Groosham Grange by Anthony Horowitz

wax doll, he who was jabbing the pins into it. Then his father wheelchaired himself across the grass, waving a packet of muesli, and David pointed at him and muttered something he didn’t understand and his father exploded in flames and…
    He woke up.
    The day dragged on like a sack of bricks. Maths, then history, then English literature… David didn’t see Jill all morning which, in his present mood, was probably just as well. He hardly took in a word that was said to him. He could only think of his appointment and his eyes were drawn to the clocks on the classroom walls. The minute hands seemed to be moving slower than they should have been. And the other pupils knew. Every now and then he caught them glancing at him. Then they would whisper among themselves. The teachers did their best to ignore him.
    At last the time came. David was tempted to run away and hide – but he knew it would do him no good. The staff would find him and drag him out and whatever they might think of him, he didn’t want to act like a coward. At one o’clock exactly he stood outside the headmasters’ study. He took a deep breath. He raised his hand. He knocked. “Come …”
    “… in.”
    Both of them had spoken, Mr Fitch taking the first word, Mr Teagle the second. David went in.
    The sun must have passed behind a cloud for it was dark in the room, the light barely penetrating the stained glass windows. The black marble floor, too, made the study seem darker than it had any right to be in the middle of the day. David closed the door behind him and moved slowly towards the desk. There were two men sitting behind it, waiting for him.
    No. One man.
    But…
    And then David saw with a spidery surge of horror that brushed against the bottom of his spine and scuttled all the way up to his neck. There was only one headmaster at Groosham Grange – but two heads. Or to put it another way, the heads really were heads. Mr Fitch was quite bald with a hooked nose and vulture eyes. Mr Teagle had thin grey hair, a tiny beard and glasses. But the two heads were joined to one body, sitting in a dark suit and bright green tie behind the single desk in the single chair. The two heads had a neck in the shape of a letter Y. Even as David fainted he found himself wondering which of them had chosen the tie.
    He woke up back in the dormitory, lying on his own bed.
    “Are you feeling better, my dear?”
    Mrs Windergast was sitting on the bed next to him, holding a sponge and a basin and watching him anxiously. She had loosened his collar and mopped his face with cold water.
    “You obviously weren’t quite ready to see the heads,” the matron crooned on. “It can be a very upsetting experience. Poor Mr Fitch and Mr Teagle were both so distinguished and good-looking until their little accident.”
    If that was a “little” accident, David thought to himself, what would you call a major calamity?
    “We’re all very worried about you, David.” Mrs Windergast leaned forward with the sponge but David reared away. It might only be water in the basin, but at Groosham Grange you never knew. One quick slosh and you might wake up with three extra eyes and a passion for fresh blood.
    The matron sighed and dropped the sponge.
    “The trouble is,” she said, “we’ve got to you rather late, and now we don’t have much time left. How long now? Two days only! It would be such a shame to lose you, really it would. I think you’re a nice boy, David. I really wish…!”
    “Just leave me alone!” David turned his eyes away from her. He couldn’t bear looking at her. Mrs Windergast might be just like somebody’s grandmother. But the somebody was probably Jack the Ripper.
    “All right, dear. I can see you’re still upset…”
    Mrs Windergast stood up and bustled out of the dormitory.
    David stayed where he was, glad to be alone. He needed time to think, time to work things out. Already the memory of the headmasters had faded, as if his brain were unwilling to