This new tradition (there, I did it again, just to prove how unashamed I am of this illogical and flagrantly anti-traditional idea) was called 'All Hallow's Read', and it is very simple. On or around Halloween, you give a book, or story, or comic, to someone as a gift. The book can be old or new, and the recipient can be a friend, family member, or total stranger. (Disclaimer: like sweets, books from strangers should be treated with the utmost caution, kids.) The only real rule is this: they must be scary.
I love the idea behind this, because people simply don't share literature enough these days. Some of the most interesting conversations I've ever had have been those discussing books read, not for school or work, but for pleasure. Moreover, horror novels are so much more scary than horror films. It's just a fact. And sharing is caring.
Here's a video in which Mr Gaiman talks about All Hallow's Read. Those figures in the background are people who prefer film and TV over literature. You can also find out more about All Hallow's Read here.
In the spirit of All Hallow's Read, I've decided to give everyone a little gift. This is one of the first horror stories I wrote. In fact, it's one of the first stories I wrote, period. It won me a prize for one of the monthly competitions at Cardiff Univerity's Creative Writing Society (but not the month you might expect). Alumni from a certain prep school in Chichester, West Sussex will probably recognise the legend behind it, and I am thus indebted to the generations of schoolboys (and schoolgirls) who came before me.
The Lady In Grey
Of
the three matrons at West Street Boarding School, Marion was the favourite.
Marion had never been married. She had been
engaged once, long ago, and still wore her engagement ring on a chain around
her neck, together with a small, simple cross which had belonged to her
fiancée. She never told anyone about it, of course. Just like she never told
anyone about the day that she had returned home from work, only to find the
building engulfed in flames. She never spoke about her dead fiancée, and she
always kept the ring hidden from sight. She wore, at all times, simple grey
clothing, having decided that black was too severe a colour to wear twenty
years after the fire, and had earned the nickname ‘The Grey Lady’ from the boys
under her care.
She had lost her eye- indirectly- because of
the fire. The fire that had burnt down her home, that had killed her lover. She
had stood outside their house, watching as the firemen battled the inferno,
fighting back her tears. And then something hit her in the eye. There was a
moment of searing pain, in her eye, which she quickly managed to brush away. An
ember had blown into her eye, damaging its surface. Although she had thought
little of it at the time, (who would, at a time like that?) the wound became
infected and, a few months later, she returned to her mother’s house from the
hospital, her right eye replaced with a sphere of glass. The fire that had
robbed her of everything she owned, of her future as a wife and a mother, had
also partially robbed her of sight.
Marion loved all of the boys under her care,
with the possible exception of Jack.
Jack was, to Marion, everything that was bad
about children. The student was, like so many others, a chorister. But while
most of the other boys were quiet and polite as a result of the extensive time
spent in the Cathedral, Jack was the exact opposite. His talent as a singer had
made him arrogant, and too many midnight feasts had made him fat.
When Marion found Jack stealing sweets from
other boys, she punished him. That night, Jack was sent to bed before the other
boys, without his evening snack. That night, Jack decided to get his revenge.
The
dormitory in which Jack slept was called Long Dorm. It was a large wood-panelled
room which was both too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. It had twenty
beds, although only twelve of them were occupied. The room had hard, wooden
floorboards, which gave any boy who walked across the room without shoes a foot
full of splinters. In the far corner, behind a locked door, was a spiral
staircase which led all the way through the building to the ground floor, and
served as the fire escape. In the event
of a fire, or a drill, it was Marion’s job to wake the boys, unlock the door,
and lead them down the narrow staircase to the safety of the school playground
outside.
That
night, Marion woke with the sound of the fire alarm blaring in her ears. She
was out of her bed and on her feet before she was fully awake, striding down
the hallway to Long Dorm. She knew that this couldn’t be a drill; she wouldn’t
have gone to bed if there had been one planned. As she passed a staircase
leading down to the rest of the school, she smelt smoke. She quickened her
pace, trying to move as quickly as possible without appearing panicked.
She
entered the room and flicked on the lights, quietly pleased to see that most of
the boys were already out of bed, sleepily pulling on their dressing gowns and
slippers and shuffling towards the door to the spiral staircase. Jack was
already there, waiting by the locked door. For a few boys, the only response to
the alarm had been to drag the covers over their heads. Normally, Jack would
have been one of them. A moment of suspicion flared in her before she fought it
down. Jack was a prankster and a bully, yes, but even he wouldn’t set fire to
the school. Would he?
With all of the boys out of their beds, Marion
began struggling with the old, stiff lock of the disused door. Behind her, the
boys stood in a ragged crowd, some chattering with excitement, some fidgeting
nervously, some practically falling asleep again where they stood. Only Jack
remained entirely still, waiting at Marion’s elbow.
Marion
stood at the top of the staircase, feeling in the dark for the light switch.
Just as she reached it, she felt a pressure in the small of her back. She
turned as she fell, and saw Jack’s grinning face framed by the light which
spilled out of the dormitory. She fell through the darkness, bouncing off one
wall after another as she tumbled all the way downwards. She landed on the
narrow landing which opened out onto the floor below with a thud which knocked
the glass eye from its socket and sent it skittering off into the gloom below.
By the time anyone knew what had happened, Marion was dead.
Time
passed and life, gradually, returned to normal. A memorial service was held for
Marion, at which the choristers, including those from Long Dorm, had sung. Despite
an extensive search, her glass eye was never found. A new matron was hired; one
who was just as strict as Marion had been, but lacked the other woman’s
kindness and sense of humour. The damage to the library, where the fire had
started, was repaired. The cause of the fire was never firmly established,
although a cleaner- an old man with a habit of leaving cigarette butts in the
bins- was fired.
At first, Jack was the same as ever. He was
still just as loud and rude. He still stole chocolate and biscuits from the
smaller boys and, by the time the summer term was nearly at an end, he was even
fatter than he had been before.
It was two weeks until the end of term when
things started to change. Jack found himself waking, again and again, in the
middle of the night. He would lie perfectly still; uncertain of what had woken
him. And then he would see, in the corner of his eye, movement in the shadows near
the door to the spiral stairs. Or he would catch the smell of burning. Or worst
of all, he would hear the sound. It was like a marble, a glass marble, rolling
along the wooden floorboards, starting in the corner and approaching his bed,
before stopping abruptly, only a few feet away.
When he told the others, he was ignored.
Everyone knew that he was a liar and a trouble-maker. He had tried to scare
them, or trick them, or bullied them in the past, and they were tired of it.
When he tried to tell the teachers, it was worse. There was talk of sending him
to a psychiatrist, murmurs that he wasn’t dealing with the trauma of Marion’s
death properly.
The end of term was greeted, as always, with
much excitement. Long Dorm was a hive of activity long after lights out, as the
boys excitedly discussed their plans for the long summer holidays which
stretched out before them. Only Jack was silent. He lay in his bed, perfectly
still, refusing to be drawn into any conversation. He didn’t even stir to join
in with the customary midnight feast. He lay awake long after the other boys
had fallen silent, finally falling into a light, fitful sleep.
Jack woke a few hours later, covered in sweat.
The room, always warm in the summer evening, now seemed unbearably hot. Without
opening his eyes, Jack kicking the sheets away in an attempt to cool down. He
froze as his nostrils were filled with the smell of burning. Gradually, he
became aware of the sound of a glass marble being rolled along the floor of the
dormitory. At first it was quiet, so soft that he wasn’t sure that he had
actually heard it. It grew louder as it approached. And then it would stop, the
sound quickly fading away as the marble switched direction, moving away from
him. A moment later, it would start again, as it drew gradually closer to his
bed. Each time, it would stop just before reach the place where Jack lay, his
eyes firmly closed.
Finally, Jack could bear it no longer. The
smell of burning had grown so strong that it stung his nostrils and made his
eyes water. The sound of the marble, the noise rising and falling as it moved
around the room, echoed through his head so that he felt he would scream. He opened
his eyes.
Someone was standing at the end of his bed.
The moonlight streamed through the window
behind it, illuminating the figure from behind. All that Jack was certain of
was that it was a woman. A woman dressed entirely in grey.
The sound of the fire alarm ripped through the
building. It wasn’t until the school had been evacuated, and the boys were
gathered in the playground, that anyone realised that Jack wasn’t there. They
searched the building, but the boy could not be found. When the new matron
checked his bed she found, nestled in the crumpled sheets, a glass eye. Jack
was never seen again.
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