{"product_id":"the-hole-isbn-9780345446558","title":"The Hole","description":"\u003cb\u003e“[A] COMPELLING PSYCHOLOGICAL TALE . . . A QUICK AND INTRIGUING BOOK WITH A TRULY SATISFYING ENDING.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e–Publishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn a spring day in England, six teenagers venture to a neglected part of their school where there is a door to a small windowless cellar. Behind the door, the old stairs have rotted away. A boy unfurls a rope ladder and five descend into The Hole. The sixth closes the door, locks it from the outside, and walks calmly away. The plan is simple: They will spend three days locked in The Hole and emerge to become part of the greatest prank the school has ever seen. But something goes terribly wrong. No one is coming back to let them out . . . ever.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTaut and eerie, suspenseful and disturbing, \u003ci\u003eThe Hole\u003c\/i\u003e is a compelling novel of physical endurance, psychological survival, and unforgettable revelations made all the more stunning by its shocking end.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A frighteningly good plot . . . Expertly borrows the horror and tension that made William Golding’s \u003ci\u003eLord of the Flies\u003c\/i\u003e such a success.”\u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eMetronews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“COMPULSIVELY SINISTER.”\u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eThe Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBB\/Ballantine Books\/ 44655 \/$ in USA • $ in Canada\u003cbr\u003eVisit our Web site at www.ballantinebooks.com“An impressive and chilling debut.”\u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“[A] COMPELLING PSYCHOLOGICAL TALE . . . A QUICK AND INTRIGUING BOOK WITH A TRULY SATISFYING ENDING.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e–Publishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A frighteningly good plot . . . Expertly borrows the horror and tension that made William Golding’s \u003ci\u003eLord of the Flies\u003c\/i\u003e such a success.”\u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eMetronews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“COMPULSIVELY SINISTER.”\u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eThe Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eGuy Burt\u003c\/b\u003e won the W. H. Smith Young Writers Award when he was twelve. He wrote \u003ci\u003eThe Hole\u003c\/i\u003e, his first novel, when he was eighteen. He is also the author of \u003ci\u003eSophie\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Dandelion Clock\u003c\/i\u003e. Burt attended Oxford University and taught for three years at Eton. He lives in Oxford.In the last Easter term, before the Hole, life was\u003cbr\u003ebright and good at Our Glorious School. Charged\u003cbr\u003ewith the fresh self-confidence that steps in on\u003cbr\u003ethe brink of adulthood, we all knew our futures as\u003cbr\u003ewe walked out our lives under the arches and below\u003cbr\u003ethe walls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe story begins, though, a little later than that; and\u003cbr\u003eperhaps it is still not finished. At least, I have not yet\u003cbr\u003efelt in me that the Hole is finished. But telling this story\u003cbr\u003ewill, I hope, move me a step further away from it, and maybe\u003cbr\u003ehelp me to forget some of what happened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was a clear, unseasonably warm day when the six figures\u003cbr\u003emade their way across the sun-washed flags of the quad to\u003cbr\u003ethe side of the English block. Down there, in the dark\u003cbr\u003ehollow of a buttress, a rusted iron stairway circled its way\u003cbr\u003einto the ground. One after another, they followed its spiral\u003cbr\u003eand disappeared into the triangular shadow. A long time\u003cbr\u003epassed, and the sun shifted in the sky and slipped its light\u003cbr\u003ethrough different classroom windows, briefly illuminating\u003cbr\u003ebattered leather briefcases and untidy stacks of paper. The\u003cbr\u003eaccumulated and forgotten detritus of the spent term grew\u003cbr\u003ewarm for a while, and then a thin cloud began to draw over\u003cbr\u003efrom the east and the classrooms were dulled. A single\u003cbr\u003efigure appeared at the head of the iron staircase and\u003cbr\u003epaused, looking carefully around the deserted driveways and\u003cbr\u003eempty cricket pitches. With hands hooked into the pockets of\u003cbr\u003ehis clean gray trousers, he set off towards the woods that\u003cbr\u003eflanked the pavilion, fair hair flapping gently in the\u003cbr\u003egrowing breeze.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd although it was not yet apparent, this figure--dwindling\u003cbr\u003etowards the late spring green of the woods--was now, from\u003cbr\u003eone viewpoint, a murderer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's not even as though anyone would mind,\" Alex said, and\u003cbr\u003ewent off to the small lavatory set back around the corner,\u003cbr\u003etak-ing her large and shabby knapsack with her. There was\u003cbr\u003eanother small room there, which had most likely served once\u003cbr\u003eas a storage closet. Mike couldn't guess when this place had\u003cbr\u003elast been used for anything. The smell of it was dry and\u003cbr\u003ecool. There was dust between the stones of the floor that\u003cbr\u003ehad set, become fossilized. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMike doubled his sleeping bag up behind his back as a sort\u003cbr\u003eof cushion. The Hole was blank and harsh in the naked light of the bulb,\u003cbr\u003elike a badly adjusted TV picture. Frankie was searching through her\u003cbr\u003ebags for something, pulling out articles of clothing and other junk,\u003cbr\u003estuffing them back in again, working seemingly at random. There was a\u003cbr\u003efaint, glassy sound of water into water, and then the hiss and roar of the huge gray cistern. Frankie triumphantly flourished an octagonal cardboard box. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Anyone want some?\" she asked happily. The others looked at her. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What is it?\" Geoff asked suspiciously. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Turkish delight,\" returned Frankie. \"Lovely. I got two\u003cbr\u003eboxes, just in case.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No thanks,\" Mike said. He wondered idly what the second box might be in case of. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Me neither, if it's all the same to you,\" Geoff said. \"That stuff--it tastes like . . . I don't know, it tastes . . .\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's rose-flavored,\" Frankie said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No, it tastes like . . .\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlex returned, shaking her hands violently at the wrists. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ah, for heaven's sake!\" shouted Frankie, and a small plume of white sugar powder leapt up from the box she was holding. \"You got water all over me.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Did anyone think to bring a towel?\" Alex asked. Mike shook his head. It\u003cbr\u003ehadn't crossed his mind. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I have,\" said Liz. That followed, Mike decided. You'd never expect someone like Frankie to remember towels, but Liz would. He wasn't sure why he had this impression of her; it just seemed natural. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Thanks,\" said Alex. \"That water's too cold for me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What time is it now?\" asked Frankie. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Nine. Why do you need to know?\" Geoff said. \"You keep on asking me what bloody time it is.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm tired. And I forgot my watch,\" Frankie said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"How can you be tired?\" Alex asked. \"All we've done since four o'clock is sit around chatting.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I haven't,\" Mike said. \"I joined a rather fascinating little trip to\u003cbr\u003esee some rock formations and then hiked across the moors for an hour or\u003cbr\u003etwo.\" They laughed. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That's exactly the sort of thing Morris and friends would get up to,\" Geoff said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Thank God we didn't go,\" Alex said, with a shiver. \"Last field trip was a nightmare. I spent the whole week soaking wet and half-blinded by rain.\" She pushed her hair back from her face and continued. \"And I hate mountains. I'm not a mountain person. More a living-room person, I think.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You can thank Martyn for it all,\" Frankie said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah,\" Mike said. \"Out of the field trip and into the Hole, to coin a phrase.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I quite like it down here,\" Alex said. \"I know it's not exactly comfortable--or big, for that matter--but you get the impression that, with a little care, it could be almost cozy. Some curtains, and tasteful rugs. You know.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Funny,\" Frankie said. \"Very funny. Ha ha.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy now, Mike thought, the field trip probably would have\u003cbr\u003ebeen across a mountain or two. He'd been on the previous expeditions,\u003cbr\u003eand had really rather enjoyed himself. But, of course, the chance to\u003cbr\u003ebecome involved with one of Martyn's schemes was worth any sacrifice.\u003cbr\u003eWhich was why, he reflected wryly, he was stuck in a cellar under the\u003cbr\u003eEnglish block instead of above the snowline in the Peak District. Around\u003cbr\u003ehim the others had arranged their possessions on the floor of the\u003cbr\u003ecellar. Geoff, lounging on one elbow next to him, waved a hand vaguely\u003cbr\u003eover his knapsack and the untidy pile of clothing and tins of food that\u003cbr\u003ewas spread next to it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What I still don't get is how this place could just be here, but never\u003cbr\u003ebe used,\" he said. \"It would make a great common room, or music room, or\u003cbr\u003esomething.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Half Our Glorious School isn't used,\" Frankie said\u003cbr\u003edismissively. \"My dad says the whole place needs a bloody good change\u003cbr\u003eof management.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Then your dad has the full support of the entire\u003cbr\u003estudent body,\" Geoff said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Frankie's right,\" Alex said. \"There are\u003cbr\u003eplaces like this all over the school. That bit behind the physics\u003cbr\u003edepartment, for example. What's it used for? Nobody ever goes in\u003cbr\u003ethere.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That's the butterfly collection,\" Liz said unexpectedly. Mike\u003cbr\u003ealways felt a lift of mild surprise when Liz spoke. \"They only open it\u003cbr\u003eevery five years or so.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're joking,\" Geoff said, staring at her. \"Butterflies?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Typical,\" said Frankie with a snort. \"Betcha it's some\u003cbr\u003ebequest or other. People are always bequesting things to us.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Bequeathing,\" Mike said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Whatever.\" \"I hereby bequeath to Our Glorious\u003cbr\u003eSchool my entire collection of compromising photographs of the teaching\u003cbr\u003estaff, to be left on permanent display in the dining rooms,\" Mike said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm hungry,\" Alex said. She took off her round wire-rimmed glasses and\u003cbr\u003estarted to polish them with a hanky. \"How about a nearly bedtime snack?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Let's see what we have,\" Frankie said at once. Mike grinned. \"Calm\u003cbr\u003edown, ladies,\" he said. \"One at a time.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Condescending bastard,\" Frankie said. \"This says French toast. I think I'll eat that.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"French toast?\" Geoff said. \"Sounds rather rude. 'Ello, darlin', how\u003cbr\u003eabout some French toast, then?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMike shuffled lower on his sleeping bag and closed his eyes against the hard light of the bulb. \"I thought French toast was when you stuck your tongue out and licked the butter off,\" he said.  Alex snorted with laughter, and then stopped herself rather guiltily. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Disgusting, Mikey,\" Frankie said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not as disgusting as that Turkish stuff,\" Geoff said. \"It tastes so bloody pink, that's all.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis is how it all began. But remember, we were very young then.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI can hear Martyn saying to us, before we went down there, \"This is an\u003cbr\u003eexperiment with real life.\" That was what he called it. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Isn't that a bit ambitious?\" I asked, and he smiled. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMartyn's smile was wide and easy, and it sat happily in Martyn's round fair face. Teachers knew what Martyn was. He was a thoughtful, rather slow boy who could be trusted with responsibility. He was always friendly, always willing to\u003cbr\u003echat with old Mr. Stevens about fishing or stop by to take a look at Dr.\u003cbr\u003eJames's garden. He was a good boy; sensible. Stanford once said, \"That\u003cbr\u003eboy is a damned fine head of library,\" which I think probably surprised\u003cbr\u003ethe staff as much as the pupils--Stanford not being known for tender\u003cbr\u003ewords about anyone. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe also knew who Martyn was, and revelled in the complete and wonderful illusion he had created. Because we knew that it\u003cbr\u003ewas Martyn who was behind the Gibbon incident; Martyn who orchestrated\u003cbr\u003ethe collapse of the End of Term Address; Martyn who was perhaps the\u003cbr\u003egreatest rebel Our Glorious School had ever seen. The duplicity of Martyn's life was, in our eyes,\u003cbr\u003esomething admirable and enviable. Perhaps if we had taken the time to\u003cbr\u003eexamine this, we might have been closer to guessing what was later to\u003cbr\u003ehappen. But it never occurred to us that the deception might involve\u003cbr\u003emore than the two layers we saw. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStrange how time changes things around us. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStrange how we change with time. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSadly, schools deal in the sale and exchange of knowledge, not wisdom. And it was wisdom that we could have used back then, all that time ago. And we were not equipped. We were not ready. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Isn't that a bit ambitious?\" I said, and the voice was a child's\u003cbr\u003evoice, trusting and entirely innocent. And the voice that answered it\u003cbr\u003ewas old; far too old for the round, smiling face and pale blue eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, I don't think so,\" Martyn said to me.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305035059429,"sku":"NP9780345446558","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345446558.jpg?v=1767739808","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-hole-isbn-9780345446558","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}