Groosham Grange Read Online Free PDF Page B

sixty-six or sixty-four, but he decided not to argue. Instead, he reached out for the quill. And it was then that it happened.
    As David reached out, Mr Kilgraw jerked forward. The sharp nib of the quill jabbed into David’s thumb, cutting him. He cried out and shoved his thumb into his mouth.
    “I’m so sorry,” Mr Kilgraw said. He didn’t sound sorry at all. “Are you hurt? I can ask Mrs Windergast to have a look at it, if you like.”
    “I’m all right.” David was angry now. He didn’t mind if Mr Kilgraw wanted to play some sort of game with him. But he hated being treated like a baby.
    “In that case, perhaps you’d be so good as to sign your name.” Mr Kilgraw held out his pen but now it was stained bright red with David’s blood. “We won’t need any ink,” he remarked.
    David took it. He looked for ink on the desk but there wasn’t any. The assistant headmaster was leaning over him, breathing into his ear. Now all David wanted was to get out of there, to get something to eat and to go to bed. He signed his name, the nib scratching red lines across the coarse white paper.
    “Excellent!” Mr Kilgraw took the pen and slid the book round. “You can go now, David. Mrs Windergast will be waiting for you outside.”
    David moved towards the door, but Mr Kilgraw stopped him. “I do want you to be happy here, David,” he said. “We at Groosham Grange have your best interests at heart. We’re here to help you. And once you accept that, I promise you, you’ll never look back. Believe me.”
    David didn’t believe him but he had no intention of arguing about it now. He went to the door as quickly as he could, forcing himself not to run. Because he had seen what was wrong with the mirror. He had seen it the moment after he had signed his name in blood, the moment he had turned away from the desk.
    The mirror had reflected everything in the room. It had reflected the desk, the books, the curtains, the furniture, the carpet and David himself.
    But it hadn’t reflected Mr Kilgraw.

THE FIRST DAY
    7.00 a.m.
    Woke up with a bell jangling in my ear. The dormitory is high up in one of the school’s towers. It is completely circular with the beds arranged like the numbers on the clock face. I’m at seven o’clock (which is also the time as I sit here writing this). Jeffrey is next to me at six o’clock. His pillow is on the floor, his sheets are all crumpled and he has somehow managed to tie his blanket in a knot. No sign of Jill. The girls all sleep in another wing.
    7.30 a.m.
    I am now washed and dressed. One of the boys showed me the way to the bathroom. He told me his name was William Rufus, which was a bit puzzling as I saw the name-tape on his pyjamas and it said James Stephens. I asked him why he was wearing somebody else’s pyjamas but he just smiled as if he knew something that I didn’t. I think he
does
know something I don’t!
    I don’t think I like the boys at Groosham Grange. They’re not stuck up like everyone at Beton College, but they are … different. There was no talking after lights out. There was no pillow fight. Nothing. At Beton College every new boy was given an apple-pie bed – and they used real apple pies. Here, nobody seems at all interested in me. It’s as if I weren’t here at all (and I wish I weren’t).
    7.45 a.m.
    Breakfast. Eggs and bacon. But the bacon was raw and the eggs certainly didn’t come out of a chicken! I have lost my appetite.
    9.30 a.m.
    William Rufus – if that really is his name – took me to my first lesson. He is short and scrawny with a turned-up nose and baby-blue eyes. He was just the sort who would always have been bullied at Beton, but I don’t think there is any bullying at Groosham Grange. Everyone is too polite. I don’t believe I just wrote that! Whoever heard of a polite schoolboy?
    William and I had a weird discussion on the way to the classroom.
    “It’s double Latin,” he said.
    “I hate Latin,” I remarked.
    I thought we’d