Sir Quentin Strillers is the upper-class hospital principal, and is in charge of everyone and everything.
From outside the hospital there is Mr Thews, the headmaster of Tom’s school, St Willet’s Boarding School for Boys.
“Aaarrrggghhh!” screamed the boy.
The most monstrous face he had ever seen was peering down at him. It was the face of a man, but it was completely lopsided. One side was larger than it should have been, and the other was smaller. The face smiled as if to calm the boy down, only to reveal a set of broken and rotten teeth. This made the boy even more scared than before.
“Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!!!!” he screamed again.
“You will be all right, young sir. Please try and be calm,” slurred the man.
His face was so misshapen, that so was his speech.
Who was this man and where was he taking the boy?
It was only then the boy realised he was lying on his back, staring straight up. It felt almost as if he was floating. But something was
His head clouded with questions.
Where was he?
How did he get here?
Why couldn’t he remember a thing?
And, most importantly, who was this terrifying man-monster?
The trolley travelled slowly down the long corridor. The boy could hear the sound of something being dragged along the floor. It sounded like the squeak of a shoe.
He looked down. The man was limping. Just like his face, one side of his body was smaller than the other, so the man was dragging his withered leg along with him. It looked like every movement might be painful.
A pair of tall doors swung open and the trolley trundled into a room and came to a stop. Then some curtains were drawn round the boy.
“I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable, young sir,” said the man. The boy thought it was curious that this man called him “sir”. He had never been called “sir” in his life. He was only twelve. “Sir” was a title reserved only for teachers at his boarding school. “Now you wait here. I’m just the porter. Let me get the nurse. Nurse!”
As he lay there, the boy felt strangely disconnected from his own body. It felt limp. Lifeless.
The pain, though, was in his head. It was throbbing. Hot. If the feeling could be a colour, it would be red. A bright, hot, raging red.
The pain was so intense he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he realised he was staring straight up at a bright fluorescent light. This made his head ache even more than before.
Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
The curtain was whisked back.
A large older lady in a blue-and-white uniform with a hat leaned over and examined the boy’s head. Dark circles framed her bloodshot eyes. Grey wiry hair squatted on her head. Her face was red raw, as if she had scrubbed it with a cheese grater. In brief, she had the appearance of someone who had not slept for a week, and was angry about it.
“Oh deary me! Oh deary, deary me. Oh deary, deary, deary me …” she muttered to nobody in particular.
In his confused state the boy took a moment to realise this woman was in fact dressed as a nurse.
At last the boy realised where he was. A hospital. He had never been in one before, except the day he was born. And he couldn’t remember that.
The boy’s eyes drifted up to the lady’s name badge: NURSE MEESE, LORD FUNT HOSPITAL.
“That is a bump. A big bump. A very big bump. Now, does this hurt?” she said as she poked the boy hard on his head with her finger.
“Oooowwww!” he screamed, so loudly it echoed along the corridor.
“Some slight pain,” muttered the nurse. “Now, just let me get the doctor. Doctor!”
The curtain was whisked across, and then back again.
As the boy lay there staring at the ceiling, he could hear the sound of footsteps departing.
“Doctor!” she barked out again, now some way down the corridor.
“Coming, Nurse!” came a voice from far off.
“Quickly!” she shouted.
“Sorry!” said the voice.
Then there was the sound of footsteps approaching at speed.
The curtain was whisked back.
A young pointy-faced man breezed in, his long white coat trailing behind him.
“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear,” announced a posh voice. It was a doctor, and he was somewhat out of breath at having had to run. Looking up, the boy read the man’s name badge – DOCTOR LUPPERS.
“That is a big bump. Does this hurt?” The man took out a pencil from his breast pocket. He then held one end and tapped the boy’s head with it.
“Oooowwww!” the boy screamed again. It wasn’t as bad as being jabbed by a gnarly old finger, but it still hurt.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry! Please don’t report me. I’ve only just graduated as a doctor, you see.”
“I won’t,” muttered the boy.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure!”
“Thank you. Now I need to make sure I cross the ‘i’s and dot the ‘t’s. I just have this little admissions form to fill in.” The man then proceeded to roll out a form that looked as if it might take a week to complete.
The boy sighed.
“So, young man,” began the doctor in a singsong tone that he hoped might make this boring task fun, “what is your name?”
The boy’s mind went blank.
He had never forgotten his own name before.
“Name?” asked the doctor again.
But,