Free The Whispering House by Rebecca Wade Page B

he eaten his dinner?”
    â€œI don’t know. Go and look if you want to.” Mom turned back to the screen.
    Hannah spent another ten minutes on her history notes, then went out to the kitchen. Toby’s bowl was empty, so he must have come in through the cat flap and gone straight out again. She put the kettle on to make a cup of tea and was about to open the refrigerator to get the milk out when something caught her attention on the door. Four of the little magnetic letters stood apart from the others and were roughly grouped together.
    HANA
    For a few seconds she stood quite still, staring at the door. Then she remembered accidentally knocking a few of the letters onto the floor at breakfast time. She must have put them back like that without realizing. It was odd that it looked a bit like her own name, but just a coincidence. Of course, it had to be.
    She took out the milk, put cups and saucers on a tray, and carried it into the other room.
    Neither of them felt like eating much that evening, having had a large lunch, so later on, after heating a can of soup, Hannah did another hour’s work and then went to bed. When she opened her bedroom door, she noticed that the board covering the fireplace had slightly bowed away from the wall, allowing a faint trace of soot to fall on the carpet. She couldn’t be bothered to sweep it up just then, so she left it there. Just before getting into bed, she drew a pencil line through the date on the torn-off calendar page still stuck to the mirror.
    June 17. Just over halfway through the month.

Chapter Thirteen
    Electrical Fault
    M ONDAY MORNING DAWNED BRIGHT and clear, and by nine thirty, warm sunshine filtered invitingly through the windows of classrooms where students sat either writing furiously or despondently chewing gel pens, depending on how much preparation they had done.
    Hannah was relieved to find she could manage the first exam—geography—with a minimum of pen chewing, and after lunch she joined Sam in the playground for the usual discussion of the morning’s test. After chatting for a few minutes, she glanced up and frowned. “There’s that boy Henry Knight. What’s happened to him this time?”
    Henry was surrounded by a group of children from his own class who were clearly agitated about something, but because they surrounded him it was impossible to see what all the fuss was about. She wandered closer. “Everything okay?” she asked a girl with dark pigtails.
    â€œNo! Henry’s got this massive bruise over his eye. And another one on his wrist. Looks like some-body got hold of him and punched him, but he won’t admit it. Just says he walked into a lamppost. As if we’d believe that!” She rolled her eyes dramatically.
    â€œHas he been to the nurse?”
    â€œHe won’t. Says it’s not serious enough. But we think it’s because he just doesn’t want to cause trouble for you know who!” The girl shook her head, making the pigtails quiver in sympathetic indignation.
    â€œWho exactly do you mean?” Hannah knew the answer but was curious to discover what evidence Henry’s friends had to make them so certain.
    â€œBruce Myers, of course! None of this started till he got here.”
    â€œHas anyone asked him about it?”
    â€œNo way! We’re all too scared of him.” She turned back to the little group around Henry, and Hannah walked thoughtfully back to Sam, who raised a questioning eyebrow.
    â€œWell?”
    She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Those kids seem convinced that Henry Knight’s being beaten up by Bruce Myers, but no one wants to tackle him about it in case they get beaten up too.”
    Sam looked alarmed. “That’s bad! D’you think we should tell someone?”
    â€œI don’t see how we can. Like you said before, if Henry won’t say what really happened, there’s nothing much anyone can do. In any