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diary. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s as if I’ve been seeing everything on a video recorder that’s been fast forwarded. I get the pieces but not the whole picture.
    But if I wrote down everything I’d end up with a whole book. And something tells me I ought to leave time for my will.
    7.30 p.m.
    An hour’s free time before bed. No sign of Jeffrey or Jill. Went for a walk in the fresh air.
    The football field is at the back of the school. Next to it there’s a forest – the thickest I’ve ever seen. It can’t be very big but the trees look like a solid wall. There’s a chapel at the back and also a small cemetery.
    Saw Gregor sitting on a gravestone, smoking a cigarette. “Too many of those, Gregor,” I said, “and you’ll be under it!” This was a joke. Gregor did not laugh.
    8.15 p.m.
    Happened to see Jeffrey chatting to William Rufus. The two looked like the best of friends. Is this worrying?
    8.40 p.m.
    In bed. The lights go out in five minutes.
    I had a bath this evening. The bathroom is antique. When you turn on the tap the water rushes out like the Niagara Falls, only muddier. Got out of the bath dirtier than when I went in. Next time I’ll shower.
    After I’d finished writing the last entry in this diary, I put it away in the cupboard beside the bed with a pencil to mark the place. When I got back, the diary was in exactly the same position, but the pencil had rolled out.
    SOMEBODY READ THIS WHILE I WAS OUT OF THE ROOM!
    So I won’t be writing any more so long as I’m at Groosham Grange. I have a feeling it would be better to keep my thoughts to myself.
    Questions:
    Are all the names false? If so, why?
    What is the meaning of the black rings?
    What’s really going on at Groosham Grange?
    And don’t worry, whoever’s reading this. Somehow I’m going to find the answers.

IN THE DARK
    Despite his resolution, David had learnt nothing by the end of the next day. The school routine had ticked on as normal – breakfast, Latin, history, break, maths, lunch, geography, football – except that none of it was remotely normal. It was as if everything, the lessons and the books, was just an elaborate charade, and that only when it was sure that nobody was looking the school would reveal itself in its true colours.
    It was half past seven in the evening. David was working on an essay in the school library – a room that was unusual in itself in that it didn’t have any books. Instead of bookshelves, the walls were lined with the heads of stuffed animals gazing out of wooden mounts with empty glass eyes. Not surprisingly, David hadn’t found it very easy to concentrate on Elizabethan history with two moles, an armadillo and a wart-hog staring over his shoulder.
    After twenty minutes, he gave up. He had no interest in the Spanish Armada and he suspected he could say the same for Miss Pedicure (who also taught history). He examined the page he had just finished. It was more ink-blots and crossing out than anything else. With a sigh he crumpled it in a ball and threw it at the dustbin. It missed and hit the large mirror behind it. David sighed again and went over to retrieve it. But it had gone. He searched behind the dustbin, under the chairs and all over the carpet in front of the mirror. But the ball of paper had vanished without trace. Suddenly, and for no good reason, David felt nervous. He glanced over his shoulder. The wart-hog seemed to be grinning at him. He hurried out of the library, slamming the door behind him.
    A narrow, arched passageway led out from the library and back into the main hall. This was the passage he had come down on his first evening at Groosham Grange. It went past the door of Mr Kilgraw’s study and now he paused outside it, remembering. That was when he heard the voices.
    They were coming from the room opposite Mr Kilgraw’s, a room with a dark panelled door and the single word H EADS painted in gold letters. So Groosham Grange had not one but two headmasters!