The bright orange flames were licking the roof of the house. It was now uncontrollable and as the firemen struggled to dampen the inferno they knew it was a lost cause. The emergency call had come through from a neighbouring farmer who happened to see the building on fire while checking on his stock two fields over. The roaring blaze was devouring the house, deafening the firemen as they attempted to shout instructions to each other. At this point they didn’t know who owned the property or indeed if anyone was inside.
The heat alone was causing problems, stopping the firemen from getting close enough to halt the flames. It was dangerously close to catching and spreading further to the grounds and the woods surrounding the building. They made a decision to put one team on dampening the area of ground around it while the second team concentrated on the house.
As they moved into position an explosion from within the building brought the roof down, with the windows imploding. One of the firemen raised an eyebrow at this, and at that moment they all knew there was nothing more they could do. Their only hope was that no one had been inside. It was now officially one of the worst fires they had attended this year.
It was out of control.
In an adjoining field, three people crouched low so as not to be seen. A fourth one appeared to be unconscious.
“How did they know?” a voice sobbed, “It’s too soon.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” said a stronger voice, “For now we have to find safety and I know it’s not what you wanted but we have no choice, we need their help.”
Under the cover of darkness, the figures disappeared into the night.
As dawn approached, still clinging to the black of the night, the house was nothing more than dying embers, the ferocity of the flames had seen to that. It had certainly been a tough night for the fire brigade and although there was a fire engine still present, the majority of the crew had gone back to the station. The firemen hadn’t been to an incident like this before, it was as though the whole house had caught fire at the same time. It certainly wasn’t the normal pattern of flames that steadily ate their way through a building. They’d cordoned off the fire site and would now ensure it was safe for the investigators to start their part of the job although that wouldn’t probably happen for 24 hours as there was still plenty of heat left in the ashes. As they worked they were unaware of a figure in the shadows watching them.
From the cover of the nearby trees he watched the firemen packing up the last of the fire engines. He’d wanted to make sure there was nothing left and he was certain that there was no way they could have survived that blaze. He’d been thorough in setting the fire and had been watching their routine to make sure he knew when they were most likely to be all in together.
Basking in the satisfaction of his handiwork, the perpetrator leaned back against a tree, arms folded, smirking. His superiors would be pleased with his work. After the last mistake he had made he wanted to get back into their good books and maybe, if they were pleased, they would lift this damned curse.
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The rain was lashing down making the ground underfoot slippery and hard to get her footing. Her clothes were soaked through and her hair plastered to her head but it didn’t matter. She had to make it to the opening at the end of the woods. She had to. In the distance the sound seemed to be catching up with her. It was indescribable; a cross between a howling and a scream, inhuman. Her foot caught on a root in front of her and sent her sprawling to the floor, wasting precious seconds. She clumsily rose to her feet noticing the lights in the sky behind her, terrified that it would catch her. She could hear her name being called, over and over. “Martha… Martha… Martha…”
Martha opened her eyes with a start. “Sweetheart are you okay?” came the reassuring voice of her mother. “You were having a bad dream.”
“It was the same as before” she replied, her voice close to tears and breathing rapidly.
“It’s okay,” her mom calmly replied. “It’s just your mind making sense of all the things that have been happening recently, especially with your big day today. You’re safe and in your bed. Try to get some sleep now or you’ll be wrecked for school”.
Martha’s mom put a small lamp on in her room and sat quietly on her bed, stroking her hair until Martha calmed down and eventually went back to sleep.
That ‘big day’ that her mother had referred to was her first day at the new school. Martha had just moved to the area and it was her first day at St Bernard’s School. The timing of the move had meant that Martha was unable to start in September with everyone else, and it was now January, the first day back after the Christmas holidays. That meant she’d missed a year and a term at the new school and she knew friendships would already have been made without her and so was very nervous about it all. New year, new school, new everything really.
The school seemed okay. She’d been to have a look round with her mom before the holidays and it looked like every other school she’d seen before. It wasn’t too big for a secondary school but on your first day, without knowing anyone else there, it was a daunting prospect.
Martha’s dad was an archaeologist and often away for long periods of time. With Martha at secondary school her mom and dad had felt it would be better for stability (whatever that meant in grown-up speak) if they moved to be nearer family. Martha hadn’t really understood what was wrong with their lovely old house, albeit that it was in a semi rural location and the nearest school was about 10 miles away. The bus journey on a good day had been about forty minutes long and she’d started to make some good friends but for some reason it was bothering her mom and dad.
Martha loved the peace and quiet of the countryside around their old house and didn’t mind the bus journey. It was her mom who seemed more jittery about it. Personally, Martha had thought that it was her mom not liking the isolation of the house when dad was away that was the main reason they were moving closer to the city. It didn’t really matter now, the decision had been made and on the proviso that they would keep the house and rent it out, they would move in with her Aunt Esme who lived in Moatbridge.
Aunt Esme happened to own the most glorious sweet shop in the local high street. The shop had two floors above it plus a large attic space, and it was on the second floor that Martha now had her new bedroom, with her mom across the hall at the front of the building while her aunt had the floor below.
Martha’s room had been put together by her aunt before they arrived and was furnished in a rather lovely bohemian, eclectic manner. Aunt Esme had never been one to conform and she’d picked up some stylish items that were now in Martha’s bedroom. It was full of colour and as the bedroom was at the back of the flat she had a panoramic view over back gardens and fields beyond.
A couple of hours after her nightmare, Martha stirred from her sleep, becoming aware of her mother calling her for breakfast.
“Coming mom,” she shouted back. Martha looked at her new uniform hanging on the wardrobe door and hesitated. Should she put it on before breakfast and chance not throwing her breakfast down it or take the sensible route and leave it until after. She chose the latter reaching for her dressing gown and hurrying down the stairs.
“How are you feeling?” her mom asked, as she moved a bowl towards Martha.
“Not too bad,” Martha replied thinking that, actually, she didn’t seem to be having any thoughts at all. So much had happened in the last couple of months that Martha hadn’t had a chance to worry about the new school. She missed her old friends, but so far, well at least up until Christmas, they’d still been emailing her so it didn’t feel as though she’d really left them behind.
“Would you like me to drop you at school, seeing as it’s your first day?” her mom asked.
“Yes please, that will be great,” Martha replied relieved. Although she knew it was only a short distance to school she thought it would be intimidating to walk on her own on her first day and would wait to find some new friends to share the journey with for the rest of the week.
Breakfast over, Martha returned to her bedroom and after a visit to the bathroom for a wash and to brush her teeth, changed into her school uniform. It consisted of a grey skirt, white shirt, blue blazer with the school crest on and black shoes. It wasn’t a remarkable uniform but it was smart and saved having to decide what to wear from her own wardrobe.
Collecting her bag from the hallway, Martha accompanied her mom down to the car and less than ten minutes later was standing outside the gates of St Bernard’s.
The school was a red brick building, old fashioned in design with imposing iron gates at the front. Martha knew it had been modernised within from her visit previously but it had a grand feel to it.
Martha took a deep breath and headed for reception where she’d been asked by Mrs Graythwaite, the Principal of the school, to meet her that morning.
Mrs Graythwaite was a very pleasant lady, in her late fifties with grey hair pulled back into a chignon. Martha had met her when she’d looked around the school and thought she seemed kind and fair but also someone who you didn’t want to get into trouble with.
After announcing herself at reception, Martha was accompanied through to Mrs Graythwaite’s office which was positioned near to the entrance through doors that could only be entered if you had a swipe card or opened by the receptionist.
“Ah, welcome Martha, it’s a pleasure to see you,” she beamed. “I have asked Mrs Duncan, Head of Year 8, to talk you through your new timetable and show you down to your form class. If you have any problems Mrs Duncan will be around all day for you to talk to. She has also arranged for, a lovely young girl, Amy Cotton to be your guide as she has a few of the same lessons as you today. She is in your form and will also help you find your way around.”
So far so good thought Martha and after the pleasantries had been completed she walked with Mrs Duncan down to her new form 8AG. The 8 being that Martha was in Year 8 and the AG stood for the initials of the form teacher. She obviously didn’t know the teacher’s first name but the G stood for Gershwin.
Martha was introduced to her new teacher by Mrs Duncan who then left Martha with a reminder that “If you need anything you know where to find me.”
Miss Gershwin was a lot younger than Mrs Graythwaite. She was stylishly dressed in a red trouser suit with a multi-coloured stripy shirt. Her hair was short and blonde in a choppy, modern cut. She looked too pretty to be a teacher (not that teachers couldn’t be nice looking) and Martha couldn’t help but feel she was almost out of place. Miss Gershwin could easily have been a model as she was slim and towered over Mrs Graythwaite.
“Welcome to 8AG Martha, this is your new form and this is where you meet every morning so that we can take the register. Class, please say good morning to Martha and make her feel welcome.”
The response was completely underwhelming with a few of the girls in the class making an effort but for the most part it was a very wishy washy welcome.
“Come now class, we have better manners than this, after three please welcome Martha with a hearty good morning.” This time Miss Gershwin counted down,
“Three, two, one!” and while it was still not a rip roaring shout out, a few more of the class joined in.
“Now Martha, far be it for me to put you on the spot, but would you like to introduce yourself to the class, just a few words about yourself and what interests you?”
Martha blushed slightly, feeling awkward. “Great,” she thought inwardly “just what I need to make a complete fool of myself”.
A slight cough from her teacher brought her round. “W,well,” Martha stammered.
“As you heard my name is Martha and I moved to the area just before Christmas. We’re living with my Aunt who owns a shop in the High Street. My dad is an archaeologist and is away for long periods of time, so my mom thought it was a good idea to move up here to be with family for a while.”
“Sure your dad’s not in prison?” came a muffled comment from the back of the classroom accompanied by a couple of snorts of laughter.
“I er… no,” said Martha, “my dad is an archaeologist” she repeated, flustered.
“If you say so,” came the reply.
Before she had the chance to carry on talking Miss Gershwin walked to the back of the classroom and challenged the boy who had made the derisory comment. She heard Miss Gershwin warn the boy and then made him stand up and apologise to Martha.
“Sorry,” he muttered sarcastically and without any feeling. Martha looked over at him and wanted to say something back but thought better of it, especially with the way the boy was staring her down.
Miss Gershwin apologised for the appalling lack of manners and proceeded to ask the class to be helpful to Martha in her first week.
At that moment, the bell in the hall sounded letting everyone know it was time to move to the first lesson. Miss Gershwin called Amy out to the front and introduced her to Martha, saying that most of their classes matched so Amy could be Martha’s guide.
Amy was shorter than Martha, had blonde, shoulder length, straight hair and a bright smile. On first impression Amy seemed courteous and friendly.
“Sorry about that,” Amy said, “Vinny is such a jerk. I really don’t know what his problem is,” she added.
“Is that his name? It’s okay,” sighed Martha, “my dad really is an archaeologist though. I suppose it’s an unusual job for most dads to have.”
“Just avoid Vinny if you can” Amy replied, “it’s because you’re new, so it’s fresh pickings for him. Unfortunately most of us in the class have been on the receiving end of one comment or another. Anyway, forget that now, let’s get you to first lesson. It’s history with Mr Peterson.”
Mr Peterson’s lesson turned out to be rather fun for a history lesson. He had a relaxing way of teaching, and sprinkled with some humour managed to engage the class and make the subject interesting. Martha had enjoyed this subject at her previous school and seemed to have a natural flair for it, or at least she was good at remembering dates and times of events in history. The lesson was over all too soon and Martha headed for the next class with Amy.
The second subject was maths, not one of Martha’s favourite subjects but she’d never had any serious problems with it. The only fly in the ointment was that Vinny was also in this lesson.
Martha found an empty seat and slid her bag under the table. Unfortunately Vinny chose to sit behind her.
“So where’s Indiana then newbie?” came Vinny’s sarcastic voice, “is he in the Temple of Doom?”
Martha could feel herself getting hot with embarrassment. In truth she didn’t know exactly where her dad was at the moment. It was nearly always somewhere that was difficult for him to keep in touch with them and often his travels took him in directions that weren’t originally part of his travel plans. Her dad had an innate sense of curiosity and it was because of this that his travels were sometimes extended without any notice.
“Shut it Vinny,” Martha heard one of her classmates say. “Leave her alone.” Martha couldn’t tell who had said this but silently thanked them. The lesson continued with no further interruptions.
It was at lunchtime when Amy took Martha to the dining hall that Vinny decided to up his game.
Amy was in the middle of chatting to Martha and introducing her to some of the girls who were already seated at the table when a voice boomed over all of them.
“Hi Short Round.” At first nobody took any notice until Vinny moved closer to the table.
“What do you want Vinny?” asked Amy.
“I was talking to Short Round if you don’t mind,” he retorted.
“What are you on about?” Amy said looking increasingly irritated.
“Short Round you know Indiana’s side kick,” mocked Vinny.
“Go away Vinny,” Amy said standing up and walking towards him.
“Keep your shirt on,” he said laughing as he walked away, a swagger in his step.
Amy turned to Martha. “Just try and ignore him, he’ll probably be like this for a couple of days, but we’ve found that if you don’t react he’ll get bored. Obviously if it gets too much let Miss Gershwin know, she seems to be able to keep him under control.”
Martha watched Vinny as he met up with his friends further down the corridor. He was slightly smaller than Martha, with short sandy coloured hair, closely cropped. She noticed that he seemed to walk with his shoulders hunched which was probably why he seemed smaller than her. He had an unusual look about him which would be quite pleasant were he not being mean. It was his eyebrows, she thought, thick and arched, almost in a triangular shape that made him stand out. Martha sensed that there was some unhappiness around him, but if he was mean to people then it wasn’t surprising.
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