Free Room 13 by Robert Swindells Page A

twenty minutes later old Sal had gone. The rain-lashed streets were practically deserted, and when they got to the pool they found that they had it almost to themselves. They made the most of it, leaping and splashing and whooping in the warm, clear water under Mrs Evans’ watchful gaze. A puzzled frown settled for a moment on the teacher’s face when she noticed four of the children standing by the steps at the shallow end, taking no part in the revelry. Odd, she mused. Very odd. You’d think they were non-swimmers or something, but they’re not. Still, it’s up to them, isn’t it? Perhaps they’re tired from the walk today. Her eyes moved on, and the frown dissolved.

NOBODY CALLED ELLIE-MAY’S parents, or took her home. The word was that she was a little better, and might even be with them on the coach to Robin Hood’s Bay the following day.
    Fliss wasn’t fooled. At ten o’clock she was lying on her back, staring at the wire mesh under Marie’s mattress, waiting for half-past eleven. Her hands were folded across her chest, and under them was the pebble from Saltwick Bay. She felt its weight when she breathed, and her fingers caressed its perfect, soothing smoothness.
    She was tired. Not from swimming – neither she nor the other three had swum – but from the exertions of the day and a sleepless night before. The swimming must have finished off Marie and the twins, because they were zonked out already. She listened to their breathing and wondered if she could stay awake.
    She didn’t. Not completely. At least twice she drifted off and woke with a start, thinking she’d missed the witching hour, but there was to be no such luck. When the town clock chimed for eleven-thirty she was wide awake, and scared.
    This time she got to the bathroom first. Trot and Gary came nearly straightaway, but it was nineteen minutes to twelve when the door of room eleven opened and Lisa slipped out.
    ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she whispered. ‘I fell asleep.’
    ‘It’s OK,’ Fliss told her. ‘I fell asleep too – twice.’
    ‘I was spark-out,’ admitted Trot. ‘This div had to shake me like a madman to wake me up.’ He looked at Gary. ‘Didn’t you, Gaz?’
    Gary nodded. ‘You should’ve got yourself a stick of rock like mine. I sucked that from ten o’clock and didn’t nod off once.’
    ‘Dirty pig!’ shuddered Lisa. ‘I don’t know how you can.’
    Gary grinned. ‘You should see it – it’s getting a really good point on it now.’
    ‘Tell you what I do want to see tonight,’ said Fliss. ‘I want to see how the thirteen gets on that door. I want to be watching when the clock starts striking midnight – see the exact moment the number appears.’
    ‘Yeah.’ Trot nodded. ‘Good idea. Let’s do that.’
    ‘I’ve brought my torch,’ said Lisa. ‘We can shine it on the door – right where the number will be. We’ll see really clearly then.’
    They waited. Gary, sitting on the rim of the bath, looked at his watch every few seconds. Fliss went to the hand basin, ran a trickle of cold water into her cupped hand and sucked it up, watching herself in the mirror. Trot stood by the window, gazing out. The patterned glass splintered the light from a streetlamp. Lisa leaned on the wall by the door, switching her torch on and off.
    After a while Fliss whispered, ‘Maybe she won’t come.’
    ‘It’s only five to,’ Gary told her. ‘Plenty of time yet.’ He hoped Fliss was right.
    When his watch told him it was a minute to midnight, Gary got up and went over to the door. The others joined him, jostling quietly till they could all see and Lisa was at the front with her torch. ‘Thirteen seconds,’ he hissed, and began counting down. At fifteen seconds Lisa switched on and steadied the disc of light on the right spot.
    It was not spectacular. As Gary whispered, ‘Zero,’ they heard the town clock chime, then strike. At about the fourth stroke they noticed a small shapeless mark on the door, and Lisa