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?
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