faded and seemed to be ancient and warped. Pandora couldn’t understand how it didn’t just crumble apart.
“What on earth is that?” asked Mr Gilchirst in bewilderment.
“This is order,” said Mabel in triumph as Miss Hill reverently carried the small chest forward. “This is harmony. This is what will keep Willowcombe Clatford free of the filthy lower orders and coloureds and all the other scum that drag us down to their level. We have used it sparingly, learning its power, but now we are ready to unleash the full force of the box.”
“The force of the box? What on earth?”
“Everyone concentrate,” spat Mabel, her face twisted into a grotesque leer of triumph and expectation.
The air became heavy and a strange silence fell on the room. A bright blue light erupted from the box, shining through the numerous cracks and gaps. Miss Hill opened the box and the blue light exploded out, filling the staff room. The light coalesced into a tornado, which spat out bolts of lightning directly at Mr Gilchirst, pinning him to the ground.
The tornado swung around and enveloped him, drawing him into the heart of the supernatural storm. For a moment, his body hung in the air, little more than a silhouette against the intense blue light, then it dwindled down and disappeared as the tornado snapped out.
“Excellent,” smiled Mabel. “We are finally ready to remove the development and everyone in it.”
“Are you sure?” asked Mr Toy. “Do we have the ability to remove an entire housing estate? So far, we have only erased individuals. An entire community may be beyond our capabilities. We don’t yet have full control. You remember what happened with the Tooke family? We only got the boy. The parents are still out there, living on the development.”
“We have learnt since then,” said Mabel decisively. “Nothing can prevent us returning Willowcombe Clatford to the way it should always have been. We will have our values, good old-fashioned values our parents lived by, where authority was respected and people knew their place. We will rid ourselves of these outsiders who infest us. Our children will be safe.
“Willowcombe Clatford will be the perfect place to live.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Time seemed to slow down and every detail became magnified as Pandora backed away from the door, her face a grimace of horror. Evil was being done, yet it was being done in the name of good, and it was being done by those in authority, people who genuinely believed that they were acting in a moral way.
She found herself outside. The afterschool clubs had finished and the children were out, running happily through the playground or standing, chatting and laughing in groups, all seemingly without a care in the world, the girls with boaters and ankle-length skirts, the older boys in blazers and trousers, the younger in shirts and short trousers.
Pandora turned, feeling completely isolated from her surroundings as she looked through the school gates and down the village green. She had seen it on that first day and every day since, but she had not understood it. Now, she did.
The cheerful mothers, all dressed in long skirts and blouses with cardigans over the top, pushing their perambulators or holding the hands of their polite, perfectly behaved children. The pensioners walking cheerfully up and down the High Street, all in blazers or tweed. The cricket team practising on the village green. There was no disorder, no fear, no argument. It was a perfect world.
But perfect for whom? Everyone was polite and well behaved because they had no choice, and what was worse, they didn’t even know that they had no choice. This perfect world had been created by those who held narrow, insular views, who proudly wore their prejudices but disguised them as values. There was no disorder or fear, but there was also no difference, no eccentricity, no motivation to explore, to ask, to develop. There was only unthinking conformity.
And in
“What on earth is that?” asked Mr Gilchirst in bewilderment.
“This is order,” said Mabel in triumph as Miss Hill reverently carried the small chest forward. “This is harmony. This is what will keep Willowcombe Clatford free of the filthy lower orders and coloureds and all the other scum that drag us down to their level. We have used it sparingly, learning its power, but now we are ready to unleash the full force of the box.”
“The force of the box? What on earth?”
“Everyone concentrate,” spat Mabel, her face twisted into a grotesque leer of triumph and expectation.
The air became heavy and a strange silence fell on the room. A bright blue light erupted from the box, shining through the numerous cracks and gaps. Miss Hill opened the box and the blue light exploded out, filling the staff room. The light coalesced into a tornado, which spat out bolts of lightning directly at Mr Gilchirst, pinning him to the ground.
The tornado swung around and enveloped him, drawing him into the heart of the supernatural storm. For a moment, his body hung in the air, little more than a silhouette against the intense blue light, then it dwindled down and disappeared as the tornado snapped out.
“Excellent,” smiled Mabel. “We are finally ready to remove the development and everyone in it.”
“Are you sure?” asked Mr Toy. “Do we have the ability to remove an entire housing estate? So far, we have only erased individuals. An entire community may be beyond our capabilities. We don’t yet have full control. You remember what happened with the Tooke family? We only got the boy. The parents are still out there, living on the development.”
“We have learnt since then,” said Mabel decisively. “Nothing can prevent us returning Willowcombe Clatford to the way it should always have been. We will have our values, good old-fashioned values our parents lived by, where authority was respected and people knew their place. We will rid ourselves of these outsiders who infest us. Our children will be safe.
“Willowcombe Clatford will be the perfect place to live.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Time seemed to slow down and every detail became magnified as Pandora backed away from the door, her face a grimace of horror. Evil was being done, yet it was being done in the name of good, and it was being done by those in authority, people who genuinely believed that they were acting in a moral way.
She found herself outside. The afterschool clubs had finished and the children were out, running happily through the playground or standing, chatting and laughing in groups, all seemingly without a care in the world, the girls with boaters and ankle-length skirts, the older boys in blazers and trousers, the younger in shirts and short trousers.
Pandora turned, feeling completely isolated from her surroundings as she looked through the school gates and down the village green. She had seen it on that first day and every day since, but she had not understood it. Now, she did.
The cheerful mothers, all dressed in long skirts and blouses with cardigans over the top, pushing their perambulators or holding the hands of their polite, perfectly behaved children. The pensioners walking cheerfully up and down the High Street, all in blazers or tweed. The cricket team practising on the village green. There was no disorder, no fear, no argument. It was a perfect world.
But perfect for whom? Everyone was polite and well behaved because they had no choice, and what was worse, they didn’t even know that they had no choice. This perfect world had been created by those who held narrow, insular views, who proudly wore their prejudices but disguised them as values. There was no disorder or fear, but there was also no difference, no eccentricity, no motivation to explore, to ask, to develop. There was only unthinking conformity.
And in
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