A streak of crimson lipstick was smeared across her mouth, starting on one cheek and finishing high up on the other. It stood out against her pale skin like a raw, gaping wound. She looked frightening. Grotesque.

And disturbingly familiar.

‘I’m dressing up like Mummy,’ spoke a voice from within her. It was high-pitched and childish, and didn’t belong to her. ‘Would you like to play?’




Chapter Four TAG, YOU’RE IT (#ulink_d722ae99-f446-5034-b9dc-271a994289f0)


Even Billy, who was usually first with the wisecracks, said nothing. He took two paces backwards into the office, but otherwise showed no reaction to Mrs Milton’s weirdness.

If the way she’d slapped on her make-up was familiar to me, though, Billy must’ve recognised it too. He had to. I’d only ever seen one other person with their face made up like that: Caddie.

Billy’s invisible friend.

‘Is this a wind-up?’ I heard him mutter at last. There was a note to his voice I’d never heard before – uncertainty or panic, or something in between.

‘I like playing,’ trilled Mrs Milton. She was slowly twirling a curl of her mousy-brown hair round a finger; still speaking in a voice fifty years too young for her.

With a sudden lunge, she hopped into the room. Her eyes stayed fixed on Billy as she stood there, wobbling unsteadily on one leg. ‘Do you like playing too?’

‘Billy,’ I said, in what came out as a hoarse whisper. ‘Don’t let her get too close.’

Billy snapped round at the sound of my voice, as if he’d forgotten I was even there in the room. ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Did you put her up to this?’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

Mrs Milton’s blank gaze rounded on me. I could make out my own reflection in her eyes, but there was no other sign of life in them anywhere.

‘Let’s play a game,’ she sang. With another hop she was in the middle of the office, right by her desk. I hurried backwards out of her reach, in case she decided to make a grab for me. My back bumped against the bookshelves and I shuffled along to where they ended. From there I had a clear path to the now unguarded doorway; an escape route, in case I needed to get out of there fast.

‘What kind of game?’ I asked her, stalling for time. Something was happening here, but I didn’t quite understand what.

‘What are you doing?’ Billy spat. His eyes were shifting quickly from me to Mrs Milton and back again. ‘Why are you even talking to her? She’s clearly gone mental.’

The head teacher’s lifeless eyes swivelled on him, her face still empty of all emotion. Billy stared right back. He was smirking, trying to act confident and unafraid, but the way his feet shuffled on the carpet told another story.

‘Did you hear that, Mrs Milton?’ he said. ‘It’s the pressure. You’ve gone nuts. They’ll probably stick you in a home for the retarded.’

The words were classic Billy, but the delivery was off, as if he was a bad actor playing the role. He was terrified, but some subconscious autopilot inside him was determined not to show it.

‘Just think,’ he continued, ‘you’ll never be able to give me detention again.’

Her expression – or lack of it – remained fixed in place, but the finger in her hair began to twirl faster. My attention was so focused on that hand I didn’t notice the other one creeping towards the penholder on the desk until it was too late.

‘Mrs Milton isn’t allowed out right now,’ sing-songed the child’s voice from deep within the adult’s body. She brought her hand up from the desk. It was clutching a large pair of metal scissors. The light from the window glinted off the blades as she pointed them at Billy’s throat. ‘But I know a fun game we can play.’

‘Billy, run.’

He hesitated, the smirk still fixed on his lips. ‘What?’

I made a dive for the open door, catching his arm and dragging him along with me. ‘I said run!’

We stumbled from the office together and out into the corridor. Just before we did, I caught a glimpse of Mrs Milton snipping at the air with the scissors. Shnick-shnick-shnick.

The reception area was empty when we scrambled past. No sign of Morag. No sign of anyone who could help.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ I said, and I began to drag Billy along the corridor towards the main door.

After just a few steps, he yanked his arm free and stopped in his tracks.

‘What you doing?’ he demanded.

I skidded to a stop a few paces on. ‘We’ve got to get away from her,’ I spluttered. ‘We have to get help.’

Billy’s face was a few shades paler than usual, but his arrogant sneer was back. ‘You know, you nearly had me?’ he said. ‘Just for a minute there, you nearly had me.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign yet of Mrs Milton, but it would only be a matter of time.

‘How did you get her to go along with it? That’s what I want to know.’

‘Go along with what?’ I frowned. ‘You don’t still think this is a joke?’

Billy took a step closer. I could see his fingers were bunched into fists. ‘Let me think,’ he muttered. ‘You talk about some little girl who you say was my imaginary friend – even though I never had an imaginary friend, since only losers have imaginary friends – and then suddenly you’ve got Milton acting like a five-year-old who wants to do me in with a pair of scissors.’

He rubbed his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. ‘So yes, I do think it’s a joke.’ He took another step closer and raised a fist. ‘And look – here comes the punch line.’

‘Wait,’ I cried. The sound echoed along the otherwise silent corridor. ‘Listen.’

Billy paused, his fist held motionless up by his right ear. ‘What? I don’t hear anything.’

‘Exactly.’ I nodded in the direction of a set of doors a dozen or so metres further along the corridor. ‘There should be a class in the gym hall.’

‘So?’

‘So why can’t we hear them?’

He scowled and pulled his fist back sharply. ‘Who cares?’

‘Raggy Maggie!’ I yelped, screwing shut my eyes and throwing up my hands for protection from a blow that never came.

‘What…what did you say?’

I opened my eyes, but kept my guard up. Billy had taken a step back. His mouth was open, the rage on his face gone.

‘Raggy Maggie,’ I repeated, slowly lowering my hands. ‘That’s what she said her doll was called.’

His eyes still pointed in my direction, but Billy was no longer looking at me. His stare had drifted past me, through the wall at my back, and off into a distant memory.

‘But I never told…How did…?’ He gave his head a shake and refocused on me. ‘How do you know that name?’

‘There’s no time to explain,’ I told him. ‘But when I said I met her, I wasn’t lying.’

He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I didn’t let him. ‘I know it’s hard to believe, but something happened to me at Christmas. Mr Mumbles, my invisible friend, he came back. He…I don’t know how exactly, but he came back.’

Billy blinked. ‘Right. It all makes sense now,’ he nodded. ‘You’re mental as well.’

‘I thought so too, but it happened, I swear. He came back. He came back and he tried to kill me, and I think it’s happening again, only this time it’s your invisible friend, not mine.’

‘I told you, I didn’t have—’

‘We don’t have time for this,’ I bellowed. The volume of my voice startled us both. I glanced along the corridor to make sure it was still empty, and continued more quietly: ‘You had an imaginary friend called Caddie. Little girl, white dress, too much make-up. Caddie owned a doll she called Raggy Maggie. Its body was made of rags, but it had one of those horrible porcelain faces. I know it all, Billy.’

Billy stood, silent.

‘I know it’s all hard to swallow,’ I said, ‘but you’ve got to trust me. If we don’t get out of here now, something bad is going to happen.’

When at last Billy spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. ‘Like what?’

‘Here I come, ready or not.’ The voice floated along the corridor towards us. We both turned in time to see Mrs Milton step round the corner, the scissors still clutched tightly in her right hand. ‘Not my fault if you get caught!’

‘Like that.’

I bolted in the opposite direction, heading for the gloss-painted door that led out into the car park. Billy hesitated, unable to tear his eyes from Mrs Milton, who had begun to skip slowly towards us.

‘Come on,’ I urged, and at last he began to follow me.

The door rattled in its frame when I turned the handle. Locked. I put a shoulder to it. It shook, but it didn’t open.

‘Shift over!’

I stepped aside just before Billy’s size ten trainer thudded against the door. Again it shook. Again it didn’t open.

‘Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.’ Mrs Milton was close – too close. No time to break the door. No time for anything.

‘The gym,’ I cried. ‘The fire exit.’

‘Move then!’ All Billy’s bravado had slipped away now. He looked as scared as I felt – maybe even more so – as we crashed across the corridor and through the doors of the gym hall.

The gym was the single biggest room in the school. Once a week it doubled as an assembly hall, where we all sat freezing to death and listening to someone drone on about Jesus. It was in sports mode now – the multi-purpose goals had been put up, and the smell of fresh sweat hung heavy in the air.

Over near the middle of the hall, a cream leather football rocked gently from side to side, before gradually coming to rest.

‘Where is everyone?’ asked Billy. His voice carried across the empty hall like a foghorn.

There should have been a class in here. There had been a class in here. I’d heard them. An uneasiness gripped me, but I said nothing. Instead I hurried across the hall to where the emergency exit led out on to the playing field and pushed down on the metal bar.

Thunk. The handle bent all the way down, but the doors remained stuck fast. I pulled the bar up and forced it down again. The result was the same.

‘It’s locked,’ Billy groaned. ‘You idiot. This was your idea.’

‘It’s a fire door, it doesn’t lock,’ I hissed, but there was no arguing with the fact the thing wouldn’t budge.

Giving up, I turned and studied the hall. It was a draughty cavern, with high ceilings and a wooden floor that must once have shone with polish, but which now looked scuffed and tired.

There were two exits – the one we’d come through and the one that was stopping us leaving. If we went back out the way we’d entered we would run right into Mrs Milton. If we stayed where we were, she’d run right into us.

‘We’re trapped,’ Billy gasped, taking the words right out of my mouth.

‘We have to hide,’ I decided. There was a deep alcove at the back of the hall where the sports equipment and assembly chairs were stacked when not in use. It was a blindingly obvious hiding place, but it was the only one we had.

From out in the corridor the shnick-shnick-shnick of scissors sliced through the silence. ‘She’s coming,’ I whispered, scurrying across to the alcove. ‘Hurry up.’

‘We could rush her,’ Billy suggested. ‘We could knock her out. The two of us.’

‘We could,’ I admitted, squeezing myself between two towers of stacked wooden chairs. ‘But we could also get stabbed in the face.’

‘Chicken,’ Billy sneered, but he quickly wedged himself into the recess and squatted down beside me.

It was dark there in the alcove – the sloped roof above us blocking out almost all of the light from the hall’s high windows. To begin with the only sound was our own unsteady breathing, until a low creak told us the door to the gym hall had been pushed open.

She was singing as she skipped into the hall, letting the door clatter shut behind her. It was below her breath, and too quiet for me to make out the words, but she was definitely whispering some tune or other in that childishly high voice. It set my teeth on edge, like fingernails down a blackboard.

Her voice grew louder as she drew closer to our hiding place. I felt Billy tense up beside me, and realised I was doing the same: rising on to my toes, getting ready to move.

Through the gaps in the chairs I saw her. I bit down on my lip to stop myself crying out in shock. She was just a few feet away, standing right outside the alcove, bent at the waist, peering in.

The song she was singing trailed away into silence as she stared into the darkness. For a moment I was sure she was looking directly at me, and then, in an instant, she straightened up and skipped away.

We held our breath in the gloom, listening as her singing restarted; listening as her feet squeaked on the wooden floor; listening as the door gave another creak and a clatter.

For a few long moments neither of us moved, hardly daring to believe she had gone. It was Billy who eventually broke the silence.

‘I think I just crapped my pants.’

It was the last thing I ever expected to hear him say, and I couldn’t help but burst out laughing – probably with relief more than anything. My eyes were getting used to the dim light, and I could see that he too was grinning.

‘Oh, was that you?’ I sniffed. ‘I thought it might have been me.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, and we both stood up. He edged away, making room for me to pass. ‘You first.’

‘Chicken,’ I scoffed, pushing through the gap in the chairs and out into the hall. ‘I can’t believe she didn’t see—’

‘Peek-a-boo,’ chorused a voice to my left. I spun to find Mrs Milton standing there, just beyond the alcove. Her empty eyes were locked on mine. ‘I see you.’

I tried to shout, to scream, but she didn’t give me the chance. Her arms jerked suddenly upwards, and from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a hockey stick. A bomb went off against the side of my head, and an explosion of pain shook my skull.

Somewhere far, far away a child giggled. The world lurched, and I found myself tumbling down





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