The Teacher's Tales of Terror Read Online Free PDF Page A

him.
    ‘Satan?’ he said, his throat very dry all of a sudden. Simon turned to see if his uncle was returning. He felt the colour draining from his face.
    The guide marshalled her group and they began to move off across the room to an open doorway.
    Simon was dazed. ‘Satan is everywhere,’ he remembered Uncle Henry saying. ‘ Everywhere .’ Simon looked for his uncle again but could not see him anywhere. He walked in the direction he felt his uncle must have taken, but stopped in his tracks, haunted by that cruel face.
    He happened to look back towards the painting and saw that, now that the tour group had moved on, a man was standing examining it with great concentration.
    Even before the man turned to face him, Simon knew it was him. It was the man from the painting – the man who was staring out; it was the man the guide had said was thought to be Satan.
    The man looked at Simon, who stared back at him in disbelief. Simon looked from him to the painting and back again and the man seemed to follow his gaze. Then the same cruel expression he wore in the picture appeared on his face.
    ‘Simon?’ It was Uncle Henry. ‘Are you all right, my boy? You look as if you’ve seen a –’
    ‘That man . . .’ said Simon, pointing.
    But there was no one there.
    ‘What man, Simon?’ said Uncle Henry.
    Simon looked around, peering into the clusters of tourists dotted around, but there was no one even vaguely familiar.
    ‘Nothing, Uncle,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought I saw someone I recognised.’
    ‘Well,’ said Uncle Henry, putting his arm round Simon. ‘What say we go and look at the view, eh? Get away from these fusty old masters. You look as though you could do with a swig of fresh air.’
    Uncle Henry had mentioned the panorama at breakfast and after a steep climb, Simon and his uncle eventually reached the roof of the museum. Simon had been in a daze most of the climb and was jolted out of it by the bright sunlight hitting his face.
    There was a low wall to their right and a magnificent view out across the terracotta rooftops of Siena, the bell tower rising above the Palazzo Pubblico, the rolling hills of Tuscany beyond. Simon began to feel a little calmer. Some people, he knew, hated heights, but Simon loved being high up. It made him feel more alive.
    And in this case it also seemed to clear his head. Up there, under a bright blue sky, he seemed less convinced of what he had seen and certainly less sure of its meaning.
    Satan? In a museum, looking at paintings? Was that really very likely? There had to be some other explanation. He had allowed himself to be unnerved by Uncle Henry and his warnings. He had panicked. It was not at all like him. Simon now felt a little foolish.
    ‘Bother,’ said his uncle suddenly, looking at his watch. ‘I have to go to the bank, Simon. I completely forgot.’
    Simon smiled. More money from the bank meant more money for Simon to take when Uncle Henry had fallen asleep.
    ‘If I don’t go now, they’ll shut up shop for one of their siestas,’ continued Uncle Henry, ‘and we’ll have no money for lunch.’
    ‘Must we go down now, Uncle?’ said Simon. ‘It’s lovely up here.’
    ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said his uncle. ‘Why don’t you stay here and enjoy the view?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Simon. ‘I’d like that.’
    ‘Shall we meet outside the bank in, say, half an hour?’
    Simon agreed and his uncle disappeared through the doorway that led to the narrow staircase. Simon gazed across at the view. Two swallows whirled past, mouths agape, and as he turned to follow their flight, he saw that there was someone standing framed in the doorway.
    For a moment he thought it was his uncle having returned with a change of plan, but as the figure moved into the sunlight he saw that it was someone else entirely. Simon stared in horror and disbelief.
    ‘No!’ said Simon, staggering backwards.
    ‘Calm,’ said the man, putting up his hands. ‘Calm, please.’
    But Simon was