The rain was lashing down outside, as Dame Rachel de Souza sat back in her office chair. 

The wind had become progressively fiercer during the afternoon, sending the students into a frenzy of weather-induced craziness. It was a mercy they had now all gone home, along with the staff - all of them keen to get home before the storm struck. 

The weekend had begun. Only the old caretaker, Mr King, was left, slowly doing his rounds, and making sure all the doors and windows were secure. 

A light flickered out in the hallway and sputtered its last, leaving the corridor in darkness. Rachel barely noticed. She was preoccupied. Friday was her least-favourite day of the week. It was a constant reminder of what might happen, what was yet to come. 

Ofsted: A grim malevolence

A grim malevolence had been hanging over her all day, the tension building until finally, at five o’clock, she would be released from her inner torture. The phone call hadn’t come today. 

Now she was free for two days: free from the curse that had haunted her for the past year, week in, week out. She knew it was going to happen at some stage. It was her destiny - the inescapable truth. Her school was overdue an Ofsted inspection, any day now.

Rachel looked out of her office, and noticed the light was not on.

“Hello?” she called “Mr King?” No reply. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a door slam. 

Was that the science lab? That door should have been locked ages ago: it’s a health and safety issue. “I’ll go and check,” she thought to herself.

Several houseflies crawled out from underneath the canteen doorway, as Rachel walked past towards the science lab. A low-level buzzing made her stop. Looking in through the window, she was met with a sight that turned her stomach. The kitchen staff had put next week’s menu up. She really needed to do something about the catering budget.

As she turned the corner into the science department, Rachel heard a distant noise. Was that singing? A light voice, chanting. Was that a nursery rhyme she could hear? Had someone left a radio on?

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath. Her feet were killing her. Wearing heels all day was playing havoc with her lower back. 

Putting her hand on the door frame to steady herself, she slipped her shoes off. Barefoot might not be safe, but it was comfy. 

Her hand was wet. What was that? A smear of something red and sticky was across her palm. Ketchup. Then she remembered: the Year 10 fight at lunchtime had ended in a sauce storm. Her amazing cleaning team had missed this, which wasn’t like them. They were usually so efficient. Something wasn’t right. 

‘I am your worst nightmare’

At that moment, a sharp crack made Rachel jump and turn suddenly, looking for where the sound had come from. It was at this point that she noticed a door for the first time. Why had she not seen this until now? The sign on the door said “basement”. 

“We don’t have a basement,” she thought to herself, reaching out for the handle. 

The door was not locked, and swung open with a creak. The staircase led straight down, but there was no light, so Rachel fished out her phone to use as a torch. Holding the light in front of her, she stepped gingerly down into the gloom. It was cold and damp. Of course it was: it was a basement. And the heating went off at 3.30pm, anyway.

There was that singing voice again: quieter this time, humming, repeating the same few notes over and over. Rachel’s heart was racing, her breathing shallow, a cold sweat on her brow and a cold gritty feeling beneath her feet. 

“Good evening, Rachel,” said a voice from the darkest corner. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Who...who are you?” Rachel whispered. “What are you doing in my school?”

“I am your worst nightmare,” the voice rasped “I am everything you fear.”

“O-Ofsted?”

An evil laugh echoed around the room.

“I’ll sit here and wait until Monday, when the rest of my team get here. I like the dark.” The voice descended into a snarl, and possibly a gnawing sound. 

Rachel turned and ran back up the stairs, slamming the door to the basement behind her. 

But Rachel was not alone. There were others like her. Across the land, in every corner that has a place of education, leaders were living with the sense of doom and impending torture: united by stress, worrying about a “deep dive”, waiting for the call. 

From the best intentions came pain and anguish, for this was Ofsted. This was the nature of the beast.

Zoë Crockford is an art teacher at a secondary school in Bournemouth