Finley Thompson was as adept at climbing trees as he was at playing chess.
Not many people held that distinction, especially those as young as he was.
It was an accolade he was immensely proud of, more so than his gleaming school reports.
He grinned to himself as he reached the uppermost branch of the tallest tree in the sweeping grounds of the illustrious public school he went to, Ravenhurst.
Finley hugged the sylvan’s crown as he surveyed the ornate landscape garden in which Ravenhurst was situated.
The height did not perturb him; he was used to it from his experience of tree-climbing since he was ten.
But then something caught his eye, deep in the arboretum beneath him.
A young woman, in surprisingly old-fashioned clothing for a fellow student, was skipping amongst the trees.
Finley leaned forward to get a better view, almost losing his footing.
He squinted to focus his vision on the girl better, but she disappeared before he could ascertain what she looked like.
Although she had gone, he knew she was coming back.
Finley’s attention was diverted by the sight of Ravenhurst’s headmaster, Dr Richard Alsop, strolling up the lawn clutching a bouquet.
He decided to surprise him, so he strategically made his way back down the tree.
As Richard marched towards the imposing country house that now houses one of the most prestigious public schools in the country, Finley leapt down from the bottom-most branch of the tree and ran in front of him.
“Morning, Mr Alsop,” Finley said, smiling at the headmaster whilst running backwards to keep up with him.
The headteacher grinned at Finley. “Ah, Thompson. I believe you should be heading to class at this point.”
“I know, sir,” Finley said, stumbling over himself. “That’s where I’m going now.”
Richard chuckled to himself as he marched ahead of Finley. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Finley got up and managed to catch up with the headmaster, albeit out of breath.
“What have you got there, sir?” Finlay said, gazing at the bouquet in Dr Alsop’s hand. “Someone’s going to be lucky later.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Richard said, glaring at Finley. “But no, these aren’t for a secret lover. They’re a gift for the class of 2015 when they attend their reunion tonight.”
“There’s going to be a reunion tonight?” Finley said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, of some of our most successful students and their spouses,” Richard said. “Of course, in an ideal world, you’ll have retired to your dormitory by then.”
Finley gazed at the clouds for a moment before saying, “did any of them become chess grandmasters at the age of ten?”
Richard chortled. “Perhaps none of them are that highly achieving.”
Finley puffed his chest out, grinning smugly.
He glanced at the dense forest next to him and spotted the strange girl skipping amongst them.
Finley squinted and pursed his lips, taking a step closer to the trees.
“Everything alright, Thompson?” Richard said, tilting his head and drawing his eyebrows together.
Finley snapped back into reality and turned towards the principal. “Yes, I just thought I saw someone in the woods. A girl.”
Richard shrugged. “Most likely a tourist. She’ll turn back around once she reaches the creek.”
Finley gazed deep into the thick woodland as a chill vibrated down his body.
After a while, Richard and Finley reached the school. The strode in front of the magnificent neoclassical south facade of Ravenhurst House, taking in the central view of the Corinthian Arch at the end of a vast vista of immaculately mowed lawn.
Richard beamed as he observed the scene before him. “One of the finest views in the country, I reckon. One that I’ve never tired of seeing in all my twenty-three years of working here.”
“It’s certainly something, Doctor,” Finley said, breathing in the crisp country air.
He then frowned and turned towards his headmaster. “Sir, do you believe in ghosts?”
Richard glanced at his student, then gazed at the heavens above him.
He “um”ed and “Ah”ed, until eventually he came up with an answer. “I daresay I can form a concrete answer to such a complex phenomenon.”
Richard turned on his heels and paraded up the steps towards the school’s main entrance.
Finley grimaced at his headmaster, shrugged, and bounded up the stairs behind him.
Darkness descended on Ravenhurst, and the steps leading up to the south facade were aflame with lit beacons on either side.
“Geez, your old school certainly know how to put on a grand welcome,” Alice Jones, eminent American archaeologist, said to her husband, the equally eminent historian Ben.
“Oh, believe me, Ravenhurst pulls out all the stops for its former students, especially if they’ve gone on to do great things,” Ben said, smiling at his wife. “I remember wondering what the beacons were for when I was a student. It’s quite exciting to think they’re being lit for me tonight.”
“Well, you and other people,” Alice said, smirking.
“Yes, of course,” Ben said.
Dr Richard Alsop stood before the ornate columns, ready to greet his former students.
“Benjamin, welcome,” Richard said, his right arm primed to give the historian a firm handshake. “And your wife too!”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Alice said, offering the headmaster a hand which he promptly kissed. “You helped create a great man.”
Richard chuckled. “I’m afraid you owe most of that to the teachers who worked more closely with Benjamin.”
The headmaster turned on his heels and ushered the Joneses into the school.
“I’ll make sure to thank them personally,” Alice said, simpering at her husband.
Once they were inside the extravagant Marble Saloon, Richard bid the couple farewell and left them to melt into the vast crowd.
Alice’s eyes bulged as she examined the vast dome roof, purple marble columns, and white statues encased in alcoves dotted around the room.
Her mouth dropped as she took in her surroundings.
“How the hell is this a school?” She said to Ben.
Ben lightly placed a hand on her back. “It was once a country house before the school moved in about a hundred years ago,” he said.
Her initial amazement at the room slowly morphed into a tightness in her chest when she realised that a few hours of socialising with people she didn’t know awaited her.
Alice crossed her arms as she traversed further into the morass, glancing at the people around her.
Ben lightly tapped her shoulder, pointing towards an hourglass in the distance.
“That hourglass is timing the event. Once all the sand is at the bottom, we have to leave.”
Alice smiled slightly and nodded.
She wrung her hands as she observed the other alums.
Somewhere in the crowd, a girl in old-fashioned clothes who appeared to be anaemic stared at her through vacant eyes.
Alice shuddered at the sight of her, instinctively turning away.
“Are you alright, darling?” Ben said, rubbing Alice’s arm.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Alice said, turning back to view the girl.
But the girl had gone; there seemed to be no sight of her.
“It’s just… it’s pretty cold out,” Alice said, feigning a shiver. “There’s quite a draught coming through the door.”
Ben frowned, but nodded his head.
Somewhere else in the room, Finley Thompson peered from behind a doorway.
None of his current teachers was present, as far as he could see, only the people whose footsteps he was following in.
Like an agile spider monkey traversing a craggy rock, Finley sprang into the crowd.
He wasn’t sure what his intentions were for crashing this event. He just wanted to know what was going on.
So he wouldn’t be spotted, he crawled on the floor, slaloming between people’s legs, making sure not to be trampled on.
After a while, he recognised someone among the guests: esteemed historian Benjamin Disraeli Jones.
Ben was an icon of his; the main reason he aspired to study at Ravenhurst before going on to Oxonford.
Finley, however, did not know whether he wanted to be a historian as a career.
He narrowed his eyes, fixating on his idol, and galloped across the floor.
Several people bumped into him and turned round to see exactly what it was they’d collided with, but young Finley was never spotted.
Ben had finished talking to a fellow student he hadn’t seen since he left for Oxford when he felt someone pat him on the back.
He turned round and gazed down at the young boy staring up at him.
“Hi Ben, great to meet you finally,” Finley said, his bright teeth glinting in the lights.
Ben grimaced and raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your dormitory?”
Finley giggled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Technically, yes. But this seemed more exciting.”
Ben chuckled. “You have more nerve than I did when I was your age.”
Finley relaxed his composure and smiled. “Really? Cool.”
He glanced behind Ben and locked eyes with a pale girl in historic clothing, the same one he thought he saw in the woods.
Ben cleared his throat and bounced on the balls of his feet. “So, how are the current crop finding Ravenhurst?”
Finley ignored Ben, staring at the girl, wide-eyed and ashen.
“Don’t look behind you,” Finley said, focusing over Ben’s shoulder. “I think there’s a ghost.”
Ben furrowed his brow and quickly spun his head round before turning back to Finley.
“There’s nothing there,” Ben said, chuckling to himself. “A ghost is merely a figment of the human psyche. Whatever you saw, you were imagining it.”
The girl turned away, but still glanced at Finley over her deltoid.
Finley backed away slowly, staring vacantly at the girl.
“Are you sure?” He said, bumping into a woman behind him, “because the girl I’m seeing looks very real to me.”
Ben scoffed and marched somewhere else in the crowd. “Retire to your dormitory, or I will alert Dr Alsop of your trespass, and I can assure you he will not be so forgiving.”
Finley took out a crumpled scrap of paper from his pocket and scribbled something on it.
“My number,” Finley said, handing the paper to Ben. “I’d love to chat again sometime, or even challenge you to a game of chess. I’m a grand master, you know.”
Ben laughed as he placed the paper in his breast pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind when my wife or my friends are not sufficiently scintillating.”
Finley waved Ben goodbye before zooming out of the room and away from view.
Someone tapped Ben on the shoulder, making him turn round.
It was his wife, frowning at him with a quivering lip.
“Do we need to stay here until the hourglass runs out?” She asked, leaning forward as if she was about to flop onto him. “I think I’ve withstood as much as I can.”
“Not necessarily,” Ben said, glancing around the room. “But there are people I’d like to converse with.”
Alice groaned. “I thought you hated these events as much as me.”
Ben raised his chin and observed Alice over his nose. “My precise thoughts on occasions such as these are very complex.”
Alice glared at Ben and groaned, before she espied her brother-and-sister-in-laws and pushed her way over to them.
The historian watched her disappear before a blood-curdling scream sent a shiver down his spine.
A sea of gasps filled the rooms as one of the marble statues flew off its alcove and landed on the floor.
Fortunately, there was enough time for the crowd nearest the statue to dissipate before it shattered onto the floor.
Richard parted the crowds as Moses parted the Red Sea and marched over to the statue.
“Is everyone alright? No one’s hurt, are they?” He said as he kneeled down to inspect the damage.
“I heard a scream. Did someone push it over?” A concerned alum said, glancing around her.
Others around her shrugged and gawped.
Jasper Peregrine, a promising former student who went on to become a professional vlogger and storm chaser, swaggered over to the statue and placed a foot on the poor marble man’s chest.
“This is pretty weird, and I’ve been inside the eye of a hurricane,” he said, staring into the empty eyes of the man’s decapitated head.
Richard frantically paced around in the circle, waving his arms about. “Well, someone must have seen something, surely? What on earth could have happened?”
The alumni stared blankly at each other, hoping someone would enlighten them.
“Perhaps it was a particuarly angry ghost?” Another former student said.
The room fell into a deathly silence, as most eyes turned to the former student.
Ben stared at the shattered statue blankly, his skin going pale and his blood freezing.
A lone finger tapped him hardly on the shoulder.
Ben turned round to find his wife scowling at him.
“After this, you cannot object to us going to the zoo tomorrow,” she said
A small half smile appeared on Ben’s face. “That sounds like a plan to me.”
Alice huffed as the marched off.
Ben gazed at her, shrugging slightly.
Whatever was going on with that girl was certainly a mystery to Finley.
He lay awake in his dark room, staring at the ceiling above him.
His roommates were fast asleep, but he was unable to join them himself.
Finely turned in his bed, and examined an elaborately detailed fork on his bedside cabinet.
It was one he stole on a whim from the dining room; he just thought it was too intricately designed not to have in his dorm for decoration.
Footsteps and babbling bled into the room from outside.
“I’d like to believe what you say, but I cannot bring myself to,” a familiar voice said.
Finley shot up, and furrowed his brow as the footsteps and babbling became louder, as if heading for his dormitory.
Sure enough, the door swung open, making Finley flinch.
Ben and Alice strode into the room with an entourage, including one towering figure at six feet.
The historian marched over to Finley, smiling and clapping his hands.
“Finley, sorry to disturb you like this, but it appears you may be of use.”
Finley gawped at Ben, rubbing his eyes.
Alice glanced at the other students stirring in their sleep. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this in a room where people are trying to sleep.”
“Perhaps, dear,” Ben said, twirling in the middle of the room. “But Finley here is central to our predicament.”
Finley tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Is this about the girl?”
“In short, yes,” Ben said, grabbing his wife by the arm and pulling her closer to Finley’s bed. “My wife has a confession to make.”
Alice gawped at Finley and cleared her throat. “I think we may have seen the same person.”
Finley’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah. A girl, pale, red scraggly hair, wearing old clothes,” Alice said. “Ring any bells?”
Finley’s mouth shrank, and his skin went pale. “Yes. That’s exactly who I saw being you, Ben.”
Ben sighed. “That is what I feared. A disembodied scream also filled the saloon, and something threw one of the Greek statues onto the floor.”
The tall man, Conservative MP for Chinewrde and Sucham Harold Perceville, Lord Brooke, glanced around the room.
He turned inward, as memories flooded into his mind.
“We think they’re connected to something weird going on with the school,” Alice said. “Or, rather, I do.”
“Of course they’re connected,” Harold said, swaggering over to the window, peering out into the darkness beyond. “I knew this room seemed familiar.”
Ben glanced at Harold, raising an eyebrow. “How does the room connect to the events we’ve experienced tonight?”
“In every way possible,” Harold said, a wry smile appearing on his face. “You see, this was my dormitory when we were students here.”
Ben sighed and rolled his eyes. “I see.”
“I shared this room with my best friend, McLeod,” Harod said, pointing to a bed in the far corner of the room. “Who slept in that very bed.”
The student, who was currently sleeping in the bed, felt a shiver down their spine and immediately sprang out of it.
Ben chuckled to himself. “Of course, McLeod. How glad am I to have seen the back of him?”
Harold glanced at Ben, his eyes widening at the same time his brows were furrowing.
He swallowed hard and bowed his head as he turned towards the window.
“One night, in this exact window, McLeod and I saw an anorexic, sodden man not too dissimilar in appearance to a corpse.”
Finley breathed heavily as he heard Harold’s story and began to tremble.
“He was beckoning McLeod to come towards him, and he did. In the blink of an eye, the two men were gone.”
Harold sighed and turned round to his companions.
“I never saw McLoed again, and ever since then I’ve had an undying belief in the supernatural.”
The students, in their beds, glanced at each other and ran out of the room screaming.
Only Finley remained, thinking himself too embroiled in this mystery to back out now.
Ben cackled in Harold’s face. “You honestly believe that all we’ve encountered tonight is due to paranormal activity?”
Harold frowned at Ben and nodded.
The soft sounds of a distant harp blew through the window in the wind.
He glanced out of the window and observed a lonely Medieval minstrel playing a harp on the lawn.
Alice stepped closer to Ben and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. “This place has quite a history.”
Ben glared at Alice. “That in itself does not prove the existence of the paranormal.”
“Think about it. How else do you explain strange people in old clothing and statues flying off walls by themselves?”
Ben gazed at the floor for a moment. “At present, I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
“Or you could accept that the dead live among the living,” Harold said, turning round to face the others in the room. “All across the kingdom, and the world, another realm exists in tandem with ours.”
“So you’re saying ghosts are everywhere, including in this school?” Finley asked the politician.
“Forget about what you’ve heard tonight and go to sleep,” Ben said, forcing Finley to lie down by placing the duvet over him. “Normality will resume when you wake up.”
“Are you free to attend the Chess Club on Thursday?” Finley said as Ben tightened the duvet underneath the mattress.
Ben smiled warmly. “I’ll see if I have space in the itinerary.”
With that, Ben flicked off Finley’s bedside lamp, and the young boy drifted off to sleep.
“Right, everyone else, let us leave,” Ben said, marching out of the room. “We must fulfil our intended purpose.”
“You didn’t have to force himself to sleep,” Alice said, whipping a torch out of her bag. “Nothing’s gonna change if ghosts are real.”
“Exactly, in the end, you will have to accept that belief is more rational than scepticism,” Harold said, opening the door to the dorm.
“I will find an explanation for what we’ve experienced that is grounded in science and reality,” Ben said. “Just you wait.”
And so the three of them marched out of the room, and young Finley fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.
Night transformed into day, and the class of 2015 returned to their adult lives, leaving Ravenhurst’s current crop of students to continue their education undisturbed.
Finley sat at his desk, living very much on autopilot.
“Where do you live?” A classmate of Finley’s said to him.
Finley stared blankly at the boy in front of him before blinking and springing into life.
“I’m sorry, what?” Finley asked, grimacing.
“Where do you live?” the boy said again, his pencil primed to scribble on the paper in front of him.
“Er… here, I’m a boarder,” Finley said, furrowing his brow. “As are you.”
The boy sighed and rolled his eyes. “I mean, where do you live when you’re not here. Where do your family reside?”
“Oh, right, I see,” Finley said, leaning back in his seat and gazing up at the ceiling. “They live in Queenswell in Kantion.”
“Right,” the boy said, scribbling away on his paper, before gawping at Finley. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Finley said, raising an eyebrow.
The boy glared at Finley. “Don’t you want to know where I live, as per our exercise?”
Completely ignoring what the boy said, Finley’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened.
The boy squinted at Finley’s strange behaviour before sighing. “Look, if you’re not going to cooperate, I’m going to request a switch of partners.”
Finley leaned closer to the boy. “Do you know where I could find out about past students at the school?”
The boy’s head flinched back slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“I think a girl and her teacher may have drowned in the lake about a hundred years ago,” Finley said, grinning manically. “That’s where they’re ghosts still stalk the school and its grounds!”
The boy leaned closer towards Finley, pursing his lips. “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” Finley said, nodding vigorously. “I’m far better than I’ve been for the last twenty-four hours!”
Before the boy could respond, Arabella Twine, Ravenhurst’s distinguished English teacher, strode before her charges and clapped her hands.
“Right, that’s enough time, I think,” she said, smiling at her pupils.
The boy glared at Finley and growled.
Finley shrugged at his partner.
“So,” Arabella said. “What have we learned about our friends?”
She scanned the room for the first person to pick, and landed on Felicity Ackrigg, one of her more promising students.
Felicity puffed her chest out and smiled.
“Well, miss, Josh’s family have a big house in Hēahlēah by the Temese, he has three sisters and a British shorthair called Jess.”
Finley zoned out of Felicity’s spiel as the school’s possible ghosts stole his attention.
Only a blood-curdling scream from another part of the classroom caught his attention.
The other students gasped and talked amongst themselves as they tried to locate the source of the scream.
“What’s going on?” Arabella said, reaching outwards. “Is everything alright?”
One of the younger girls in the class pointed at the door, her skin a deathly pale.
“A ghost,” the girl said, trembling all over. “There was a ghost in the school.”
The other students glanced at each other and screamed.
“Everyone, calm down,” Arabella said, managing to dim the noise in the room with a raise in her arms. “There are no such things as ghosts.”
Finley smiled as Arabella marched towards the door. Clearly, she must have got on with Ben Jones when he was a student.
“Now then, let’s see what’s gone on here,” Arabella said, picking up a pink Umbrella that was snapped in half.
“Oh dear,” the English teacher said, frowning at her students. “This umbrella wasn’t any of yours, was it?”
She gawped at her, some shrugging and shaking their heads.
“Oh well,” Arabella said, placing the umbrella down. “I’ll sort that out during break.”
She then espied a purple silk scarf, drapped over the radiator.
“Does this belong to anyone?” She said, showing the scarf to her pupils.
The students continued to gawp, shrug, and shake.
“Very well,” Arabella said, placing the scarf back on the radiator and marching back in front of the class.
“She was wearing it, miss,” the girl who spotted the ghost said. “The ghost put it on the radiator as she snapped the umbrella with her foot.”
Arabella cackled at the thought. “Why would a ghost do such a thing as that?”
“I don’t know,” the girl said. “To be scary?”
Arabella smiled and shook her head. “Another student must have come in to return the scarf, and accidentally stood on the umbrella. Ghosts are notoriously not physical beings, so they would have been unable to do the things you describe if they existed at all.”
The girl slumped in her seat, staring at her desk.
Finley glanced at the girl before focusing on Arabella.
“So, who would like to go next?” Arabella said, smiling warmly at her charges.
A boy in the back raised his hand, and Arabella chose him to continue the lesson.
“Caspian’s been to Buccaram Palace to see the Queen,” the boy said.
“How interesting,” Arabella said, before sighing. “It must have been quite a while ago, then.”
“Yes,” the boy said. “The Queen knighted his dad. He’s a former Brigadier.”
Arabella beamed at the boy. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Caspian.”
“His dad’s old army comrades were there to support him,” the boy said. “And his family.”
“Very interesting,” Arabella said, smiling and nodding her head.
Finley fixated on the boy speaking, before glancing at his partner.
His partner was frozen and very pale, almost as if he’d been bewitched by something.
Finley followed his gaze to the window, where an elderly gentleman in a 19th-century suit, covered in dust, was waving at him.
The old man was sitting on the bench, and seemed delighted to see the students.
Finley sat back in his seat and tried to forget the older man by focusing on the lesson.
“Well, that was wonderful,” Arabella said. “Who’d like to go next?”
But as she scanned the room searching for the next person to participate, she felt a chill in the air.
“Wait,” she said, turning her smile into a purse and gazing at the ceiling.
“Something feels wrong.”
The Robinsonverse 