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
