Voices in Stone - Emily Diamand Page 0,3

didn’t remember him being around last year, but there were a lot of ghosts about the school today, and not just in the Victorian buildings. Maybe he was one of the ghosts let loose when she and Gray had torn open the ghost Devourer in the summer? Isis shivered, remembering the deathly cold of the monster as it filled the August night, its body swollen with all the thousands of ghosts it had consumed, a blackness blotting out the stars. She and Gray had destroyed it, preventing it from becoming something far more terrible. But they’d released spiralling swirls of ghosts in the process, and the effort had nearly cost Isis her life.

Mrs Dewson carried on, oblivious. “Now I’d like to make a special mention to someone who’s shown outstanding qualities over the summer holiday. Gray Elias, would you stand please?”

His name jerked Isis’s head up. She stared, along with everyone else in the year, as he stood up. Gray looked as surprised as Isis, and embarrassed too.

“Gray did something very brave this summer, which should be an inspiration to all of us.”

Isis squeezed her hands into fists. No, don’t!

“He risked his own life to help one of his fellow pupils.”

Heat rushed to Isis’s cheeks, and her stomach seemed to sink into her feet.

Mrs Dewson turned her head, surveying the lines of seated children. “Isis Dunbar, would you stand up please?”

Faces in the rows around her turned to stare. Isis got up slowly, trying to look normal and unremarkable.

“Pupils who don’t walk on the correct side of the corridor will be punished!” sneered the ghost, glaring at her.

Mrs Dewson spoke loudly to the whole year.

“Gray and Isis were out with their families this summer, when very unusual atmospheric conditions led to a storm with intense lightning. I’m sure you’ll be as shocked as I was to hear that Isis was caught in it” – there were gasps from all around, now everyone was looking at her – “but with no concern for his own welfare Gray tried to get her to safety. He did this even though everyone else believed she was beyond hope.”

All heads turned to look at Gray. Isis looked at him too, trying to read his face. The story Mrs Dewson was telling was one of the versions told by the adults who’d been there. All were slightly different, and none were correct. Apart from Gray and Isis, the only living person who knew what had really happened was Philip Syndal, a man who’d been possessed by the Devourer and who’d wanted the creature to take over Isis’s mind instead. He was in a psychiatric hospital now.

Gray still looked embarrassed, but he was standing a little straighter, even smiling.

“Thanks to Gray’s bravery,” said Mrs Dewson, “and the sterling work of the emergency services, Isis was saved.” Everyone shuffled and craned their necks to look at her again.

“Dead girl.” The words were said quietly, but loud enough for everyone near Isis to hear. The red-hot blush pouring up Isis’s neck was making her even more visible, when all she wanted was to disappear.

“Of course,” said Mrs Dewson, “we don’t all have the opportunity to be so brave, but I hope this term you will all be inspired by Gray’s actions…”

The whispers continued, and a couple of girls giggled. Dead girl.

Isis sat down, even though Mrs Dewson hadn’t said to yet. She fixed her eyes on a safety notice, reading the red-printed words over and over. IN THE EVENT OF FIRE, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY BY THE EMERGENCY EXITS. Desperately, she tried to block out everything else.

Eventually, assembly was over.

“Be safe going home. We’ll see you tomorrow,” said Mrs Dewson, as everyone began filing from the hall.

“Keep your backs straight!” shrieked the teacher-ghost. “If you bring shame on this school, you shame yourselves as well!”

As Isis’s class walked to the cloakroom, Jess’s gang muscled their way up the line.

“What’s it like being dead?”

“Did you see Jesus?”

Isis blushed even more, looking at the floor to avoid the girls’ eyes. Ignore them and they’ll go away; only adults would think that might work.

At her hook, Isis crammed her arms into her coat, heaved her school bag onto her back and headed for the doors as fast as she dared.

“Hey,” shouted Connor, the boy who’d whispered in assembly, “you going home to your coffin?”

“You’re not funny!” Isis snapped back.

“I’m not dead either,” he said.

Isis would’ve punched him if she knew how. Instead she spun around and headed out of the door, running for the