I saw a ghost today. A grey girl. She was standing at the window of the top-floor dormitory, looking down upon the world below.
I’d never seen the girl before and today was the start of my fourth year at Dudley Hall. My long summer on Uncle Jack’s farm already feels like a million years ago. As the car pulled up to the school this afternoon it felt as though I’d never even been away. The stone gargoyles, the twisted ivy and rattling old windows have been my only real home since Mother and Father died.
Mistress Johnson was waiting at the main entrance, ticking off our names as we arrived and telling us which dormitories we’re in. Once again I’m sharing with Lavinia, Margot and Sybil. That’s not altogether a bad thing, I suppose. Better the devil you know.
We’re in a room on the second floor that looks out onto the school grounds. I had to do two trips to get my trunk, tuck box, hockey stick and heavy winter cloak upstairs and because I was the last to arrive I’m stuck with the bed by the draughty old window. Sybil has the bed by the door, and Margot and Lavinia have beds up against the far wall, either side of the fireplace. Lavinia said that because Sybil’s nearest the door she has to be the lookout girl. It’s her job to peek out onto the landing at night to check that Matron isn’t coming whilst the three of us prepare things for the Rituals.
I hadn’t even thought about the Rituals all summer. I don’t think Lavinia has thought of anything else.
After we unpacked, Mistress Johnson said we could have some free time outside to enjoy the last of the summer air (as if we need reminding that winter is on the way; the windowsill by my bed is already mouldy with damp!). So the four of us sat underneath the weeping willow tree by the river, took off our long socks and dangled our naked feet into the brook. Margot told us all about her summer with her aunt and uncle in Devon, and Sybil told us how her guardian had forced her to volunteer in a London soup kitchen at weekends. Ghastly.
‘Am I the only one who did any reading at all over the holidays?’ Lavinia complained with her nose in the air. ‘I took any book I could find on Rituals from the Oxford library. Good job one of us is serious about this stuff.’
‘When do you want to do the first Ritual this year?’ Margot asked.
‘Tonight, of course,’ Lavinia replied, as she splashed her feet about in the cool river water.
We sat and spoke about the Rituals until the air grew colder and we were called in to clean up for supper. As we walked back through the school grounds something compelled me to look up towards the attic dorm rooms that sit above the row of gargoyles. The rooms that the prefects in final year sleep in.
That was the moment I saw her. A horrid shiver ran along my spine as the small grey face stared down at me from the last room on the right. She looked as though she had been carved from frosted glass. As though someone had spat on a hankie and scrubbed out all her colour. It truly felt as though I was staring at a ghost, into the very face of death. I froze as the others walked ahead, and the ghostly girl looked down at me and waved. I quickly found my feet and ran to catch the others up as fast as I could. I didn’t look up again. I didn’t want to see her. She unnerved me, whoever she is. I don’t like her – the grey girl.
Supper time now, and then the Rituals later tonight.
Until I write again,
Annabel