To escape the dangers of wartime London, Millie has been sent away to Wickford Hall, but what lurks there is far more sinister than anything war might bring.
---
THERE'S SOMETHING WICKED STALKING WICKFORD HALL...
As war rages on, Mildred Cunningham...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was forbidden to turn on the lights. Forced to navigate the sprawling corridors of Wickford Hall by touch alone, Miss Thomas let her hand graze the corridor wall. Her fingers brushed along the peeling wallpaper, over the edges of ornate frames, against the cool brass of door knobs...
There was a small torch in her cardigan pocket, but its batteries were on the verge of dying, and she needed to conserve it. And, anyway, she didn't really need it. She had come to know the halls of Wickford quite well, already memorising the vast manor's layout though she had only been here for a few weeks. The Mother Superior had insisted on it. They needed to be ready in the case of an emergency. The staff were always expected to be prepared for the students' protection—and their own.
It was her duty, her obligation to her country, and she did it without question.
This was war, after all.
She stopped in the darkness, having counted her steps. She had been keeping track of her progress since she had stepped off the stairs, and if she had counted right, then she had come to a stop in front of room number six. She reached out into the darkness and as she expected, found the cool door handle. Her fingers lingered over the doorknob for a moment before she took hold of the handle and twisted. She kept her movement controlled, slow and sure, careful to keep the old hardware from letting out any squeak or groan. Once she heard the latch give, she pushed the door open, just a crack. With a single eye, she peered inside, but the darkness was so complete it was difficult to see much beyond. Finally, she dug the torch from her pocket, clicked it on, and aimed it through the gap.
Inside were two beds, simple metal frames that did not match the manor's grand design. In each bed lay a young girl, bundled in their plain bedding, fast asleep. They did not stir as the weak beam of Miss Thomas' torch traced their faces. Most were used to this nightly disturbance by now. She watched them lie there, their breathing even and slow, before she backed away.
All was well.
Satisfied, Miss Thomas closed the door behind her. She was about to switch the torch off when it gave a flicker and went out on its own. She clucked her tongue and slapped at the side of it, hoping to jostle the last of the life out of its weakened batteries.
It did not work. The light stayed dead.
Somewhere behind her, the floorboards gave a creak.
Miss Thomas went still, making no sound, holding even her breath. The hairs prickled on her arms as her deepest instincts told her she wasn't alone.
"You shouldn't be out of your room."
Miss Thomas spun around, clamping her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. A wide flash of light filled the dark hall, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to shield them from the sudden brightness. Her eyes burned, even behind her eyelids.
"Oh," came the voice again, unamused. "It's just you, Miss Thomas."
The light dimmed, and Miss Thomas blinked as her eyes adjusted back to the dark.
