‘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,