Lowewood Academy

“Fancy a drink?”

I jumped and turned in time to see William de Lacey sidle into the seat next to me in the library.  I was dying for one, sure, but his close proximity still made my skin prickle.  There was no good blood between us since he’d tried to force himself on me during Lent term, and I’d subsequently spiked his tea and then brained him with Harry Mallinson’s cricket bat.  He was a prize de Lacey creep and I had every reason to loathe the air he breathed.

But he was right, and he knew he was right: I *did* want a drink.  Badly.  And when he carefully proffered me a hipflask under cover of the desk, my small hesitation did little justice to the risk I was taking.  A cursory glance round to check for prying eyes was quickly followed by a swift neck at the bottle.  It didn’t occur to me to ask what was in it, or even consider if he was feeding me direct revenge for the laxatives last term.  I just drank, and the fiery course of brandy down my throat made me splutter and gasp.  I turned it into a cough, got it under control, breathed deep…and then raised it to my lips again. 

God, I’d needed that.

(more…)

So: my birthday.  Just 17.  In some ways I felt a lot younger than that; in others, right now, way older.  I certainly looked older, I mused gloomily, staring at my unattractive reflection in the bathroom mirror.  My hair looked crap, my eyes seemed to droop with the tiredness of many restless, disturbed nights, and my skin had a lack of colour even by the usual standards of my fair complexion.  I squeezed one of the spots on my chin and sighed.

“You look like shit,” I muttered in acknowledgement of the facts, taking a long draught to help me not care.

“Cheers!”

The voice behind me made me jump a mile, and hastily shove my hipflask back in my blazer.  I spun round to see Fliss grinning at me, having entered without my noticing.  For a moment, my brain was completely fuddled: what was that supposed to mean?

“Are are you taking the piss?”  Even I could hear how defensive I sounded.

(more…)

The room felt airless; it was becoming harder and harder to breathe.  Feeling the panic rising, I span round, searching for the door, but I could no longer pick it out.  When I looked back, he was advancing towards me, relentless now.  Tall, menacing, armed with a sword-like weapon which slashed the air as he steadily narrowed the space between us, eyes flashing, boring into me. 

“No!” I tried to cry out.  “No, no, no, get away from me; no, please!” 

My pleas were increasingly desperate, yet no sound seemed to escape from me, and my legs felt so heavy, I didn’t seem to be able to move any more.  He was closing, closing, I felt the fear drenching me, overwhelming, crushing…too much.  The hands reached out to grab me and I lost control…

Suddenly awake, I sat bolt upright in bed and, for the next few minutes, concentrated on trying to calm down, letting go of the twisted visions which had haunted too many of my nights since Easter.  Gradually my ragged breathing returned to something like normal.  I blocked the nightmare out of my mind as best I could and wondered, if I dreamt it often enough, if I would somehow get used to it and it would lose its power over me?  I hoped so, although I didn’t have a lot of faith in the idea. 

(more…)