Friday 6th September

22:30 With the matrics studying for their trials exams the house was like a ghost town. Vern made two trips to the bogs and reported on both occasions that the coast was clear and that the bogs were in mint condition. Rambo gave us the signal and we all began throwing on jerseys, tracksuit pants and takkies. I felt the old shiver of excitement that I always get before a Crazy Eight mission. Vern kissed Roger and shook the hand of Potato’s torso before following me out of the cubicle, pointing his torch at my bum. We stumbled over JR Ewing as he lay asleep in his bed and crept out of the window and onto the vestry roof.

Fatty had a tight squeeze getting through the chapel window. I could see he was mightily relieved when he finally collapsed onto the chapel gallery floor. Then there was a loud hiss of Shhhhh! Fatty was back on his feet and had his arms outstretched for silence. Somebody or something was kneeling at the altar. With only a single candle burning in the chapel it was impossible to see who or what it was but it definitely looked human. Rambo made us all lie low behind the pews and we waited for something to happen. Nothing happened.

Fatty nudged me in the ribs and whispered to me with hot breath, ‘My oath to God, Spud, that’s Macarthur.’ I stopped breathing. Fatty leaned in again and said, ‘Rambo, Mad Dog, guys – believe me, that’s supernatural shit. It’s an omen!’

There was a nervous pause and then Boggo whispered, ‘Good or bad omen?’ Fatty squinted through the gloom towards the kneeling figure. He looked back at Boggo and said, ‘Dunno.’ There was another long pause. Suddenly Boggo got up and said he thought it was definitely a bad omen and he was going back to bed. Rambo cleared his throat to say something and instantly there was total darkness. I couldn’t even see the hand in front of my face. I could hear heavy breathing to my left and Darth Vader noises to my right so at least I knew where Fatty and Vern were.

Then out of the silence came Vern’s demented voice.

‘Lucky I brought the torch, hey, chaps?’ He then made a strange noise in the back of his throat that sounded like he was gargling on a large marble. There was a loud CLONK followed by more silence. Then we heard Vern’s voice again. ‘Sorry, chaps. Vern dropped the torch.’ Mad Dog found the torch and handed it to Rambo.

Rambo whispered, ‘Follow me, ghostbusters,’ and led us along the pew in single file. The gallery door creaked open and we made it to the staircase leading upwards to the bell tower and downwards to the chapel. Luckily the moonlight spilled through the stairwell windows so we could at least see where our feet were landing. We reached the bottom of the spiral stairwell and stood waiting at the chapel door. Rambo motioned for silence and slowly opened the huge oak doors. The chapel was dark and ominous. The pale moonlight couldn’t get through the stained glass windows and every shape looked as black as coal.

Rambo flashed the torchlight over the altar. Nothing there. The mysterious kneeling figure was gone. Fatty turned to Boggo and said, ‘You see. It was Macarthur, you dork.’ Rambo hit Fatty on the shoulder with the torch and told him to shut up. ‘You can discuss ghosts later, you fat shit!’ he hissed. ‘Stop farting around and concentrate. Some of us are on final warning here.’ Fatty fell silent and we followed Rambo down the aisle, past the altar, through the wooden door and then down the tiny staircase and into the crypt. Rambo switched off the torch and handed it back to Vern and ordered him not to switch it on again.

The moon was brighter than we expected. Rambo whispered, ‘It’s too bright. We have to run fast. Fatty, move your arse!’ Then Rambo was running, sprinting! I battled to keep up and I could hear poor Vern snorting and wheezing somewhere behind me. Rambo didn’t stop until he had leapt over both the bog stream and the barbed wire fence and was in the thick bush on the other side. We waited about five minutes for Vern Vader and Fatty to grovel over the fence and collapse onto the grass in front of us. Rambo then split off by himself to find his connection.

Mad Dog made sure that the coast was clear before leading us on through the long grass towards the looming forest ahead. The grass was wet with dew and my takkies were making an annoying squelching squeak every time I took a stride. We walked at a very slow pace because the ground was uneven and Fatty was close to a heart attack.

We gathered at the foot of the Mad House tree and listened for any unusual sounds. There was nothing besides crickets, frogs and randy bulls mooing further up the hill.

Unless you stood under the tree and knew where to look you would never think that there was a massive tree house just eight metres above your head.

Soon we had all made it up the tree and were gathered around the glow of Mad Dog’s gas lamp, warming our hands while waiting for Rambo. After some time there was a shrill whistle from the forest below. Mad Dog whistled back and Rambo scuttled up the tree with a rucksack of illegal goodies. Cigarettes were lit and Mellowwood brandy was poured.

After a few swigs of brandy everyone stopped whispering and began talking normally again. Fatty was totally convinced that we’d seen Macarthur in the chapel. Boggo reckoned it was Reverend Bishop. Rambo said he didn’t care about ghosts but for his money it was Macarthur. Boggo threw back another shot of brandy and said, ‘Why would a ghost be praying in the first place? He’s dead anyway. What a donk.’ Fatty took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew a huge cloud of smoke out of his nose before saying, ‘He’s praying, Boggo, because he’s asking God for forgiveness for hanging himself in the chapel.’ Boggo threw up his hands and said, ‘But why would he give a shit?’ ‘Because,’ sighed Fatty, ‘unless God forgives him he’ll never go to heaven and have to be at school until the end of the world.’ We all agreed that Macarthur’s ghost was in a pretty shitty situation.

Rambo took a drag on his cigarette and said, ‘I got a theory for you, Fatty.’ He then took a drag and blew a cloud of smoke in Vern’s face. Vern coughed violently and spat on the wall. Mad Dog called Vern a barbarian and asked him if he behaved like that in his own home. Vern wiped the spit off the wall with his sleeve and looked apologetic.

Rambo waited for Vern to finish muttering something to Gilbert the Gnome before he went on. ‘My theory is that we see ghosts because we want to see ghosts. It’s all about believing in stuff. Like religion.’ He then told us a long story about some idiot who was locked in a freezer and died of hypothermia even though the freezer wasn’t even on. Fatty wasn’t impressed that Rambo’s stepmom/girlfriend had read this in the You magazine. Simon handed me his cigarette while he poured a drink and suddenly there was a bright flash of light.

‘What the hell was that?’ asked Rambo. Nobody answered. Mad Dog turned off his gaslight and we all listened for noises in the darkness. Mad Dog said, ‘I don’t…’ but his voice trailed away as a strong beam of light shone up and over the floor of the Mad House. I could hear heavy breathing around me and could just make out the maniacal stare of the wildebeest head in the moonlight. There were now three distinct beams of torchlight shining around the floor and the walls. I was trembling and struggling to breathe. I hoped it was just a horrible nightmare that I was about to wake up from. But then there was a loud and distorted voice on a megaphone:

‘Crazy Eight! Please come down!’

I heard sniggering and whispers of ‘Give it here! Give it here!’

Then I heard Pike. ‘This is the forest police. We have you surrounded!’

There was more sniggering and the breaking of twigs. I heard someone snatching the megaphone and then clearing his throat before blasting forth with: ‘Throw down your brandy bottles and come out with your cigarettes up!’ Emberton. There was more cackling laughter from below us. We heard Anderson telling the others to shut up and then he called up to us, without the megaphone this time. ‘Guys, I know you can hear me. Listen – you can either come down or we can come up.’

Rambo was lying next to me staring up at the tree above us with unblinking eyes.

‘Or if you don’t choose to come down,’ continued Anderson, ‘and I don’t feel like climbing up, then I think I’ll go and wake up Sparerib and he can decide.’

Boggo motioned to Rambo to say something, but Rambo shook his head and whispered, ‘He’s bluffing.’

Then there was a loud scream from below and some thrashing around in the grass and then Devries’ voice saying that something had bitten him. Mad Dog sniggered and loaded another stone into his catty. Rambo pulled the catty away and told Mad Dog he was being an idiot.

Anderson’s voice softened like he was offering us something tempting. ‘We have a photograph, guys. And I’m not bluffing about Sparerib. If you come down now maybe we can resolve this among ourselves.’ The game was up and we knew it. We were busted red handed in the Mad House with cigarettes and brandy. We climbed down the tree one by one to the sound of jeering and mocking. My whole body was shaking and I was close to bursting into tears.

They were all waiting for us: Anderson, Pike, Devries, Death Breath, Emberton. All shining their torches and gloating. The seven of us marched back to the school like a herd of sheep, with our heads bowed and in absolute silence. We all knew that we were now at the mercy of these monsters that the school calls prefects, and there wasn’t a single thing any of us could do about it. Because I was too shocked to realize what was happening, I hadn’t really thought about what might happen to us. I just knew whatever it was it would be horrible. I marched along staring at the Nike logo on the back of Rambo’s takkies. I think I might have been a bit drunk.

We have been confined to house bounds, which means we can’t leave the house except for chapel and meals. This will last until Anderson and the prefects have decided what to do with us.

I lay on my bed with my mind doing somersaults and ideas and schemes shooting around like fire crackers. I prayed to God that Anderson would not tell Sparerib. I don’t care what terrible torture he uses on us.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 578