Barry Hutchison - Raggy Maggie

‘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.’