Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
IRIS
I called them the not-people.
Shortly before my father died, my school went on a trip to the zoo.
I didn’t have any friends – I never needed any. My father was enough.
That morning, I begged and begged him not to make me go. I clung to his coat and pleaded until my throat hurt. He just kissed my forehead and wiped my tears away with his thumb, telling me it would be good for me, that I might even have fun.
He dropped me off at school with a packed lunch full of jam sandwiches and a note that read, Love you. You’ve got this. I tried desperately not to cry in front of the other children. I climbed onto the bus, felt the stares of every child who had already taken a seat, and wished I could disappear.
But that day, a little girl named Robin came and sat next to me.
We became friends in the way children do… quickly and completely. I told her I liked dogs, and she said, “I have a dog!” And just like that, she was my best friend within the hour. She was fun. I remember her blonde pigtails and her loud, bright laugh.
When we got to the zoo, she wanted to be in the same group.
We spent the morning looking at the monkeys, the snakes, and the birds. And for the first time, I wasn’t alone.
It was the best day of my life.
But it didn’t last.
At lunchtime, we were sitting cross-legged on the grass to eat, when our teacher asked if anyone needed the toilet.
Robin was the only one to raise her hand, so I offered to go with her.
She smiled brightly and thanked me, so the three of us – Robin, the teacher, and I – walked across the car park to the old toilet block in the far corner.
It was quiet there, away from the noise of the other children.
The teacher waited outside as we pushed open the door and stepped in.
It was dark inside, and the sound of quiet dripping came from somewhere in the shadows. It smelt of damp concrete and rusted pipes.
I remember feeling like the air inside was wrong, somehow.
Robin disappeared into a cubicle, locking the door behind her.
And that was when I saw him.
He was standing at the far end of the room. He was tall… too tall – his limbs just slightly disproportioned. His arms dangled at his sides, long and unnatural.
But it was his face that scared me more than anything I’d ever experienced before.
His skin was grey and stretched thin over sharp bones. His mouth was slightly open, pulled too wide at the corners, as though smiling… but not.
And his pale eyes were locked on me.
‘Robin,’ I breathed.
‘Yeah?’
‘There’s someone in here.’
‘So?’ she laughed. ‘Hold on.’
When she was done, she unlocked the cubicle door, peering around. ‘What?’ she said. ‘No, there isn’t, silly.’ She smiled reassuringly, skipping over to the sink and turning on the tap to wash her hands. The man’s head tilted slowly to one side. The movement was wrong. I couldn’t breathe.
‘He’s right there,’ I insisted, my voice shaking.
Robin laughed. It was a bright and carefree sound.
‘You’re trying to scare me.’ She finished washing her hands and grabbed some paper towels.
‘Come on, hurry up! I’ll wait outside.’ Throwing the towels in the bin, she went to the door and I dragged my eyes away from the man.
I was about to tell her to wait, but before I could, she slipped out, the door closing behind her. Shutting me in with him.
I felt something brush the side of my face – cold and dry, like dead skin. I whipped my eyes back towards the man to find him inches away from me. I tried to scream but no sound came out.
His face came impossibly closer and I felt warm breath on my lips, before he closed the gap entirely. I pulled back, tripped, and fell to the sticky, cold tiles, breath whooshing out of me at the impact.
I couldn’t move. There was someone… something… on top of me. I worked every muscle in my body to exhaustion, cried out, screamed. Eventually, the door to the bathroom swung open – Robin and our teacher emerged, faces pale and eyes wide.
I blacked out then.
No one knew what had happened. I didn’t tell them. The teacher had told my father that she found me lashing out on the floor, crying, alone.
Robin never spoke to me again.
I could see things that weren’t there. That much was clear. But I was seven years old and terrified.
I decided at that moment that ignorance was bliss. Denial was safety. And I’ve clung to that decision all these years.
The car pulled up in front of the largest wrought iron gates I'd ever seen. Intricately detailed metal vines and thorns twined around the bars, creating a macabre sort of beauty, and two huge stone pillars sat either side, one supporting a plaque that read:
“Ashcroft University,
Founded: 1701”
The gates slowly began to swing open, and Williams crept the car forwards.
‘Welcome to Ashcroft, Miss Blackthorne.’
I gasped.
The eerie mist seemed to melt away as the sweeping University building slowly came into view. It was bigger than I ever could have imagined.
I realised then how steep that road must have been, as the university itself perched atop a cliff overlooking the water far below.
It was breathtaking, with its gothic architecture and weathered stone walls.
Turrets and spires reached up to the sky, their silhouettes blocking out the moon and casting shadows on the cobblestone courtyard.
I was so distracted by the dark beauty of the place that I didn’t notice Williams step out of the car until he’d walked round and opened my door.
‘Thank you,’ I said, blinking rapidly. The wind was so cold up at this height – I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to stay warm.
‘You must be cold, Miss. Let's get you inside,’ he said, ‘I believe Headmaster Draven is awaiting your arrival. He would like to welcome you to Ashcroft himself. Your bags will be delivered to your dormitory later.’ He began walking towards the great double doors lit with golden lamps either side. ‘Follow me.’
We walked down a myriad of halls, twisting and turning until I was certain I'd never learn my way around campus. Williams walked on in silence, and I followed close at his heels, afraid of losing him around one of the dark corners or down any of the multitude of staircases.
Eventually, we came to a halt in front of a large doorway, wooden and cracked with age. Williams knocked loudly, three times.
‘Enter,’ a voice said from the other side.
Williams pushed on the wood and the doors groaned open to reveal a large, elegant space, consisting of a large mahogany desk and two large red leather armchairs.
Headmaster Draven sat in one of them, leaning back comfortably and smoking a cigar.
He was an older, strict-looking man, with small spectacles and sharp features.
His greying hair was styled neatly and his eyes were stern as his gaze met mine.
‘Please,’ he said by way of greeting, indicating to the spare armchair.
Williams went over to stand by the window, and I quickly took a seat, thanking him.
I was pleased to feel a warmth enveloping me as I sat down, and I turned to see a roaring fireplace situated to the left of Draven’s desk, with one long sofa and another armchair opposite, both sitting on a large rug, forming a small sitting area.
The flames licked at the grate, casting a golden glow over the whole office.
‘Miss Blackthorne, welcome,’ the man said. ‘My name is Professor Agnar Draven, and I am the Headmaster here at Ashcroft. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ He smiled, and it seemed genuine. ‘I trust your journey was pleasant?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you,’ I lied. ‘It's a pleasure to meet you too, I'm very excited to be here.’
‘Yes, yes. Good.’ He rummaged through his desk drawer and pulled out a file.
He perused it momentarily without saying anything.
I sat on my hands to stop them fidgeting.
He gave off an aura of power, and it was very intimidating.
‘Now, I see here that you are late due to…’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose to read the file.
‘What’s this? Finances?’ He looked up at me, ‘I was under the impression you’re here on a scholarship, Miss Blackthrone, am I wrong? ’
‘No sir,’ I said quickly, ‘you’re correct – I am here on a scholarship.’
‘Then what, may I ask, was the hold up? You’re a term late, after all, and therefore I hope you know you will likely need to work double to catch up?’ His words were firm, but his tone led me to believe he wasn’t all bad.
‘Oh,’ I inhaled, not sure exactly how to say what I needed to.
‘I’m not sure if the file says much about my personal situation, but the scholarship only covered tuition and housing.
I had to, uh… save for a while. For, uh, the travel,’ I don’t know why this embarrassed me so much.
Maybe because this school is full of rich people and I’m… well, me.
‘Yes, Miss Blackthorne, we are very much aware of your upbringing,’ he said quickly, sharply.
‘We do like to know as much as possible about our scholarship students after all,’ he paused, removed his spectacles and rested his hand on his fist, ‘I am sorry to hear of your father’s passing.
I didn’t know your mother, but I had the pleasure of teaching your father back when I was a professor here.
Very clever man, your father.’ My heart sank at the memory of him.
‘And that is, of course, why we reached out.
Given your academic achievements at your old school, we feel confident that you have inherited his wisdom and will thrive here, in time, just as he did.
‘Now, I have spoken to your professors, and made them aware of your unique situation, and a few of them have prepared extra assignments for you to complete so that you can catch up with your peers. Your roommate can also help you. Maybe she has some notes she can lend you.’