Chapter Text
When Charles Rowland arrives at Saint-Hilarion, in September 1988, he knows that he is in front of the chance of a lifetime. His exceptional sports results have allowed him to obtain a scholarship in this high school that is extremely expensive, and he will finally be able to succeed in two things that were beginning to seem impossible to him: to make his father proud of him and to flee the family home for months without having to sleep under bridges.
(It's not that he often thought about running away from home. Well, not that often. It's just that lately, the idea has become more and more regular, and he is really relieved to have a perfect solution that has presented itself to him)
Now, the point is to not screwing up. Which is unfortunately one of his specialties. At sixteen, Charles already knows very, very well that doing his best is not enough, and that he has no right to make mistakes.
He is here to make friends among the rich students whose parents will be valuable contacts for his father, to have a top athletic level to keep his scholarship, and to ensure a sufficient academic level to then go to a university. Which one, why do it, it is not really important and in any case it is a worry for later. He already has three missions to fulfill, the first of which is the most difficult for a young half-Indian from the British middle classes, in other words a bumpkin in the eyes of all the posh boys who have attended this school for generations. Nothing is going to fall into his lap ready-made.
But he can count on his charm and his humor, and when he makes the effort, everyone ends up liking him, aren’t they?
Perfectly at ease in his walk despite the stupid uniform he is forced to wear here, with an easy smile on his lips, Charles plays the cool guy card to the hilt before going to talk to his future teammates on the cricket team. He has a mission to fulfill and he intends to fulfill it. And then, among all these guys, there will necessarily be some good people, aren’t they?
"Well Charlie, did you lose your book? Maybe the ghost took it from you!"
The whole group bursts out laughing, starting with Charles. He's a good audience, and if the joke goes too far, he trusts himself to find a comeback that will put the laughers on his side. It's just a game. A tiring game on a daily basis, but a game he's mastered. After all, he's been at Saint Hilarion for a month now and he's miraculously managed to validate the three aspects of his mission without failing so far. Well, given his grades, let's say two and a half aspects, but it's okay.
He continues to search his bag. If old Plumpeter sees that he's arrived without his history book, he's in for an extra hour of detention. Saint Hilarion is a very strict school on certain points and Charles tends to have a tidying up that himself describes as anarchic but functional. That is to say, he is able to find his things, but he would not be able to explain why they are there. They are there, that's all. Except when they are not, for mysterious reasons.
This is not the first time that he has been told about the ghost that is supposed to haunt this school and he will really end up believing it. It is still crazy that he loses his things so often since he has been here, while his system was largely sufficient in his previous school. Obviously, now that there is a stake with strict teachers, he can no longer achieve anything. Typically Charles.
Letting the others make comments and lame jokes that he only half listens to, Charles ends up turning his bag completely inside out and spilling everything on the desk. Where on earth could that damn book have gone…
Everyone jumps when they hear a sharp noise two desks away. A book has just fallen to the floor and Charles realizes with relief that it's okay, it's his history book! How it managed to land there, no idea - it's right under Ron's desk - but at least it's there!
"Saved this time, Charlie! " Dan comments.
Charles doesn't really know why his new friends decided that his nickname would be Charlie. Before, he was called Chaz. Well, it could have been worse. They had hesitated with Chuck.
He smiles at his friend and quickly packs up all his things. In theory, they have a quarter of an hour of break before the next class, but if he had to go back to his dorm to get his book he would never have made it in time. And on top of that he probably would have been caught by the monitor. Students are not supposed to go back to the dorm building during the day—unless they have certain privileges, but until any building in this school is called Rowland Hall, Charles knows he doesn’t have any.
Instead, he can follow the rest of the group and hide with them in their favorite corner, where Will and Ron sneak out to smoke. The others don’t smoke—not that Charles hasn’t done it or doesn’t like it, but he knows full well what he’ll get if he gets caught, while the unofficial leader of the band and his unofficial lieutenant will get nothing more than a scolding in the dean’s office. So two of them smoke and the others keep watch, that’s just the way it is, no questions asked and no shifts.
Charles asks Dan – Dan is often the one who answers his questions, he and Shaun are the most patient of the band – why they keep making jokes about the ghost in this school. Are there really so many people who believe in this stuff?
To his surprise, it is Will who answers:
"We didn’t believe it before coming to Saint Hilarion, but there really is a ghost here. We’ve all seen a paranormal phenomenon at least once since we set foot in this school, right guys? "
Everyone nods. Will doesn’t speak often, preferring to watch the others bend over backwards to get him out of his boredom, but when he does speak, people listen. His father is a great peer of England and he has a position somewhere in a ministry; everyone assumes that, election or not, he is unshakeable. As for Will, he acts like he knows everything about everything and everyone, and it must be admitted that most of the time it’s the truth.
He adds:
"It’s relatively recent, the first testimonies started in 1978. My brother Edmund was in second year here at the time, he told me. A group of guys were having fun with a kid who was starting to whine “please, no, stop, leave me alone…” if you know what I mean…"
Everyone snickers. Except Charles. But he smiles. It’s important to show the others that he’s with them, even if he doesn’t see anything very funny so far.
"And then one of the guys felt his collar being pulled back violently, as if an invisible icy hand was grabbing him and trying to strangle him with his own clothes. He fell backwards. The others started getting hit, slapped, stuff like that… without being able to see anyone. It all stopped when the kid ran away. And ever since…"
Ron interrupts Will, all excited:
"And ever since the ghost of Saint Hilarion has been roaming the school and attacking any bullies who dare to pick on those weaker than them! You should be careful, Charlie, if the ghost starts hiding your stuff, it's because he's got you in his sights! "
Will glares at Ron. He doesn't like being interrupted, and that will be paid for, everyone is well aware of that, except the person concerned who is only too happy to have an opportunity to give Charles a friendly punch while describing the horrors the ghost has in store for him.
Will finally clears his throat loudly, which silences Ron, before adding:
"The ghost is not the type to make stupid jokes like hiding a book, Charlie. Nor to waste time to help you find him. On the other hand, he can be really dangerous. There was a guy who ended up with scissors planted in the wall an inch from his throat. And another who threw himself out of the window to escape him. "
"Which window? " Charles asks, destabilized by the turn of the conversation. "Did he get away?"
"The second floor window, yeah, he got away with a broken ankle. But you get the idea. That ghost is really not the kind of thing you want to mess with. But don’t worry, you’re a good guy. There’s no reason for him to pick on you. "
Will’s expression, as he looks Charles straight in the eye, is unreadable. As it often is. It makes Charles slightly uncomfortable. He thinks Will likes him, at least he’s taken him under his wing, into his close group of friends, and he often defends him when Ron goes too far. But then he looks at him like that, as if he’s waiting for a response, a reaction that will allow him to… what, exactly?
To make fun of? William Fitzalan-Howard, the third of his name, can make fun of whoever he wants whenever he wants, without any restrictions. Hell, he could even shoot Charles with a pistol and then just say, “Oops, I thought he was a deer that got lost in the park,” and it would work. Including with Charles’s father, by the way.
So Charles smiles at him—Will likes him so far, and it’s absolutely vital that he keeps it that way—and looks for something funny to say. He’s pretty sure it’s his sense of humor that’s kept him in the good graces of the Duke of Norfolk’s youngest son so far. At worst, it’ll be at his expense, but he needs a joke.
"I don’t know, Will… after all, I’m a real cricket killer. I mean, last week’s game was a full-blown St. Briard murder, so you never know…"
It works. The combination of the pun and the reminder of the excellent memory of the match where they crushed the rival school of St. Briard is enough to make Will and the whole band burst out laughing, dispelling as if nothing had happened the strange atmosphere that had settled when they started talking about the ghost.
The others start talking about what they would do if they came back to earth in the form of a ghost, everyone agrees on the fact that the best place to haunt in the world would be the showers of a girls' school, and they leave it there, between laughs and salacious innuendos, as it should be.
Over time, Charles learned more and more about the ghost. Too much. Half of it is undoubtedly bullshit.
The ghost is supposed to be summoned to the basement, where he was supposedly killed in a horrible satanic sacrifice. But others say he brings students to the attic, never to be seen again. It's also said that his victims' graves are at the bottom of the garden, after the school has covered it up each time.
On the other hand, he is supposed to help those who ask for his help. When a student starts bullying or hitting another student, he will find himself grabbed and pushed back by invisible, icy hands, until the victim is safe. It seems that if you know the ghost's true name—there are several versions—and repeat it three times in front of a mirror, he will appear, and you can then ask him to grant you a wish. And he leaves little written notes to warn people they're going to die, or that something bad is going to happen to them, allowing them to escape just in time.
Some students have taken to thanking him out loud when they find their belongings or when they avoid trouble at the last minute, or even leaving him gifts on windowsills, to invoke luck or thank him after a pleasant surprise.
In short, the extent of his powers, both beneficial and harmful, seems quite variable and blends happily with fairy-tale folklore. Everyone half-believes it: no one claims it's real, but no one claims it isn't either... and everyone has a story to tell if you ask. Books that move, objects that fall by themselves, chalks that fly during class (no teacher believes it, but it remains the most common excuse used by students), a window or a door that slams by itself...
Some people sometimes talk about feeling icy hands touch them, but generally it's only an icy breath that's described, since admitting that you were grabbed by the ghost is admitting that you were actually attacking someone. Charles finds that this drafty old building alone could justify three-quarters of the stories he ultimately hears.
For his part, he's skeptical but eager to believe: none of this seems solid enough to prove the existence of a ghost, but if it were true, it would be so great! Especially a ghost that attacks bullies and protects victims. This is by far Charles's favorite version of the story.
Meanwhile, his belongings continue to mysteriously disappear and reappear. He's tempted to imitate some of the students and leave an offering on his window, asking the ghost to stop taking them if it is him, or thanking it for returning them if it is. But Will thinks this practice is stupid, and Charles shares his room with Bertie, who is a very loyal friend of Will's. So he won't do it.
Bertie is also a younger brother of a prominent family, from what Charles understands, but he never talks about it. Bertie just quickly made it clear that their shared bedroom was his, that he tolerated Charles's presence there as long as he didn't disturb him, and that it was non-negotiable.
Unfortunately, he's not very susceptible to Charles's charms, and Charles has taken to doing his homework and listening to his Walkman elsewhere, usually in the common room, wrapped in a blanket because he really struggles with the cold of this old building.
Bertie will never accept leaving a lit candle or a plate of biscuits on the window to please a ghost. If the young nobleman ever came across a ghost, he would stare at it until it got the message and went to haunt somewhere else. And he's so haughty it might just work.
Charles ends up leaving a little message for the ghost, a simple note scribbled on a torn notebook page that he slips under his pillow, feeling ridiculous. But he doesn't like to leave this question hanging. Does the ghost exist or not? Has it ever interacted with him? Does it ultimately mean harm or good?
Maybe Charles's people-pleasing nature is going a bit far this time. You're not supposed to want to be liked by ghosts. But if the ghost of Saint Hilarion exists, Charles absolutely wants him on his side, because it would be the coolest thing he could imagine.
On the note, he wrote, "Thanks for helping me with my things! I've been having a little trouble keeping up since I started at this school, and it's nice to have someone on my side! I hope your work is going well. Sincerely, Charles Rowland."
When he wakes up, he's almost certain the note has moved under his pillow. Maybe he's just taking his dreams for granted... but maybe not. Maybe there really is someone watching over him at this school. And that's an idea that puts him in a good mood.
Charles didn't return home once between the start of the school year in September and the Christmas holidays. Perhaps that's why he let his guard down. He lost his habits. He should have known better.
It must be said that things were starting off very well. That, too, let his guard down. When his father came to pick him up from Saint Hilarion, he had the opportunity to meet the friends Charles had treasured and shake hands with their parents: two dukes, a bank director, and two executives of publicly traded companies. Enough to satisfy even Paul Rowland's most demanding ambitions.
Moreover, the team coach took him aside to congratulate him on Charles's excellent athletic performance. Saint Hilarion could well win the high school cricket tournament for the first time in twenty years, and it's Charles who can give them hope of achieving this feat. Of course, that's basically why he received a scholarship. Everyone knows very well that the school practically bought him to secure a sporting victory, but it's good to see that he's living up to their expectations.
Regarding his academic performance, the mood is significantly less positive when the history teacher takes the opportunity to have a few words with Paul Rowland, and Charles can't help but tense up when he hears him talk about negligence, equipment not being brought to class, lateness, and barely acceptable grades...
But to his great relief, his father defends him, explaining that Charles hadn't been to such a high-level school before and that he'd probably already made a lot of effort to catch up on what was considered basic at Saint Hilarion. And that, of course, for the next semester, he'll redouble his efforts and finally get good results. Charles promises without flinching. He'll spend all the sleepless nights there, but he'll do it, of course. No other alternative is possible.
The return trip completely quelled his suspicions. His father was delighted to have been able to meet important people and was in an excellent mood. He even stroked his head and called him champion. The last time he'd done that, Charles was 12 and had just won his first sports award. Rediscovering that familiarity gave him wings again. Finally, he was managing to rise to the occasion.
Everything had gone well for a few days. The family Christmas had taken place in a truly festive atmosphere for once, and not with Charles and his mother walking on eggshells to avoid triggering Paul's anger. He received a new, absolutely magnificent cricket bat and cassettes of his favorite bands as a gift. His father hadn't drunk too much and maintained a slightly distant but smug smile throughout the evening. It was perfect.
Then... well, as always, Charles ended up screwing up. He always ends up screwing up. A week of vacation was clearly too much for him not to have an opportunity to screw up.
He did his best not to disturb anyone with his music—always listened to on his Walkman, in the basement that's been converted to serve as his bedroom now that he's at boarding school. His father was able to reclaim his room to use as an office, it's more practical for everyone. He did his best not to disturb anyone with his presence either, more often outside than inside, but always home on time for dinner. He helped his mother with her chores, happy to be able to spend time alone with her; those moments are still his favorite at home.
It's just that when he spends time outside, he must be keeping himself busy, right? And he saw all his old friends again. He's very happy to see that he hasn't been forgotten and he's having a great time with them, telling them what life is like at Saint Hilarion, the stories of nobles who are all more posh than each other, the ghost stories...
But above all, he listens. His friends are all really into the underground music that's developing in London and they have so many fascinating things to tell! If he were free, Charles would love to be there to see it all. He's already making plans. Just another year and a half to hold out, to behave well at school, and then... Yes, when he's an adult, his life will be really great!
He knows he shouldn't immerse himself so much in this music. But it's the only time he feels truly free, truly himself. His breath of fresh air in a world where he constantly has to make an effort. And he wants to make an effort, he wants to do things right, to succeed in meeting everyone's expectations, he really does. He just needs to breathe once in a while. To feel cool. Proud of himself.
He shouldn't have let Claudia pierce his ear. But the result is so stylish! Exactly like his favorite rock stars! And it's okay, it's not a punk mohawk either—even though Charles also let Claudia cut his hair, shaved on the nape and sides and leaving the curls longer on top, not completely punk but not at all tame either. He loves the result. And that's basically his role in his group of friends: the poor but cool and rebellious guy, the one who knows how to smuggle cigarettes and bottles of alcohol in. Will won't say anything. It'll pass.
With his father, it doesn't.
The beating is even worse than the one Charles sneaked out to attend a Madness concert. That day, Paul Rowland concluded his educational talk by burning in the garden the jacket Charles had meticulously customized with all his favorite bands. It hurted more than the beatings.
As for the earring, he expected his father to rip it off. But no. He simply takes out his belt and meticulously hits Charles's back and stomach, one blow on one side, one on the other, while his son, curled up on the ground, begs for it to stop, promises to be good, to behave. His father finally stops, saying, "Do you understand now?"
No, Charles absolutely doesn't understand either the problem or the answer. He just knows he messed up. So he says the only thing possible: "Yes, Dad. I won't do it again."
He doesn't leave the house for the next two days, sticking to the basement or hugging the walls to help his mother, as quiet as a ghost, trying not to wince at the pain caused by the slightest movement because he can't afford to complain. The earring is carefully tucked into the false bottom of his bag, along with the cassettes that escaped his father's fury—the trick is to have at least six different hiding places, to be sure of having some survivors—and the eyeliner pencil Claudia also gave him.
By the time Charles returns to Saint Hilarion, his father has regained his good mood. He keeps it up throughout the car ride, humming along with the radio, reminding Charles of everything he needs to do in the coming months, all the opportunities he needs to seize. Charles nods and promises, trying his best to hide the rage boiling inside him.
He shouldn't be so furious with his father. He knows that. It's for his own good. It's so he can finally achieve something in his life and stop screwing up everything he tries. But he's fed up, more than fed up, and feels that sooner or later he's going to break down and respond to violence with violence. Because everyone has a limit, and every slap of the belt brings him closer to his own.
But then? What will become of him once he's thrown his father's expectations out the window and ruined his life? His father has a heavy hand, but it's for his own good. So that he can become someone, and not one of those nobodys who will never achieve anything with their lives. Except live fast and die young... a plan that becomes almost tempting compared to life at home.
Charles knows that hidden in his bag are all the things that will allow him to truly be himself, and that he won't see his father again until the summer holidays. It will be enough.