Junior Science Read Online Free

block was open, just a fraction. Perhaps someone had taken advantage of the fact that the place was empty, and was up to no good.
    Robert pushed at the door and slipped inside. The smell of gas and ether hit him. This is why I hate science , he thought. This terrible, terrible stench .
    He crept up the steps and advanced along the open corridor, now quite convinced that something untoward was taking place. That he would sneak silently up on it, then have to creep down to the payphone on the lower floor and whisper to the police to get here, double-quick.
    As he passed the lecture theatre it became apparent that the noise originated from the far end of the building. Robert could now discern a definite rhythm. As if someone were drumming or dancing. But, then, why would people be drumming or dancing in the science block?
    He tiptoed on, along the cold tiles, then onto the worn old floorboards. And as the corridor narrowed, the sound – the whooping and clunking – steadily intensified. Robert was now certain that the hoo-ha was coming from the Old Hall. He knew that the Old Hall had a gallery. So, rather than march right up to the main doors, he thought he’d creep up the dusty old staircase and peep over the balcony, where he’d be able to get a decent view.
    At the top of the stairs, just before he pushed at the door from the landing to the gallery, Robert found himself stricken with grave apprehension. The noise was now so wild and chaotic that he began to fear what might be at the root of it. But, again, he saw himself sneaking down to the telephone and reporting his findings. Saw his photograph on the cover of the Lancashire Evening Telegraph . Perhaps the school governors would be so very grateful that they would award Robert several exam certificates, saving him the bother of actually having to sit the blasted things.
    As he inched the door open, the whooping and wailing came rolling over him. Robert was on all fours now. He crawled down the stairs, with his briefcase clutched to his chest. When he was right at the front he took a moment to compose himself, then slowly lifted his head. Kept on lifting it until finally he could see what was going on below.
    Robert suddenly felt as if he had lived a much too sheltered life. Felt as if he had been so cocooned and cosseted that the real world, when encountered at such a juncture, in all its sordid glory, was bound to overwhelm him. And that this was not a healthy way to be.
    Below, a dozen or more adults, all stripped to their underwear, were maniacally stamping and bellowing. Were hollering and cavorting all about the place. Their sweating flesh was covered in a white powder. Quite possibly chalk dust. And Robert now saw that the smack and clatter which underpinned the whole rhythm of their dancing was being produced by the striking-together of what looked like . . . bones . Dry old bones. And, what with all the chanting and howling, as well as the strutting about, Robert found this a most sickening thing to behold.
    It may have been the bones that first drew his attention to it, but as he studied the wild men and women as they went about their primitive business, his eyes fell upon one who was even chalkier than the rest, due to a superabundance of flesh. Robert squinted down. Was it possible, he thought . . . was it in any way possible that this prancing figure could be Mr Palmer, his Biology teacher? And Robert was obliged to concede that, yes, it was. Something about the stiffness of neck . . . the way in which he leaned back to counterbalance his great girth. It could indeed be Old Man Palmer, stripped to his underpants and jigging from one foot to another and smacking two great bones together. As well as howling like a loon.
    And once Robert had divined the identity of Old Man Palmer, it wasn’t long before he saw that the woman jiggling her shoulders up and down beside him – the one pulling such frightful faces – might conceivably be Miss Adams, the