“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?”
Whoever it was must be almost close to reaching the passage where she stood. Telling herself that she could run down to the lecture hall and lock herself in, Maggie summoned up all her courage and peeped around the corner. There was nobody in sight—the corridor was empty. Peering down into the gloom, she could make out a small movement. Then something occurred to her. Shoving out her arm, she waved, and dimly made out the other arm waving back at her.
It was the big mirror on the end wall by the library.
Maggie stepped out into the corridor and laughed. Fancy almost frightening yourself to death in an empty building because of a shadow of some twigs and a wall mirror. It was ridiculous. Boldly she strode down to the library, even taking time to stop in front of the mirror and make faces at herself. Opening the library door, she walked in, the door swishing close behind her. Maggie shrugged. All the doors in the school did that, due to some type of hydraulic device built over them.
At least there was some daylight in here; one wall had large windows facing out onto the lawn and the road beyond. Between that there was a big old sycamore tree with a bench built around its base, where the students sat in the warm weather to read their books. The windows had only single glazing. Maggie rubbed her hands together. It was quite chilly in the room.
Even in the twilight she could see her coat, draped carelessly over the arm of a chair in the far corner. Stupid coat, she hated the thing more than ever. Sensible, warm and totally out of fashion. She should have put her foot down flatly in the shop and refused to wear it. But as usual, her mother had won the argument. Maggie sniffed the still air. What was that smell?
Flowers, maybe, it smelt like flowers. Roses, but not freshly picked. It was not a pleasant odour—musty, cloyingly sweet. A picture of a cemetery vase filled with long-dead roses came to mind.
Trying to ignore the noxious smell, Maggie made her way across to the coat, avoiding a stepladder with a pile of old books resting on its top step. The smell increased until it filled the air with its thick repugnance. She grabbed the coat and muffled her mouth and nostrils with it. Maggie stood facing the corner, feeling rather light-headed. It was like being trapped in a dream, wanting to run from the room but unable to arouse her torpid limbs into movement.
The knowledge that she was not alone in the library stole gradually over her senses. Someone was standing in the darkening room, close behind her. Panicked thoughts jumbled about in Maggie’s mind. Whether she liked it or not, she could not stand endlessly there, staring at the wall and the bookshelves. To get out of the library, she would have to turn and confront the nameless person who was standing within touching distance of her back. She bit hard on her lower lip, forcing her feet, legs, her body and head to turn in small, jerky movements. Terror rose in her throat like bile, causing her to taste the dreadful smell which permeated the entire room.
Maggie was not sure at first whether the girl she was staring at was a living being or an apparition. She was about Maggie’s age, clad from neck to ankle in a long embroidered dress of fawn muslin. Her hair was a cloud of wispy blonde ringlets reaching almost to her waist. The strange girl wore gloves of white silk, elbow length. She held a single-stemmed rose, the colour of dark blood, in her left hand. Maggie took in all of this in one fascinated glance. But it was the girl’s face which frightened her. The skin shone like a porcelain doll in a museum, ivory hued and alabaster smooth. Her eyes, intensely blue, stared unblinkingly at Maggie, who was riveted to the spot, like a bird mesmerised by a snake. An awful realisation numbed Maggie’s brain. The girl was blocking her way to the door—she had her cornered.