Creeping Terror by Justin Richards

were patches where the rafters were exposed.
    Inside was a small foyer which led into an office area on one side and the main schoolroom on the other. The schoolroom took up most of the building. It was large and rectangular, reaching up the full height of the building. The ceiling was discoloured and plaster had broken away, falling over the desks and floor. 
    The end of the room was raised up a step to create an area for the teacher. On this low dais stood a desk, a blackboard – with the date 24 February 1943 still faintly visible – and an upright chair. The walls had been whitewashed, but were spattered with patches of damp. There were several faded posters, one with pictures and names of farm animals. Another showed each of the letters of the alphabet beside something starting with that letter. It was headed ‘Phonics’.
    ‘I thought that was a new thing,’ Maria said.
    ‘Nothing new under the sun,’ Growl told her. ‘Old wine in new bottles.’
    Each desk had a bench seat attached to it. Knight got everyone to help turn the desks and position them to form a long single table with a bench running down each side. Growl spread his papers out again, then Rupam and Ben piled the material from their rucksacks at the end of this makeshift table.
    ‘I hope they won’t mind us moving their desks,’ Gemma said.
    Ben couldn’t see what she meant, until he opened his mobile phone. Then he saw the faint impressions of the children, sitting now along both sides of the table. Girls in pinafore dresses and boys in shorts and grubby shirts turned to look at him.The teacher – a middle-aged lady with her hair in a severe bun – rapped on the blackboard with a cane for the children’s attention.
    Ben closed his phone. ‘Do you see them all the time?’ he asked Gemma quietly.
    She nodded, biting her lower lip. ‘Rupam knows they’re there, but he doesn’t actually see them. Maria does, though.’
    Ben glanced across at the older girl. She was staring at the table, or rather at the children Ben could no longer see sitting round it. Her face was pale and she blinked back tears from her eyes. Then she caught sight of Ben. He looked away.
    ‘What are you staring at?’ Maria demanded. ‘There must be some lamps somewhere,’ she said, pushing past him and hurrying from the room.
    ‘Yes, that would be useful,’ Growl said, still arranging his documents.
    There were no lamps, but Maria found a drawer full of candles in the office. With Gemma’s help, she carried them through. They also found school registers dating back to 1907, which Growl accepted with enthusiasm and added to his collection of books, documents and printouts.
    Rupam and Ben helped position the candles round the schoolroom and down the middle of the table.Knight had a lighter, though Ben had never seen him smoke. Once a candle was lit, Ben let it burn for a few seconds to melt enough wax for him to tip out and use to glue the candle in place once it set.
    It was only when Knight suggested that Ben and the other children get some sleep while he and Growl continued their work that Ben realised how tired he was. It was late and dark. Gemma was yawning and Rupam had slumped against the wall at the side of the raised dais.
    ‘I’m not tired,’ Maria said.
    ‘Nevertheless,’ Knight told her, ‘I’d like you to sort out the others. I suggest you bed down in the office as best you can. I think I saw some blankets in there.’
    ‘They’re tablecloths,’ Maria told him. But she didn’t argue.
    There was just about room for them to lie down, each wrapped up in a couple of tablecloths, on the office floor. It was uncomfortable, but Ben was too tired to wriggle about and try to improve things. He’d slept in worse places, he thought. A single candle gave them faint, flickering light as they all settled down.
    ‘Tell us the story of the church tower,’ Maria said.
    ‘What story?’ Gemma wanted to know. Shesounded half asleep.
    ‘It’s