The Uninvited

Whybray is dead, Professor Whybray isdead, I say to myself over and over as Ihead for his office. I find his notebook inhis briefcase and pocket it. I can’t risktaking anything else. Professor Whybrayis dead, Professor Whybray is dead,Professor Whybray is dead. It doesn’thelp. It doesn’t feel real. Another personwould feel something. They might cry.Instead, I think about the escaped children.They’ll catch some. But others will evadethem. They’ll live wild in forests and onbeaches and in holes. They’ll raid shopsfor tins, dig for bugs, mill about in theircochineal uniforms until they getdiscarded or fall apart and they arestinking and dressed in rags and eatinginsects. Killing, dismembering anddevouring each other and making little