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one of the doors in front of Ben. He saw the wood rattle in the frame. He shuddered like the door, backing away down the stairs – desperate to turn and run, yet unable to stop looking.
    The door was pushed open. It was dark in the apartment behind. A figure staggered out on to the landing – into the light. Miss Haining.
    Her greying hair was plastered across her face. Her hands clutched and beat at the air in front of her, as if she was trying to fight off some animal. And she was screaming.
    For a moment her eyes latched on to Ben, but he had the feeling she couldn’t see him. Her stare was empty and unfocused. Her face was twisted in anagonised frenzy. As Ben watched, transfixed, a line of red appeared down Miss Haining’s cheek. As if she’d been scratched. She yelled and spun round, then back again. Her hands were clawing at her own face now as more scratches appeared.
    Lights snapped on. The door next to Miss Haining’s started to open. There were running feet somewhere on the floor above.
    Ben was sure he felt a slight draught – like something pushing past him on the stairway. Between the screaming and the running feet, he could swear he heard someone giggling.
    Then he turned and ran down the stairs. He heard the back door of the new block slam shut as he reached the bottom. He raced as fast as he could to his dormitory and dived into bed.
    He didn’t care that he was still wearing his coat and his slippers. He didn’t join the other boys hurrying down to see what was happening when they heard the siren and the ambulance arrived.
    He didn’t watch as Miss Haining was carried out on a stretcher … Her face scratched and torn, her eyes staring and wild, a dribble of saliva running from the corner of her slack mouth.
    Ben didn’t know that for the rest of her life she would never speak another coherent word. Whenhe did crawl from under his covers and look out of his window, he was sure he could see a man standing in the distance, on the edge of the woods behind the home. A tall, thin, fair-haired man who walked with one shoulder sagging as if it carried a heavy weight.

6
    T HE DAY AFTER MISS HAINING WAS TAKEN away in the ambulance, Ben went to see Mr Magill.
    There was no one else in the maths room and Mr Magill was doing his marking. He glanced up from his desk to see who it was, then smiled sadly and gestured for Ben to come in.
    ‘Leaves a big hole, doesn’t it?’
    Ben didn’t have to ask what he meant. The words summed up perfectly how Ben felt, and the way that Mr Magill said them – his expression, his tone – made Ben wonder who Mr Magill had lost.
    ‘Who was he?’ Ben asked.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘The man in the suit. The man who came that night with the girl and the box. He had a car that looked old but I don’t think it was.’
    ‘Morgan,’ Mr Magill said.
    ‘Mr Morgan?’
    ‘No, the car is a Morgan. Hand-built. Lovely. You’re right, it’s not that old.’
    ‘But the man …’ Ben insisted. ‘You knew him. You brought him here.’
    Mr Magill nodded. ‘And that’s how I know he had nothing to do with Samantha’s disappearance. Nothing at all. He wanted to help her, you know. That’s why he came here.’
    ‘Can’t he help her now? Can’t you at least tell me who he was and let me ask him if he knows what’s happened to Sam?’
    Mr Magill stood up. He walked across to Ben and put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. ‘He can’t help. I’m so sorry. Really I am.’ Mr Magill looked away, not wanting to meet Ben’s accusing stare. ‘I’m leaving soon,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve got another job, a long way away.’
    ‘Isn’t that a bit sudden? Is it because of the man with the box? Is it because of what happened to Sam?’
    Mr Magill shook his head. ‘No, not at all. A job came up that I was interested in, that’s all.’ He went back to his desk and looked down at the exercise book he was marking. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you, Ben. But the hole that’s been left