Mrs. Foster had returned. The west wing of the school had been closed all day, just as she had requested. She wanted to examine the corridors and entrance hall, before people began walking through the corridors and removed evidence, destroying any minute data, which could be used to find out the exact cause of Mr. Winters’s incident.
The Headmaster, Mr. Alan Baines hated being told what to do in his own school, yet at the same time, he was aware that what Mr. Winters had seen that night, was not something from this planet. He had agreed for the closure, but only on the grounds that it was all back in order and open for the following morning. Mrs. Foster had agreed to this and wanted to make an immediate start, but first she had an appointment with Alison.
She was not happy to learn of Alison fainting, and being in sickbay, though it did have advantages. It meant that Mrs. Foster could take her and begin teaching her. But the thin, strict, nurse had other ideas.
She was a nurse who liked order and quietness around her patients. She did not like to be bullied into things that she did not like or trust. And Mrs. Foster was not happy about this.
She had no time to persuade Nurse Mavis, that allowing Alison to be taken from her room was important, that she would care for her until her mother arrived, nor that she would give her detention for fainting in class. Time was ticking by and the old witch had other things to contend to, so with the quickness of her spindly fingers she raised them above Mavis’s head and said, “Somnum.”
Alison woke up slowly, her head was banging and she felt uncomfortable. No longer was she lying on white sheets with a baby blue blanket covering her and a cool breeze floating around the room from the fan that was on a table next to her. She was now sitting up in a hard wooden chair, the room was stuffy and staring at her like something possessed was Mrs. Foster.
Alison could hear the crackles of Mrs. Foster’s chest in the quiet room, and winced, pulling her shoulders together and giving a shudder.
Mrs. Foster was not aware of her own body noises as she stared with wonder into Alison’s eyes and gave a silent gasp.
“Your eyes seem different,” Mrs. Foster began.
Alison shrugged; she had no idea what she was talking about.
“Eyes tell stories, just looking at a person you can see if they have had sorrow or happiness. Mmm yes, eyes tell stories of the soul. Without your door to the world all there is, is death and mortality.”
Mrs. Foster stood up, and walked closer to Alison and sat on the edge of the table peering into Alison’s eyes.
“It is as though you are of a distant past, that you have seen things that do not belong to you, secrets of others.” Mrs. Foster hummed and arred and leaving Alison to ponder what this meant. “Have you seen things Alison?” Mrs. Foster asked and waited for an answer. “Have you delved into something that you should not have seen?” Alison sat up straight and nodded her head gently. “You have?” Mrs....