The Christmas holidays passed quickly.
Peter enjoyed spending time with his family, but his thoughts often drifted back to Highdon.
He wondered if the ravens still circled above the great cedar tree.
He wondered if the hidden spring still flowed beneath the chapel.
Most of all, he wondered if the mysterious green book had written another page.
When the boys wrote to one another during the holidays, David admitted he had been thinking exactly the same.
So had Simon.
So had Andrew.
On a cold January afternoon, the four friends arrived back at Highdon.
The old boarding school stood proudly beneath a pale winter sky.
Frost covered the lawns, and smoke drifted gently from the old chimneys.
The chapel bell echoed across the grounds as boys hurried towards the boarding houses carrying heavy suitcases and sports bags.
From the main building came the familiar sounds of school life beginning once more.
A prefect was reminding the younger boys to keep their caps on outside.
Somewhere in the distance a classroom door opened, followed by the unmistakable voice of Miss Bowflower, the Headmistress.
“I trust we shall begin this new term with good manners and good behaviour. I should hate to think the thin rattan cane or my black-and-red carpet slipper will be needed before the week’s end.”
Several boys exchanged nervous smiles.
Everyone knew that Highdon still believed firmly in old-fashioned discipline.
Although praise was given freely, serious misbehaviour could still earn a visit to the Headmistress’s study, where the polished rattan cane rested in its cupboard beside the well-known carpet slipper.
Mrs Bellamy stood outside Ash House welcoming everyone home.
“Welcome back, boys!”
She smiled warmly as she hugged each of them.
“I’ve made plenty of hot chocolate.”
Simon laughed.
“Then we really are home.”
The first evening passed in cheerful excitement.
Friends exchanged stories about Christmas presents and family holidays.
Some had learnt to ice-skate.
Others had built enormous snowmen.
One boy claimed he had seen a fox stealing sausages from his garden.
Nobody quite believed him.
As supper finished, a loud clatter echoed across the dining hall.
A younger boy had begun throwing bread rolls.
Miss Blyton simply folded her arms.
“I suggest you stop before Miss Bowflower hears about it. She has already dusted the cane this morning.”
The bread throwing stopped immediately.
David quietly whispered,
“Some things never change.”
Peter grinned.
“Neither does Highdon.”
Later that evening, Peter glanced towards David.
“Shall we?”
David nodded immediately.
Within minutes the four friends were quietly making their way towards the chapel.
The old cedar tree stood waiting exactly as they had remembered.
Its branches swayed gently in the winter breeze.
As Peter rested his hand against the trunk, he smiled.
“It feels as though we’ve never been away.”
Miss Ashcombe appeared beside the tree.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
She smiled kindly before leading them down into the hidden library.
Everything was exactly as they had left it.
The lantern hung quietly from its hook.
The shelves remained filled with ancient books.
The Hall of Memories was peaceful and silent.
Only one thing had changed.
The green book already lay open.
Fresh writing covered an entire page.
Peter slowly began to read.
Welcome home, Keepers.
The boys smiled.
More words appeared across the page.
Every beginning brings another journey.
Another sentence slowly formed.
The western boundary calls for your help.
Andrew looked puzzled.
“The western boundary?”
Miss Ashcombe became thoughtful.
“There has always been something unusual there.”
Miss Blyton unfolded an old map.
She pointed towards the far edge of the school estate.
“There used to be another building.”
Peter leaned closer.
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Because it disappeared long before any of you arrived.”
The building was marked simply:
The Old Gate Lodge
“The gate lodge welcomed visitors to Highdon over a hundred years ago,” Miss Ashcombe explained.
“The school gardener lived there after my father.”
“What happened to it?” David asked.
“It was abandoned after a violent storm.”
“No one rebuilt it.”
Simon studied the map.
“But why would the green book mention it now?”
Nobody knew.
The following Saturday the four friends set off after breakfast.
As they crossed the school grounds they passed the Headmistress’s office.
The study door stood slightly open.
Inside, hanging neatly on the wall, Peter briefly noticed the familiar thin rattan cane, while the black-and-red carpet slipper rested upon the polished desk.
Miss Bowflower looked up from her paperwork.
“Enjoy your walk, boys.”
“We will, Headmistress.”
“And remember…”
She smiled in that mysterious way of hers.
“I much prefer seeing boys return with muddy boots than with complaints of broken rules.”
“Yes, Headmistress.”
The boys continued on their way, relieved they were leaving the school grounds rather than entering her study.
Snow still lay beneath the trees.
The western path wound gently through quiet woodland.
After nearly half an hour they reached a clearing.
Only crumbling stone walls remained.
An old chimney leaned slightly to one side.
Broken roof tiles lay hidden beneath ivy.
“This must be it,” Peter said.
The Old Gate Lodge had almost disappeared beneath nature.
Yet something about the place felt peaceful rather than sad.
David suddenly stopped.
“There are footprints.”
Fresh footprints crossed the snow.
“They’re not ours.”
The footprints led towards the ruined doorway.
Inside, someone had carefully swept the floor clean.
A small fire had recently burned in the old fireplace.
On the mantelpiece stood a single wooden raven.
Simon picked it up carefully.
It was beautifully carved.
Attached to it was a folded piece of paper.
Peter opened it.
Inside were only a few words.
Every gate deserves a guardian.
The handwriting was instantly familiar.
It matched every note left by the mysterious Fifth Watcher.
Before anyone could speak, a robin landed upon the broken window ledge.
It chirped cheerfully before flying deeper into the woods.
The lantern hanging from David’s shoulder suddenly began to glow.
Its golden light pointed towards the back wall of the ruined cottage.
Hidden beneath years of ivy, Peter noticed something unusual.
An old oak door.
Unlike every other door they had discovered, this one stood above ground.
There were no carvings.
No locks.
Only a simple brass knocker shaped like a raven.
Peter looked at his friends.
“I don’t think this door has been opened for many years.”
David smiled.
“Only one way to find out.”
Peter stepped forward.
He reached out…
…and gently lifted the brass knocker.
Before it touched the wood, a familiar voice echoed softly from behind them.
“Welcome, Keepers.”
The boys turned.
Standing quietly among the snow-covered trees was the mysterious Fifth Watcher.
For the first time, the old guardian stepped fully into the winter sunlight, smiling as though greeting old friends at last.
