Leona Charles: And the work begins...

I have completed my first full week as a teacher.

As I'd imagined, it was pretty daunting stepping into school for the first time. Not just because it was Silent Falls, but because it means I am officially a teacher!

The first first people I met were William and Holly. While I've been assigned to teaching Primary 2s, William has the Primary 1s and I have the Primary 7s. Neither of them are from Silent Falls.

“It's an odd kind of place,” Holly told me, as we sat down to have our cups of tea in the staff room. “People are just in a little cocoon. They never leave, and generations of them come through the school.”

“But why?” I asked. “Horrible things happen here. I heard about it before I came.”

William shook his head at me as I said that. “I wouldn't shout too loud about that. People don't take too kindly to these sorts of remarks. Yeah, we know that weird stuff happens, but it's like they sort of deny it. The headteacher, Miss Kyle, lost two children. They just disappeared. Not a trace. And even she won't admit that the place is messed up. She won't leave either.”

“Why won't she leave?” I asked.

“Well,” said Holly. “If my kids just vanished one day, I'd be holding onto hope that they'd come back.”

We headed to the assembly hall, where I would see Miss Kyle for the first time. I expected to meet a frail looking woman, with dark circles under her eyes. But as she stood in front of the crowd, she couldn't have been further away from what I expected. In her navy blue trouser suit, she looked ready to start the school year, striking fear into the hearts of children with her stony blue eyes. Her black hair was scraped back into a tight bun, not a loose hair in sight. She didn't look like someone who had been awake all night, worrying about her children. But I guess our feelings don't always show on the outside.

“Good morning everyone,” she said in a firm tone. The crowd of teachers returned their sentiments. “I hope you have all had a lovely summer, but now it's time to get back to work.”

She ran through the housekeeping rules for the school, most of which the staff probably already knew, and gave out an itinerary for the day. It was at the end of her speech that she introduced me.

“And lastly, I'd like you all to meet the newest addition to our staff, Leona Charles. Can you stand up, Leona?”

I stood up from my chair, feeling my face go hot. Everyone turned and looked at me, with smiles. Everyone else looked friendly at least.

“I trust that you will all make Leona feel very welcome.”

I sat back down in my seat, trying to deny the feeling of dread I suddenly felt deep in my stomach. It was just the nerves, surely.

And before I knew it, the school year had started. William and I stood in the infants assembly hall, watching as the children filed in, some of the younger ones with parents. The Primary 2s were easily spotted, as they walked in, looking familiar and comfortable in their surroundings. Some came in alone, or said goodbye to their parents as soon as they were in the room. The younger ones, however, clung to their parents.

Once everyone in the room had settled down, I looked at my list of pupils, introducing myself and I began calling out the names. Soon, I had a line of pupils ready to follow me into the classroom.

“You've got Oliver Joseph,” William whispered to me as I turned to lead my class away.

“Who's that?” I asked, looking down the row of children, all wearing the grey school uniform.

“Third boy down.” My eyes ran along the queue and spotted him, a tiny boy with jet black hair and a ghostly complexion. His huge black eyes looked up at me. His hair had been smoothed back and combed into a side parting. In his shirt and tie, he looked like a ventriloquist puppet. “I'll tell you about him later,” William whispered.

I took the children into the classroom, where the walls were decorated with the letters of the alphabet and numbers to ten. I let them choose their seats and introduced myself once more, writing my name on the white board. Miss Charles. I had to stop myself from putting a smiley face at the end of it.

To begin with, I asked the children to introduce themselves to me, telling me about their families. The exercise started off easily enough. Kara, who lived at home with her parents and younger sister, who was starting school today. Then I had Aidan, who lived with his Mum and their two cats. And then I came to Oliver Joseph.

There was something about his eyes, I thought. I felt like he could read my mind by the way that he locked eyes with me the minute I said his name.

“My name is Oliver,” he started. “I'm six and I live with my grandparents.”

“Oliver's grandparents are invisible,” a voice called from behind him. It was another boy, one who I hadn't spoken to yet.

“They are not!” he called back. “They work at night!”

“No one's ever seen them,” the other boy teased.

“Okay,” I said firmly. “That's enough.” I looked at the boy who'd teased Oliver. “And what's your name?”

“Bradley,” he said with a grin. “I live with my mum, dad, big brother, Jake, who's ten, little sister, Colleen, who's three. And they're not invisible.”

Some of the others giggled at this statement. “Okay, Bradley,” I said. “No more comments like that.”

The rest of the morning passed quickly, with the children making name tags for their coats. It was almost break time when I heard Bradley scream.

“I'm bleeding!” I spun round to face him. The blood was flowing heavily from his nose, down his white shirt and making a pool on his desk.

Oliver had also turned to face him, while some others looked away, disgusted. There was a look of fascination on Oliver's face as he watched. He looked up at me with a small smile. “Look at all that blood.”

The bell rang, signalling break time. I quickly dismissed the children as I ran towards Bradley with a box of tissues. Oliver stood and stared as I tilted Bradley's head back, holding tissue to his nose.

“Oliver, go outside and play,” I instructed.

He didn't move. He was looking down now at the pool of blood on the desk. I saw him run his fingers through it.

“Oliver!” I said again. “Wash your hands and go outside and play.”

He lingered another few seconds before walking away. “Sure is a lot of blood,” he said before walking out of the room.

“It's okay, Bradley,” I said calmly, relieved to have stopped the flow from his nose. “We'll get you to the medical room and get you all cleaned up.”

With my help, he managed to hold the tissues to his nose as he stood up from his seat. His eyes were looking down at his blood covered desk.

“Don't worry about that,” I told him. “I'll sort that out later.” I looked down at the desk and saw what he had been looking at. Printed in the blood was the name OLIVER.

“It was Oliver's fault,” Bradley said in the medical room, his nose bleed stopped and the school nurse cleaning him up with antibacterial wipes.

“Did he hit you?” I asked.

“No, but you saw him watching. Little freak.”

“That's enough, Bradley,” William said as he entered the medical room. “Oliver didn't cause your nose bleed.”

He handed Bradley a worn, discoloured shirt, most likely from lost and found. Bradley scoffed as he began to unbutton the old one, which was stiff with dried blood.

“You got a taste of Oliver even sooner than I thought you would,” William said, that lunch time. The couple of hours between break and lunch had thankfully been uneventful. Bradley had been quiet but he wasn't harmed.

“What's the score with him?” I asked him and Holly as we sat around the little round table, eating lunch from plastic Tupperware dishes. “I know he can't cause a nose bleed, but when it happened he just stood and watched. He wrote his name in the blood.”

“Oh, he's obsessed with blood,” Holly said. “Even his own. If he gets a cut, he watches it bleed.”

“Yeah, he's definitely odd,” William said. “Now, I know, and you know, that he can't cause a nosebleed, but he always seems to be around when these weird things happen. Did Bradley say something to him this morning?”

I nodded, through a mouthful of salad. “He said his grandparents are invisible.”

William nodded. “It's always kids who have said or done something to Oliver. He won't play with the other kids at all. But if they try to pick on him, they'll fall in the playground, start throwing up during class. It's just weird.”

“It is weird,” Holly agreed. “But, as you said, he can't cause these things.”

“What about the grandparents?” I asked. “Does he not see his real parents?”

Holly shrugged. “They've never been on the scene. I don't get the impression that he has any contact. No one ever sees the grandparents. We get letters, we speak to them on the phone, but they never come to parents night. Oliver never takes part in any school concerts and he says that its because they work night shifts.”

“Doesn't anyone check up on this?” I asked. “He could be on his own, or living with some crazies.”

“We can't just knock on the door for no reason,” William said. “Oliver attends school every day. He doesn't look neglected or malnourished. Why would we do a home visit? We can ask the parents in for meetings, but again, we need a reason, and they need to agree.”

I was exhausted by the time I got home that night. Thankfully, the afternoon had gone by with no more drama. Oliver certainly was unusual though. They'd spent the last hour practising their handwriting, focussing on the vowels. Every time I looked up from my desk, there Oliver was, looking right through me.

“Are you okay, Oliver?” I asked.

He didn't say much in response, just nodded. I checked the page in his book, and there the letters were, neatly written for a six year old. I lead the children out at three o'clock. Most were met by parents, some met older siblings from other classes. Oliver didn't speak to anyone, just walked out of the school playground alone. I felt sad for him.

Mum's notes were piled on my bedside table, the trip to the library having been unsuccessful, and Mum had already gathered what little information there was on the internet. I looked at it with a sigh. There had to be more information somewhere. I thought of Chris, and wondered if he would be helpful, but he had been reluctant when I mentioned it to him before. Everyone was.

I fell asleep quickly, the first day of work had tired me out. My room was in complete darkness when I awoke to the feeling of a cold hand on my arm. I bolted upright in the bed, the hand slipping away. I tried to focus in the dark, but I couldn't see a thing. I fumbled in the darkness for the lamp. The bright light hurt my eyes at first and I had to close them for a second.

Oliver stood at the side of my bed. He no longer wore his school uniform. Instead he wore dark blue pyjamas. His hair was still perfectly in place. He looked up at me with those black eyes, the bottomless pits of darkness.

“Oliver.” I had to be dreaming. He didn't respond to my voice, just continued to look at me. I was afraid to look away from him. I reached out to touch him, wondering if he was really there. His small hand reached up, grabbing mine. He was ice cold. “Oliver,” I said again. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm cold,” he whispered. “I'm so cold.”

“Where are your grandparents? How did you get in here?”

He did not respond, just continued to look at me, holding my hand. I couldn't pull away from him. There was something about him that told me I had to stay with him. I didn't stop him as he climbed into bed beside me, his cold body curled up beside mine. I didn't question it. I felt like I couldn't. After all, it was just a dream.

As I wrapped my arms around him, falling back into a deep sleep, I wondered if this was what motherhood felt like.

My alarm woke me with a start the next day. As I rolled over to turn it off, I realised how drained I felt. I looked over to the other side of the bed, relieved to see that it was empty. Clearly just a weird dream. It wasn't until I was brushing my teeth that I noticed the two little puncture wounds on my neck.