Brian Jacques - The Ribbajack

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.

The girl seemed to read her thoughts. She smiled at Maggie. Her thin lips opened, revealing decayed, irregular teeth. Then her mouth creased in a wide grin as the bright blue eyes glittered insanely. It was a smile of pure evil. Her right hand rose in a gesture beckoning Maggie toward her. The girl’s chilling smile, and the overpowering scent exuding from her mouth, enveloped Maggie. She felt herself going faint, the blood in her veins turning to ice water, which broke out in a cold sweat through her skin. Fear gripped Maggie’s heart in its horrific claws, then, like a dam bursting, a wild, terrified scream issued from her.

“Eeeeeyaaaargh!”

Triggered by the sound of her own fear, Maggie bolted and ran. Avoiding the girl, she fled, knocking aside the stepladder in her path, sending books spilling across the floor. For an awful second, which seemed to last an eternity, Maggie fumbled with the door handle. Then she was out of the library and tearing headlong down the corridor. The building boomed to the sound of her feet pounding the floor. Maggie’s legs went like pistons as she hit the main door, sending it slamming back on its hinges as she shot out onto the gravelled path. Unreasoning horror lent wings to her feet, while her breath rasped out in sobbing gasps. Out onto the sidewalk she sped, as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. A truck rumbled by on the road, its engine noise bringing her back to the world of normality.

Maggie stumbled to a halt, teeth chattering, legs wobbling, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. But somehow or other, she was still holding tight to the coat. Maggie grasped the bars of the school railings, staring back at the building, scarcely able to believe what she saw.

Across the lawn, beyond the big leafless sycamore, behind the library windows, the ghastly girl was staring back at her. Bathed in a pool of pale spectral light, still holding the rose, still waving with that beckoning gesture . . . and still smiling that smile which encompassed deep, limitless evil.

Maggie turned and hurried swiftly away, her face buried in the coat. The beautiful coat her mother had bought for her—it smelled like home, comfort and all the everyday things of life. No scent was ever sweeter.