Out of the Depths Read online

  She turned to me then. ‘But, if there was a ghost to see up there, I would have seen it.’

  ‘What about Ben Kincaid? Isn’t he supposed to haunt the school?’

  There was another snort. This time from Mrs Sorenson. ‘Let me tell you, if that Ben Kincaid came back here to haunt this school, I’d blinking well give him a good wallop wi’ my mop, and send him back where he came from.’

  Ella joined in. ‘Aye, his poor mother. He ruined her life.’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault he was killed,’ I reminded them.

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Myra didn’t seem convinced about that. ‘Drove that Father Michael to it, that’s what I think.’

  ‘Still, Myra … that priest must have been a serial killer at heart to do what he did.’ Ella looked at me. ‘Blood everywhere, they said. Footsteps in blood leading back to Father Michael’s study. His footsteps.’ She looked round at her friends. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t have liked to be the one to clean that mess up.’

  ‘If anywhere was going to be haunted, it would be that old chapel. That’s where it happened.’ This was from Myra.

  ‘And nothing’s ever happened there?’ I asked.

  Mrs Sorenson answered me. ‘I’m the one that cleans in there. And it’s only an old chapel. Let me tell you, I’m very sensitive to spirit. I would know.’

  Myra and Ella couldn’t stop laughing at this.

  Mrs Sorenson glared daggers at them. ‘Yes, I am!’ she insisted. Then she looked back at me. ‘Don’t let your pals tell you this school is haunted.’

  But I knew something they didn’t. Strange things were happening here. But it seemed they were only happening to me.

  Myra stood up ready to leave. ‘I don’t know why that chapel hasn’t been pulled down. Old Hyslop wants to pretend the murder never happened. But he still wants the chapel preserved exactly the way it was. Blinkin’ weirdo, him.’

  Ella stood up too. ‘It’s a listed building. He’s not got any choice. They can’t touch anything in it.’ She looked at me and smiled. A smile that changed her from a crabby old woman to someone’s attractive mother. ‘So, we’ve got to disappoint you, hen. No ghosts in this school.’

  I gave it one last shot. ‘Wasn’t there a boy who was expelled … he saw things, didn’t he?’

  Ella stopped. ‘And what was his name?’

  Mrs Sorenson said, ‘It was the boy Loney, wasn’t it?’

  I nodded. ‘That was his name.’

  Myra looked round at the others. She smiled. ‘And can you remember his first name, hen?’

  ‘Bill, Bill Loney,’ I said.

  Now they all laughed. ‘And that’s exactly what your pals were telling you, hen. A load of Bill Loney!’

  Mrs Sorenson said kindly, ‘Listen, love, when somebody new starts in this school, they’re always wound up about the place being haunted. And they always get sent to us … with the Bill Loney story. The boy who was expelled because he saw strange things. And it’s all ba-loney.’

  I sighed. I felt so stupid. How could I have fallen for that one!

  But on the other hand, Jazz and Aisha didn’t know that I had seen things. Had I really been the only one?

  ‘The statues are kind of creepy,’ I said, following the cleaners out the door.

  Mrs Sorenson nodded her head. ‘Aye, you’re right there. I walk along that corridor and I’m sure they’re watching me and then I swivel round and …’

  I drew in my breath. ‘And what are they doing?’

  Mrs Sorenson looked at me as if I was a wee bit crazy. ‘Well, not a lot … they’re only made of plaster.’

  Ella started laughing then. ‘What did you expect them to be doing? The Highland fling?’

  Then they were all laughing. Patting me on the back, telling me to go back and think of a way I could wind up my friends now.

  ‘You go back and tell your pals you have seen a ghost. Scare the life out of them. OK!’And I laughed too and left them.

  I felt better after I spoke to them. Because it was all a wind-up. A load of baloney! What an idiot I was. There were no ghosts in the school. Everything had a logical explanation. And looking back at all that had happened, it seemed unreal now. As if it had been part of a dream. Not real at all. I had only imagined I had seen statues moving, and the story of an old murder mystery had done the rest.

  10

  It was growing dark as I wound my way out of the school. I had forgotten how dark it could be in February. And by now, the lights had been switched off in all the corridors. Mr Hyslop was trying to save electricity as well as the planet. I turned a corner and I could no longer hear the laughter of the cleaners. The dark panelled walls closed in. I felt completely alone. I hurried towards the main entrance, refusing to let my imagination go haywire again. Darkness seemed to fold around me.

  No one in the corridor. Only me. Only my footsteps. Or … were there more? Footsteps following me?

  I stopped, and the other footsteps stopped too. An echo, must have been an echo. No one was following me.

  Pull yourself together, Tyler!

  Somewhere behind me, out of sight, were the cleaners. Down-to-earth, happy women. Not afraid to be alone here. Nothing had ever happened to them … even working on their own at night in those empty classrooms. In that empty chapel where a murder had been committed, nothing ever happened to them. Why should I think anything would happen to me?

  I would not look at the statues. I dared not.

  They were made of plaster. They couldn’t move. Of course they couldn’t move.

  Yet, I felt them all watching me. I was sure as soon as I walked past them their eyes followed my progress. If I swung round, I would catch them with their faces, their eyes, all turned towards me.

  The front entrance seemed miles away. Seemed to be moving further away as I quickened my pace towards it. It was as if I was in a dream and would never get out of here. Never.

  There were two statues by the front door. One on either side of the entrance. I would have to pass them. I wished now I’d asked one of the cleaners to walk me out of the school. Pretend I was so new I might get lost.

  In the same second I yelled at myself not to be such a wimp. Told myself again the statues were made of plaster. They never moved for the cleaners, why should they move for me?

  My imagination. I closed my fist and let my nails dig into my palms. All my imagination!

  What made me glance up at the statue of St Martin? I couldn’t stop myself. He was looking down at me, his hand pointing back along the corridor behind me, as if he was telling me to go back. Warning me not to leave. As if he wasn’t going to let me pass. But I’d noticed his gentle face before, and it was always turned the other way … wasn’t it?

  I stopped dead. Terrified to pass him. Only my breathing filled the dark silence. I began to back against the wall.

  And felt a cold hand touch my shoulder.

  11

  ‘Why are you still here, Tyler?’

  It was Mr Hyslop. I managed to stifle a scream. He looked stern. ‘What are you doing in the school at this time?’

  ‘I lost my bracelet, sir. I was asking the cleaners to look out for it.’ The lie sounded believable though my voice trembled.

  He shook his head. ‘I was hoping you would tell me the truth. No, you weren’t, Tyler. I overheard you speaking to them. Why are you so interested in Ben Kincaid?’

  ‘It’s … it’s an interesting story, sir …’ I could hardly speak. He must have heard everything.

  ‘And this school is not haunted,’ he said sternly. ‘I heard the cleaners tell you that. And no spreading any stories about you seeing ghosts.’ He waved a finger at me. It was stained with nicotine. ‘I will come down on you like a ton of bricks, if I hear anything like that, Tyler.’

  I wanted to say it wasn’t fair. I’d been told the school was haunted. Jazz had told me. But it seemed like a betrayal to tell him that.

  ‘You write stories, I know that,’ he went on. ‘Well, keep your imagina
tion for those stories. The murder of Ben Kincaid was a dark time in the school’s history. We try to forget about it here. I suggest you do too.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He managed a small smile. Forced it. ‘Although I’ll bet it was those girls put you up to it. That Jasmine especially. Told you the old story about the place being haunted, I suppose.’

  I kept my eyes on the floor.

  ‘Well, as the cleaners told you, there are no ghosts here. Never have been, never will be. And that’s the last I want to hear about it. OK?’

  I only nodded.

  That seemed to satisfy him. ‘Come on, I’ll walk down the drive with you. It’s too dark for you to walk there on your own. This missing girl is making everyone nervous.’

  Debbie Lawson. Everyone knew her name now, as if they had met her, knew her. Her photo was on television every night. Last seen wearing a pink jacket.

  I found my voice at last. ‘But she’s only run away, hasn’t she, sir? She hasn’t been abducted or anything.’

  ‘I don’t think the police are ruling out anything. Better not take any chances,’ he said.

  As we walked down the long drive to the gates, I was glad of his company, even with that stern expression on his face. He was old, but he was still a big, powerful man. I remembered the school trophies outside his office. He had helped the school teams win rugby competitions and marathons. He would be a match for anyone who might leap out of those trees.

  Anyone human, that is.

  Or alive.

  It wasn’t only dark. The mist from the lake seemed to drift through the trees as if it had a life of its own.

  ‘The bus stop’s at the bottom of the road. I’ll wait with you till the bus comes.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ A kind man, I thought, in spite of his anger at my questioning the cleaners.

  ‘Are you liking it here, Tyler?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ It was no lie. I did like the school and the friends I had made. I was just terrified of something that lurked in here … or did it only lurk in my imagination? I went on, ‘I think it will be really nice in the summer.’

  ‘Why in the summer?’

  ‘It’s a bit creepy in the dark winter days, sir.’

  He looked across at the lake, cloaked in mist. ‘Yes, I suppose it is. I’ve always found it atmospheric.’ His face creased into a smile.

  I wanted to ask him more. What Father Michael was like. Was he as cruel as they all said? Mr Hyslop had been here when the murder took place. But he’d told me he never wanted to hear of it again. I could understand that. This was his school. The murder was all in the past. Best forgotten.

  I thought so too. I only prayed that the past would forget about me.

  12

  Jazz phoned me that night, all giggles. ‘We saw you going to see the cleaners. Knew you’d do that.’

  ‘That was so cruel. I felt so daft, Jazz. Bill Loney! How could I fall for that!’

  She giggled again. ‘We were waiting for you, outside the front door, but then we saw old Hyslop and made a run for it. What did he say?’

  Well, I could wind people up too. ‘He said he knew you and Aisha were behind it. He didn’t blame me at all. He’s going to have a stern word with you tomorrow.’

  For once Jazz was lost for words. There was a stunned silence on the line. ‘I don’t believe it! I’m always the one that ends up in trouble.’

  I was going to tell her I was only kidding, but decided against it. One night of worry wouldn’t do her any harm. And so one dark February day followed another. Statues stayed still and silent. Once again I pushed the things I imagined I had seen to the back of my mind. It was over.

  The most important thing in those next few days for me and Jazz was finding out who it was Aisha fancied.

  ‘I saw her in the corridor with Adam,’ I told Jazz. We were in class waiting for Mr O’Hara to arrive. ‘All giggles, she was flirting like mad.’

  Jazz disagreed. ‘Trying to make Mac jealous. Have you seen the way she looks at him? Talk about fluttering your eyelashes. She practically causes a hurricane.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she just tell us?’ I wondered.

  Jazz had an easy answer. ‘Would you admit to fancying one of them?’

  I didn’t want to admit that I thought both of them were OK. Better than OK. Mac with those dark chocolate eyes and Adam with his red hair and mischievious grin.

  ‘By the way,’ Jazz said, ‘Mr Hyslop pulled me and Aisha aside this morning. Warned us about filling your head with nonsense about ghosts and murder. You know what I almost said …’ I waited. ‘I almost told him it wasn’t nonsense about the murder. I mean it did happen. Are we not supposed to mention it?!’ She pursed her lips as if she was really annoyed. But I was getting to know Jazz. She had too much of a sense of humour to get annoyed at anything.

  I noticed that the silent boy at the back of the class had leaned forward as if he was listening, and trying to pretend he wasn’t. What was his name again? And why was he always staring at me ? I decided to ask Jazz.

  ‘See that boy at the back … he’s always looking at me … I can never remember his name.’

  Jazz giggled. ‘Maybe he fancies you? Who do you mean?’ She turned right round to look, but just then, the door was flung open, and Mr O’Hara almost fell into the classroom laden with books.

  Jazz called out to him. ‘Mr O’Hara, Tyler here wants to know why we’re not allowed to ask about the murder.’

  I tried to slide under the desk. A flush came to the teacher’s face. ‘That is not a subject for discussion, Jasmine.’

  ‘But I mean, sir, you can’t blame her for being interested.’

  I tried to pretend I was invisible.

  ‘The school could be making loads of money out of this, sir. Murder tours round St Anthony’s … a bit like the ones they do in Edinburgh,’ Adam shouted. ‘Or even ghost tours … if we had a ghost, that is.’

  ‘Why is this school not haunted, sir?’ Callum asked in a deep imposing voice, as if it was a question he’d been pondering for a long time. ‘I mean, we’ve had a murder … but no a sign of a ghost.’

  The teacher dropped the books on his desk. ‘And a very good thing too, Callum.’

  ‘You were here when the murder took place, weren’t you, sir?’ It was Mac who asked him. ‘Ben Kincaid was your best friend, wasn’t he?’

  I saw the teacher’s face grow pale at the memory. Did no one else notice that?

  ‘You would think,’ Mac went on, ‘that Ben Kincaid might have been a bit miffed at getting murdered and come back to let you especially know how annoyed he was.’

  Bold as brass, Jazz called out to him, ‘Tell us about the murder, sir.’

  His eyes were cold when he looked back at her. ‘A murder is no cause for entertainment, Jasmine. It was a tragedy. A tragedy for a lot of people.’

  ‘Especially for Ben Kincaid,’ Mac muttered.

  ‘Yes,’ Mr O’Hara said. ‘And for his mother, and for Father Michael … and for the whole school, and that is all I am prepared to say about it. Don’t ever ask me again.’

  ‘You and him had a fight, didn’t you, sir? Just before he was killed.’

  Mr O’Hara’s face went red. I saw his hands balled into fists on the desk, the knuckles white. He wanted to stop talking about this. He looked up sharply at Mac. ‘Read about it on Wikipedia, did you? Well, Ben Kincaid had a fight with just about everybody at some point.’ He bent back over his books. I had never seen him look angry. Mr O’Hara was always even-tempered and happy. But talking about Ben Kincaid … and being reminded of a fight he had had with him had made him lose his composure. I could see the muscles in his jaws clench and unclench as if he was struggling to hold in his anger.

  Jazz whispered to me, ‘Must be hard to lose your best friend like that. Especially when you’ve had a fight with him.’

  Mac had said it was over a girl, but no one really knew. And I thought, so many people had been affected by that murder, like
circles in a stream when a stone is thrown into the water. Mr O’Hara too. Ben Kincaid had been his friend.

  Mysteries, I thought, as I walked down the long drive at the end of the day, there are mysteries here.

  The lake was shrouded in smoky mist. I looked back at the statue of the college founder as he stood silently looking out over that lake. Fearfully waiting for him to move.

  He didn’t stir; maybe none of them ever had. But there were mysteries here, and, in spite of my fear, I wanted to find out more about them.

  13

  Two days later a new boy joined the class. At least new to me, though not to everybody else. Gerry Mulgrew. He looked insolent as he stood in front of Mr O’Hara. His leg was in a plaster cast covered with messages. Most of them rude.

  ‘Mulgrew,’ Aisha informed me softly. ‘He likes to think he’s the class bad boy. Kicked a ball at the stained-glass windows trying to break them. Couldn’t even do that right. Broke his leg instead. He’s actually an idiot.’

  Mac leaned across the desk and whispered in her ear, ‘I don’t think you’re allowed to call anybody an idiot any more, Aisha.’ I watched wisps of her hair quiver with his breath. Was she blushing? ‘It’s not politically correct.’

  She shrugged. ‘He can take me to the Court of Human Rights.’

  ‘I’m on your side, Aisha,’ Jazz said. ‘Gerry Mulgrew is an idiot.’

  As if to back them up Mulgrew started heading for his desk, tripped over someone’s bag and went face down on the floor.

  Mr O’Hara helped him up. ‘Ah, we’ve missed you, Mulgrew. Trying to break your other leg, are you?’

  ‘Just lookin’ for a wee bit of TLC, sir.’ Mulgrew got to his feet. ‘I’m still convalescing.’

  Jazz laughed. ‘I didn’t even think you’d know what convalescing means.’

  He stuck out his tongue at her, then his eyes fell on me. ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he said. ‘You’re new. What’s your name?’

  Now it was my turn to blush. The class jeered and whistled. Mr O’Hara banged a book on the desk to silence them. ‘Right, Mulgrew. Limp to your seat and let’s get on with the lesson.’