shut, trying to summon the memory of the night before. ‘Stripes’s voice. It wasn’t like his voice. There was something . . . something vile about it. He sort of crouched over my bed. His breath stank of something sweet, like rotten flowers, and he whispered . . .’ George paused.
‘What?’ Arthur asked. ‘What?’
George shook his head and threw his hands up. ‘I can’t remember.’
The group jumped as a bedraggled Penny appeared out of nowhere and dumped her satchel on the table next to them.
‘Well, I’ve just had the worst night’s sleep ever!’ she announced. ‘That conversation we had about Tristan must have really got to me. I had a dream that my imaginary friend Lola was in my room!’
The boys looked at each other uneasily as Penny went on, speaking through a croissant she had grabbed from Jake’s plate.
‘It was terrifying. It was Lola, but it sort of . . . wasn’t. She was all dusty and grey, like she’d been left in an attic for years. And the way she looked at me . . .’ Penny shivered involuntarily. ‘The worst thing was,’ she continued, leaning in closer to her friends, ‘when I woke up I was standing on my window ledge, with the window wide open, like I was about to jump. Can you imagine how dangerous that is? I’ve never sleepwalked before. I could have killed myself!’
George clasped his hand to his mouth.
‘Are you all right, George?’ Penny asked, not realising the import of what she had just said.
‘That’s it,’ George said, the night before rushing back to him with frightening, burnished clarity. ‘That’s what Stripes said.’
‘What did he say?’ Arthur asked, urgency creeping into his voice.
George took a deep breath and looked up at his friends.
‘Jump,’ George whispered. ‘He said “Jump”.’
Chapter Six
Professor Long-Pitt’s classroom had once been Lord Shiverton’s study. Dark, almost black, oak panelling inlaid with gold brambles and thorns covered the walls and gave the impression, as the pupils were reflected in it, of a glinting, living forest. The desks were set out in a semicircle around Long-Pitt’s desk, which had a clutter of strange items on it: a bell jar containing a stuffed cat in a spotted pinafore; a half-broken clock, still ticking, but with its springs and cogs tumbling out; a lamp shaped like a branch with a preserved bat hanging from it; and a pile of mouldering books.
The desks were already half-filled with students as Arthur and Penny found a seat together, opposite Dan Forge, who bared his teeth at Arthur.
Penny rubbed her red eyes and slumped over her desk. ‘I’m just going to rest my eyes. Wake me when Professor Long-Pitt comes in,’ she mumbled.
‘Too late,’ Arthur replied, nudging Penny.
The light chatter in the room died and the students stood up as the professor entered. Arthur, not yet used to the formality, got to his feet a little later than the others and received a glare from Long-Pitt for his trouble.
‘Please sit,’ Long-Pitt said icily, as she cleared some room on her desk for the books she was carrying.
She was wearing a long, grey dress, with her hair in a tight bun, and looked exactly like the sort of evil governess who would lock children in toy chests in horror stories. She surveyed her pupils and made an unconvincing attempt at a smile.
‘Good morning,’ Long-Pitt said. ‘As you all know, this year we’ll be studying the Romantic poets. How did you all get on with your summer reading? Penny, what did you think of William Blake?’
Penny, sleepily doodling on her book, panicked. ‘Blake?’ she said hazily. ‘Oh, er . . . he’s good, I guess.’
‘He’s good you guess ?’ Long-Pitt said witheringly. ‘The masterpieces that are Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience are just OK, are they?’
Penny blushed as the professor turned on Arthur.
‘Arthur Bannister, our resident genius,’ she continued, with a hint of malice, ‘surely you have something illuminating
William W. Johnstone
Suzanne Brockmann
Kizzie Waller
Kate Hardy
Sophie Wintner
Celia Kyle, Lauren Creed
Renee Field
Chris Philbrook
Josi S. Kilpack
Alex Wheatle