Mr Cropley's jars

The moment his parents' car entered the grounds of Brooks High School for Boys, Jacob Martin sensed there was something peculiar about the place.
It was classically spooky looking; a lone mansion with turrets and ramparts and aged ivy snaking up its sandstone exterior, all surrounded by acres of trees and open grounds.
"You'll get a good education here," said his father.
"I'll get murdered here, more like," Jacob mumbled as he stared out of the window.
"Oh Jacob, don't be unreasonable," snipped his mother from the passenger seat. "Your father has paid through the nose to get you into this school."
"It's the best in the country, Jacob," his dad said as he parked the car on the driveway in front of the school. "Regularly tops all the league tables. So use your time wisely. Who knows. In ten years time you may end up running some multinational corporation. You could earn millions,"
Jacob wasn't in the least bit interested in getting rich. Fun was all he wanted, although he knew that was the real reason his father was transferring him to another school. It had nothing to do with improving grades or providing a 'better quality of education'. It was his last prank with the water balloons that sealed the deal. With a resigned sigh he clicked open the car door and stepped onto the gravel drive just as the heavy wooden front door of Brooks High creaked open.
"Look's like we're getting a personal welcome," said his dad.
"I should think so too," tutted his mother as she smoothed down her hair and straightened her suit.
Jacob stared at the entrance and waited. An eternity seemed to tick by before anyone appeared. His mother grew so impatient she began walking toward the door when out stepped a solitary figure dressed in a kilt and green tweed jacket.
"Welcome, welcome," said the man as he stepped down on to the gravel and approached Jacob and his parents.
He was incredibly tall. Even taller than his father, and was very lean. He looked like a bean pole, with black, slicked back hair.
"Welcome to Brooks." he said with a beaming smile on his face. "I'm Mr Cropley, Nathan Cropley. I'm the Headmaster here at this magnificent school," he added with outstretched arms.
Jacob's father shook hands with Mr Cropley and introduced himself, his wife and Jacob.
"Ah, you're Brooks's newest addition," Mr Cropley said, taking Jacob's hand in his and eyeing Jacob up from head to foot. "Yes, yes. Perfect. You have a strong spirit. I reckon you'll do well here. You can count on that Mr and Mrs Martin."
Jacob's father pulled Jacob's trunk out from the back of his car and placed it on the gravel.
"We can take that inside," Mr Cropley said before turning toward the door and calling out. "Cases, please."
In an instant two boys , immaculately dressed in blue trousers, a blazer, a white shirt and striped tie scuttled outside, grabbed the handles either side of the case and carried it inside.
"We won't keep you any longer," Mr Cropley said to Jacob's parents. "I'm sure you're very busy people. It was pleasant to meet you and do call anytime if you wish to receive an update on young Jacob's progress."
Before Jacob's mother was even able to plant a goodbye kiss on Jacob's forehead, Jacob was whisked away by the headmaster and led into the lobby of the mansion.
Inside it looked just as Jacob predicted. Lots of dark wood panelling on the walls, a wide sweeping staircase in front of him and enormous portraits hanging on the wall of men with long curly white hair, wearing old fashioned clothing. The two pupils that brought Jacob's trunk inside were standing, rigidly, like soldiers on parade, either side of it.
"That'll be all," Mr Cropley said, dismissing them with a flick of his hand.
Obediently they nodded and walked in silence, side by side, toward a door to the right, from which more pupils emerged. They marched across the hallway, in front of Jacob, in pairs. Not a word left their lips. They didn't even acknowledge that Jacob was there.
Jacob had a sinking feeling that he was going to find it hard to make just one friend here, let alone many.
"Come this way, Jacob," said Mr Cropley, guiding him up the grand staircase. "Your room is ready for you. I've taken the liberty of giving you a single room, just until you've acclimated to the school. Then you can move into the dorms with the other boys."
Mr Cropley showed Jacob an empty room at the top of the stairs. It was sparsely furnished with a desk, chair, wardrobe and single bed. The walls were bare and grey and the carpet a flecked brown colour. It wasn't the most inspiring of spaces.
"Make yourself comfortable, Jacob. I'll have the boys bring your trunk upstairs shortly. After that I'd like to see you in my room. You'll be briefed on your timetable and the rules and regulations of my school."
With that Mr Cropley pulled the door to and left Jacob alone.
One thing Jacob hated was rules; they were restrictive, like having his hand bound with invisible rope. He ground his teeth in frustration at that fact that his father had sent him off to a prison. If he had any notion Brooks would be like this he'd sooner have run away than get in the car.
The more he thought about it the more it became apparent in his mind that escape was his only option. He didn't want to end up like those kids: automatons, rigid robots, a fragment of themselves.
He jumped up and grabbed the handle of the door just as it swung inwards, almost knocking him off his feet. There standing in the doorway were two pupils. Their uniforms neat, their hand neatly combed back in almost exactly the same style as Mr Cropley's. They were clutching Jacob's trunk.
"Your belongings," one of them said.
"I wouldn't worry about that," said Jacob. "I'm not staying."
"Why?" said the other.
"Why? Because you're all carbon copies of your headmaster," said Jacob.
"You cannot leave. It is forbidden."
"Not for me it isn't," Jacob said. He barged past the two pupils and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. But when he reached the bottom he saw Mr Cropley standing in his way, in front of the main door.
"Going somewhere, Jacob?" Mr Cropley asked.
"Fresh air," Jacob replied, hurriedly. "It's...stuffy...in my room. I get chest problems, if the air's stale."
The corner of Mr Cropley's mouth curled into an amused smile. "You're tenacious. I'll give you that. But I'm afraid the door is locked now. I think you'd best come with me."
Jacob felt Mr Cropley firmly grip the top of his arm and he was led across the hallway and down a corridor toward an open door at the end.
"Step into my office," he said as he pushed Jacob inside the dimly lit room.
At one end was a large, heavy wooden desk, inlaid with red leather. Behind it were bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with glass jars that contained swirling silvery clouds.
"Take a seat, Jacob," said Mr Cropley as he turned the key in the lock and then pocketed the key.
Realising he had no choice, Jacob jerked the chair away from the desk and thumped himself down on it.
"What do you want from me?" Jacob snapped.
"What makes you think I want something?" Mr Cropley asked.
"Why else am I here? Why else won't you let me leave unless I have something you want."
Mr Cropley sat on his leather chair and rocked back and forth. "Intuitive as well as tenacious," he said tapping the tips of his fingers together, as though deep in thought. "Interesting."
"What's interesting?"
"I like a challenge, Jacob. How about you? Yes, I think you do too. I think you're the kind that doesn't take the easy option. I expect that's why you came here."
"I'm here because my father won't let me be who I want to be. He won't let me be myself."
"And who would that be then?"
"A free spirit. To do what I please. Say what I want."
"You don't believe in rules then?"
"No," snapped Jacob. "Rules are for fools."
"I'm afraid I don't share the same opinion, Jacob."
"That doesn't surprise me."
Mr Cropley swung his chair round and admired his jars.
"Do you know what's in these jars, Jacob?"
Jacob regarded them with as much contempt as he felt for Mr Cropley. "Nuh," he said.
Mr Cropley looked back at Jacob with narrowed, calculating eyes. "They contain the essence of each and every student in this school. No good can come of unruly behaviour or lack of direction. By removing their personality they become clean slates that I can rewrite, fresh lumps of clay that I can mould. I control everyone of them."
Jacob jumped up and backed away from his desk.
"You're mad!" he cried.
"I'm not mad. I'm shrewd. I'm sculpting the cream of the crop. The ones that will rise to the surface and shine professionally and financially amongst a sea of dross, which is what you will be without my help."
"You're turning those kids into machines so they can make money for you."
"You sound surprised."
"You'll never get away with it. I'll escape and tell everyone what you're doing."
Mr Cropley pulled open a draw in his desk and reached a hand inside. Jacob watched with anticipation. His heart was thumping in his chest. From within the draw Mr Cropley pulled out a large syringe.
"Resistence is futile, Jacob," Mr Cropley said as he stepped out from behind his desk and walked towards Jacob.

Jacob ran toward the door. Frantically he turned the knob , hoping he'd be able to break the lock but it wouldn't budge. Behind, he could hear Mr Cropley creeping toward him. Then felt a cold hand on his shoulder and something sharp stick in his throat. His muscles suddenly relaxed, his mind fogged and then he fell against the door. There was no escaping Nathan Cropley.