A door banged. Claire jumped. What was that? It wasn’t 
Mr Jakes because she could hear him whistling at the 
other end of the playground. Out of the silence, she heard 
steps. Somebody was coming closer. Somebody or 
something was coming down the corridor. Nearer. She 
stood still, so still that even the tables and chairs froze 
with her. Carefully, she peered round the edge of the door. 
A shadow slipped, quick as a knife, into the next room. 
Claire clenched her fist around the pen, her heart racing. 
 
 
Tim stared at the room. The windows were smothered in a 
film of green grime that let in a strange light. Cobwebs 
strung across the ceiling and dust powdered every 
surface. The floor was covered in a tangled mess of 
broken boxes, old furniture and moth-eaten blankets. At 
that moment, he heard something scratching. Tim’s scalp 
crawled and he bit back a scream. What was it?