There was a moment of silence, then Richard pulled a face.

He was slim and dainty looking with straight black hair and olive skin. Why don’t we ever do anything worthwhile in this club?’ Yellow slime dribbled from the title above their heads: Horror Movies 1910-85.

Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff shared the limelight with a George Romero zombie. ‘I had to get something from my locker.’ He unzipped his bag and took out the book. ‘You’re late,’ Toady snapped when Richard was close enough to hear. He thought it a shame that Toady felt he had to lie in order to impress people. Toady once claimed he’d seen a rat slinking between the castors, but Richard didn’t believe him. Already he could see the other three members of the Horror Club waiting for him on the ledge by the enormous school dustbins. The shrieking died behind him as he crossed the main carpark and headed towards the kitchens. Richard wove his way through, skirting a group of girls who were jumping over skipping ropes in time to their own chanting. The playground was a mass of shrieking, running bodies across which balls hurtled like ammunition. Even with ice in the air he could smell the sea, though it lay two miles away, behind buildings stacked like boxes. He slipped the book into his bag, slammed the locker shut, and hurried towards the nearest door that led into the playground.Īs he stepped outside he shivered at the cold January wind, the promise of snow. Quickly he crossed to his locker, fumbled the key into the lock, pulled open the door, and took out a heavy book. He rounded a corner to see the lockers, a dull-grey metal wall punctuated by keyholes, on his right, the science labs on his left.

It was easier now most people were in the playground, only a few stragglers trailing behind. Richard quickly shrugged off his resentment and hurried on. ‘Playing football, Rich?’ he heard someone say, and turned to see Philip Kershaw tossing a football from hand to hand. He kept to the side of the corridor, fighting against the tide of bodies, flattening himself into the wall when they threatened to drag him back. His hair was short and neat, a wad of tape held the arm of his spectacles in place, and his green and black school tie hung slack as a noose around his neck. He was a small boy made smaller by his blazer, which was one size too big. When all his classmates turned right, Richard Gardener turned left, towards the lockers. The bell rang, and the school vomited screaming, laughing children into the playground.

Toady by Mark Morris