Timothy Williams The Infernal Shadow (The Timothy Williams Saga Book 2), page 10
‘It seems Trumpton’s lost no time in making his presence felt.’ Timothy rolled up his shirt sleeve, exposing the silver bracelet clasped around his right forearm. ‘I hope these things work,’ he said. ‘If they don’t, we’re not going to last five minutes.’
A commotion distracted Timothy and his friends. They turned to see Kevin Winner dragging Mary Smith out from behind a life-size likeness of William Wallace, aka Braveheart ― one of numerous famous Scots that Mrs Lawcroft had deposited throughout the school in the hope of motivating her students this new school year. Other inspiring cardboard cut-outs included: Robert the Bruce ― the legendary king of Scotland; Robert Louis Stevenson ― renowned engineer; David Livingstone ― heroic explorer; Alexander Fleming ― celebrated microbiologist; and ‘Wee Jimmy Krankie’ ― a miniature Glaswegian comic. Not all Scots were illustrious giants of their time. Still, Mrs Lawcroft was surprisingly partial to a generous dose of the Krankies, especially when accompanied with one or two drams of her favourite whisky.
‘She was spying on you!’ yelled Kevin. He jostled the spotty bespectacled girl forward.
‘I most certainly was not!’ denied Mary angrily. ‘I was merely retrieving a book that I’d dropped.’ She struggled to break free from Kevin’s hold.
‘For God’s sake, Kevin. Let her go!’ Timothy couldn’t think of any person less likely to spy on them than Mary ‘know it all’ Smith. Kevin was trying every trick in the book to win himself favour and a place in Timothy’s gang.
‘But she was spying on you! Why don’t you believe me?’ pleaded a frustrated Kevin.
‘Let Mary go,’ warned Timothy. Kevin’s spineless behaviour was no way for him to impress Timothy or his friends. In fact, it was downright nasty.
Reluctantly, Kevin released his captive and watched with unconcealed contempt as Mary trotted between the two Daves and into the classroom.
‘Why would you go and do a thing like that?’ asked Timothy accusingly.
‘Do what?’ replied Kevin. ‘I was looking out for you. She was spying. How many more times do I have to tell you? Do you want everyone to know your secrets?’
Rupert didn’t know how Kevin Winner had come to learn of Timothy’s secrets, nor why the boy was hanging around like a bad smell, but he’d seen and heard enough. Kevin Winner was not the sort of person he wanted to be associated with. There was a reason why nobody liked him, and he only had himself to blame. ‘Can’t you take a hint?’ said Rupert. ‘We don’t want you around. Now get lost!’
Kevin’s face instantly crumpled. For all the world, he looked like he was going to cry, but he saved himself the indignity by running off before blubbing.
‘That was a bit harsh, Rup,’ said Timothy.
‘Well, it’s for his own good. He doesn’t want to get mixed up with us. It’s seriously bad for the health. You have to be cruel to be kind.’
There’s truth in that, thought Timothy. Although he very much doubted Rupert had Kevin’s interests at heart. Rupert, like the rest of the school, simply didn’t like the boy. Timothy knew it was for the best, but he couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Timothy had given him a chance, and Kevin had spurned it. No matter how many opportunities came his way, the outcome was always the same. It was as if the boy hadn’t been taught right from wrong. There was something inside him that wasn’t quite right. That would explain the smell, mused Timothy.
‘Please, be careful today,’ implored Miss May. ‘I know you have your bracelets ― and thank God for those ― but they’ll not stop a knife in the back.’
George shuddered.
‘Do not worry so, George,’ reassured Sigrid. She nodded to her sister. ‘We will do our best to protect you.’
George giggled nervously.
The bell for registration ended their brief meeting. The two Daves led them into the classroom, but Miss May pulled Timothy back from the others before entering. ‘Timothy,’ she began, taking his hands in hers, ‘I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you with all my heart.’ She squeezed his hands warmly. ‘What you did for me last night was beyond words. I will never forget it.’
Timothy smiled. ‘My pleasure Miss ― I mean, Helen,’ he said awkwardly, ‘and I would do it a hundred times over.’ And it was true. Timothy would never abandon his friends, especially the pretty ones.
Sitting meekly at their desks with unease nagging their thoughts, the boys and girls of 10b pondered whether or not the day would get any stranger. In answer to their unspoken musings ― and to further increase their feelings of baffled discontent ― Timothy, Rupert and George entered the classroom chaperoned by the two Daves and a pair of Swedish blondes. How had three geeks secured the friendships of bodyguards and girlfriends? It didn’t make any sense. Nobody risked staring. Instead, heads popped up intermittently as pupils tried to gather scraps of information: a fleeting glance here, a furtive glimpse there. It wasn’t cool to catch someone’s eye, not now that things had turned all peculiar. The reason behind the unsettling change in atmosphere was as elusive as good food from the canteen.
As routine, the students of Great Underwood Upper had gone home yesterday, leaving a normal school behind them ― well, as normal as any school can be ― but this morning, everything was different. It wasn’t anything specific. The ugly hulking mass of brick and metal, otherwise known as Great Underwood Upper, was the same as always. Nothing was visibly amiss, but somehow the school felt different, and it was a feeling shared by all. There was something unnerving about the place as if it harboured a dark secret.
Timothy trailed Miss May into the classroom to find the two Daves quietly evicting students from their seats. Big and little Dave were in the process of dragging Kirk Chambers from his desk, chair and all. They’d already banished Ingrid Price, Trudy Smudge and Tina Mallan to claim the back seats for Timothy and his gang. Timothy thought he ought to apologise, but there was so little resistance offered against the two Daves’ thuggery that he chose not to bother. Admittedly, he felt safer up against the wall, especially with talk of knives in the back.
From his position of safety, Timothy studied his contemporaries. He couldn’t decide who were demons, who were possessed by demons, or who were neither but simply too scared stiff to move.
Miss May began calling the register but was promptly interrupted by the school’s intrusive PA system. ‘Lessons are cancelled this morning,’ boomed the manly voice of Mrs Gruff over the airwaves. ‘Instead, make your way at once to the theatre for an emergency assembly.’
With a feeble cheer, class 10b received the news as if they’d each won a prize in the church raffle ― which was always either a second-hand book four age groups too young or an uninspiring collection of tinned vegetables well past their sell-by date.
The new-look back-seat crew ― and the irony wasn’t lost on Timothy ― glanced at one another with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Today is about to get interesting, mused Timothy. It appeared Trumpton was about to announce himself as Underwood Upper’s new headmaster.
CHAPTER TEN
School of Demons
Miss May escorted 10b through the school toward the theatre. She walked them down deathly quiet corridors and past sombrely silent classrooms. With heads bowed and eyes down, her subdued students meekly followed in single file. There were no teenage pranks or childish theatrics, nor was there any chit-chat or idle tittle-tattle. In fact, there wasn’t a murmur to be heard above their own shuffling footsteps.
Emerging from their classroom like condemned convicts en route to the electric chair, Mr Farp led 10a into the corridor. The sullen students joined the procession beside Miss May’s 10b pupils, and the two lines marched side by side in miserable silence.
Awkward, thought Timothy. He found himself shoulder to shoulder with Sarah Connell, who, by chance, had filed out of her classroom exactly alongside Timothy. Since sharing a kiss with the ever-popular teen during last year’s Halloween disco, a kiss that wouldn’t have happened if not for the use of dark magic, he’d began feeling uneasy in her presence ― to be honest, cringeworthily uneasy, and that was an understatement. He guessed Sarah felt the same way. Post kiss, whenever their paths crossed, Sarah had simply ignored Timothy, just as she’d done during cross-country ― but not this morning. ‘Hello, Tim,’ she said, all sweetness and light. ‘How are you?’ Not only had she acknowledge his existence by actually looking at him, but unbelievably, she’d spoken to him as well.
With apprehension, Timothy slowly tilted his head toward her. As their eyes met, he half expected Sarah’s to be red, just as they had been at the disco. They weren’t red. They were emerald green and as beautiful as ever. He felt himself colouring with embarrassment. ‘Erm…I’m fine. Thanks for asking, Sarah,’ he answered. Timothy was under no illusions. Even though Sarah didn’t have red eyes, he was more than confident that she wasn’t herself and under a different light ― i.e., no light at all ― her green eyes would indeed be glowing a deep crimson.
In the way of warning, Timothy received a good hard poke between his shoulder blades. Timothy grunted. No doubt his friends feared that Sarah was bewitching him with her charms, both natural and unnatural.
‘How are you?’ inquired a nervous Timothy. Sarah ignored his question. She simply continued to stare at him while grinning like a loon. Unhinged, concluded Timothy. And now, he felt even more uncomfortable in her presence than before.
For a tense time, at least for Timothy, who was forced to endure Sarah Connell’s deranged attention for the duration, the two form groups ambled beside one another. Thankfully, when a fire door caused confusion, Timothy and Sarah were parted. Timothy knew all about the need to tackle fire doors in single file. He and his friends had learned that lesson while pursuing a demon through the school three abreast. It had very nearly cost them their lives.
‘After you, Mr Farp,’ offered Miss May politely.
‘No, after you, Miss May. I insist,’ replied Mr Farp with a bow.
‘Please, Mr Farp, after you.’
The theatrical farce continued for far too long before Mr Farp finally relented and marched 10a through the doors. Timothy sighed with relief as Sarah Connell disappeared with her class down the corridor.
‘She’s definitely possessed,’ whispered Rupert from behind. Communicating with Timothy was proof of that, and the girl’s absurd smile put any doubts to rest. ‘At least we know she’s one of them.’
Rupert was right. And even though Timothy secretly wished that Sarah was truly herself and had suddenly and quite unexpectedly felt compelled to charm Timothy into another kiss, he knew full well that she was a demon or was possessed by a demon and any further kissing between them would probably result in him having his lips torn off his face with her teeth.
Class 10b arrived at the theatre. Miss May led her students into the dimly lit interior before directing them up to their seats at the very back of the auditorium.
Back seat again, thought Timothy. If this carried on much longer, he would begin to get a reputation. Cool and a geek? The three friends found themselves occupying a position above the aisle. It gave them a clear view of the stage below, but Timothy couldn’t help feeling a little exposed. Nor did the location allow them the opportunity to slide low in their chairs, using the students in front as cover to avoid detection. There was nowhere to hide from demonic eyes.
Miss May took her place with the other teachers down in the front row, and now Timothy watched Mr Trumpton limp onto the stage. Between each hobbling step, the demon prince twirled his black cane with flamboyance. Centre stage was lit, not with house lights ― which was the standard procedure for assemblies ― but with a dim crimson glow as if the demonic teacher was all set to recite a monologue from a gothic horror story. Trumpton certainly looked the part. He was suited in a vintage three-piece complete with pocket watch, and under the red light, Trumpton’s handsome features took on a devilish countenance. His slicked-back hairpiece twitched from one side of his head to the other. It was almost like there was something trapped inside the thing. Timothy imagined a youthful stoat desperate to find a way out.
‘If I can have your attention, please,’ began Trumpton. Seemingly without effort, his voice boomed throughout the theatre as if he was plugged into the school’s ludicrously loud PA system.
Rupert looked at Timothy and Timothy looked at George. As far as the three of them could tell, Trumpton really didn’t need to get anyone’s attention. He’d already got it with knobs on. ‘How much attention does the man need?’ questioned Rupert.
‘Firstly, I would like to apologise for interrupting your lessons―’
‘Double history with Borenett ― no need to apologise,’ whispered Rupert with a grin.
Timothy cast his friend a disparaging glance. Rupert knew very well how much Timothy liked history and Mr Borenett.
Mr Trumpton continued. ‘However, I’m afraid I have some bad news.’ In truth, the teacher appeared very much like his news wasn’t in the least bit bad or anything like it.
‘Don’t tell me, they’ve found someone else even more boring than Borenett to teach us,’ sniggered Rupert, and once again, he earned a stare from Timothy. ‘What? I’m just saying, that’s all. You can’t tell me Borenett’s not the dullest teacher in the country.’
‘Sssshhh! He’ll hear you!’ warned George. Why couldn’t Rupert sit still and keep his mouth shut for once?
‘Keep your hair on, George. He’s not even down there,’ replied Rupert scanning the auditorium’s front row with squinted eyes. ‘Mind you, I can’t see much of anything in this bleeding light.’
‘Not Borenett, you fool,’ hissed George. ‘Trumpton!’
Timothy shook his head. Rupert was nervous, and when he felt anxious about something, he talked ― a lot.
Suddenly, the dim red light blinked out altogether, plunging the whole theatre into darkness. George grabbed Timothy’s knee with his right hand and Gunda’s with his left. Timothy wasn’t impressed and Gunda even less so.
Deep and menacing, Trumpton’s voice returned, and this time he sounded as if he was right there beside them. ‘It appears that some of you don’t think my news is worthy of their attention,’ declared Mr Trumpton. ‘We know who you are, don’t we, my friends,’ he added ominously.
From the darkness, a sea of unblinking red eyes materialised below them. Timothy and his friends stared in dread. How had the enemy turned so many so quickly? At this rate, the entire school will be against us by the end of the first week! It was a despairing thought.
The red-eyed children returned their unsettling gaze to the stage, and the dim crimson light was restored as before.
‘As I was saying,’ said Trumpton, ‘I’m afraid that I have bad news.’ There was ill-humoured mirth dancing behind his dark, mischievous eyes. ‘It is my sad duty to inform you that the headmistress, Mrs Lawcroft, is missing.’
At once, Trumpton’s audience burst into life. Previous to the teacher’s announcement, the students had observed proceedings tight-lipped with fearful obedience, but now they erupted with chatter. Even those possessed tried their best to join in and act the part.
‘I knew it!’ said Rupert. ‘They’ve taken out Lawcroft.’
‘So it seems,’ agreed Timothy. ‘Things are going from bad to worse.’
‘This is beyond bad,’ despaired George. ‘This is the end game!’
‘Courage, George,’ soothed Gunda, and this time, she put her hand on his knee. ‘Nothing is lost, not yet.’
George didn’t reply. He was in a state of shock. Never before had a girl touched him ― not a girl who wasn’t his mother anyway, and certainly not affectionately. Nonetheless, despite the girl’s good intentions, Gunda’s iron grip was beginning to bring tears to his eyes. She definitely needed to work on her feminine touch and less on wielding heavy weaponry and maiming things.
Down on the stage, Trumpton put on a sad face. ‘It is with great reluctance and a heavy heart that I take on Mrs Lawcroft’s role as your headteacher.’
‘“With great reluctance and a heavy heart”, my arse,’ whispered Rupert with disdain. ‘Give that man an Oscar!’
‘Needless to say, these duties are temporary and will be relinquished upon Mrs Lawcroft’s return,’ added Trumpton.
‘Not likely,’ commented Rupert.
Timothy agreed. He only hoped that the old bat had taken out a few demons with her. No doubt her innate Scots fighting spirit had come to the fore and she’d gone down scrapping.
‘Yet after the bad news, I now have the good,’ continued a smirking Trumpton. ‘I’m delighted to announce Mrs Gruff as your new deputy head. Furthermore, aiding Mrs Gruff with her duties will be new school prefects: Victoria Holbrook-Smyth, Emilia Fox and Tony and Vernon Sparrow. Fine upstanding students to keep the school’s peace.’
Somewhere along the back row, Timothy heard the two Daves growl.
Trumpton beckoned his new deputy head and her so-called helpers up onto the stage. ‘Please, show your appreciation.’ To encourage the desired response, Trumpton raised his cane into the air with menace. The theatre exploded with applause, but none of it sincere. Timothy and his friends didn’t clap. In fact, Rupert ― and surprisingly George too ― booed and jeered their hearts out from the back seats.
‘And a big hand for the return of your favourite music teacher. Come on up, Mr Warbler!’
Mr Warbler ― a thin, wiry man in need of a good haircut ― joined the others on the stage where, like a leggy colt, he frolicked unashamedly before the audience.
‘Unbelievable,’ muttered Rupert with disgust. ‘I know for a fact, that’s not Warbler.’ He nodded toward the music teacher, who was now bowing and blowing kisses. ‘My mum’s got a friend who knows someone who knows someone else who knows him, and there’s no way that’s him.’ Rupert chuckled inappropriately. ‘Not unless Reverend Goodson has taken the trouble to heal him, but I doubt even the Reverend can regrow a new pair of legs!’
