Psychic Surveys Companion Novels

by Shani Struthers

  “Eilidh?” I questioned.

  She didn’t answer, she simply stopped in front of me and held out her arms. I felt awkward, unsure how to respond.

  “Go on,” Angus nudged me. “She wants a hug. And afterwards, so do I.”

  I stared at him too, somewhat aghast.

  “Go on,” he said again.

  Still feeling awkward, I stood up, a hesitant smile on my face. It was Eilidh who closed the gap between us, enfolding me in her arms. Again, there was such strength in her embrace. At once the tears started, I couldn’t stop them. How awful to cry like this, in a room full of people. But it was also cathartic. She was giving me something I’d craved all my life – acceptance and love: motherly love.

  “This is something your mother should have done too,” she whispered in my ear. “If I’d had the privilege of being your mother, I know I would have.”

  And there it was – if she’d been my mother. Sometimes we luck out. Sometimes we don’t. Is it right to think you’re unlovable because of an accident of birth? I wondered. Was it time, aged twenty-five, to put all that had happened behind me? God knows I’d tried.

  Luckily everyone else around the room seemed preoccupied with each other, no one noticed what was happening with me, except Angus. He stood too and hugged me and then all three of us hugged together.

  “You can do this,” Eilidh said.

  “Try telling that to Shelley,” I replied, looking wryly at Angus, but he was looking elsewhere, towards the entrance of the hall. As he pulled away, I frowned.

  “You can tell her yourself,” he said.

  Thirteen Chapter Twenty

  I swung round. Shelley stood at the hall entrance, dressed in identical clothing to yesterday, surveying the scene before her. Slowly, leisurely, her gaze travelled towards me. There was something in her eyes, what was it? Approval? Dared I even think it?

  Angus hurried over to stand by her side. A few others had noticed she was there and were nudging each other, whispering.

  “This is Shelley,” Angus announced. “I asked her if she’d come today and, well, I’m grateful that she has.”

  I looked at Angus stunned, when had he taken her telephone number? I hadn’t even thought to do that.

  “Shelley’s the overseer at Balskeyne,” he continued, “which, as some of you know, is a house on the banks of Loch Ness, the one that used to belong to the Black Magician, Isaac Leonard.”

  “And Robbie Nelson,” Craig piped up. “Such a great band, The Ridge.”

  “Overseer?” His father questioned. “The caretaker you mean?”

  “He means exactly that,” Shelley announced, her imperious tone holding everybody’s attention. “The house burnt down last year, a kitchen fire. I don’t know if any of you were aware of that?” Several shakes of the head confirmed that people hadn’t been. “There’s no reason why you should, really,” Shelley continued. “I’m glad none of you have a lingering interest in the house, except of course,” and here she smiled at Craig, “as the former dwelling of a rock star. Angus tells me you’re all planning on going back to the lighthouse, to play Thirteen Ghost Stories, to beat the negative energy that’s in residence at its own game. I have to admit there’s logic in that.” Eyeing me, she added, “An impressive logic. Even so, I was concerned, and that’s why I came tonight, to see how people felt about this. I walk in and… you’re all hugging. That’s good, very good. Who’s going back?”

  “Me!”

  “We are.”

  “All of us I think.”

  The answers came thick and fast.

  “And you’re all going with the intention of helping each other as well as yourselves?” Shelley asked. “Ally Dunn in particular?”

  “Aye.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course.”

  Again, there was a barrage of answers.

  “Because it’s real what you’re up against,” she warned. “But it’s not invincible. There are some in this world that will have you think otherwise, but they’d be trying to frighten you. The dark is not as strong as the light. Light has the upper hand.”

  There were several nods of agreement.

  She gestured to me, putting my nerves on edge a little. I agreed with all she’d said so far, but what was she intending to say about me? Keeping my gaze steady, I bit on my lip as she spoke. “Leading you all is this young woman. I want you to listen to her, to do as she says, because she’s the real deal, she knows what she’s talking about.”

  Whilst I gazed at her in wonder, she added, “If you don’t mind, everyone, I’d like to have a private word with Ness and then I’ll be on my way. Good luck to you all.”

  “Why can’t you come?” Isabel’s father seemed as awe-struck by her presence as I was.

  “Because my place is at Balskeyne,” she explained. “I can’t stay away for too long. And also because,” she inclined her head towards me, “Ness is more than capable.”

  As she approached me, I was battling confusion. Yesterday she’d said one thing and now – in Dunvegan’s community hall – she was saying quite another.

  Before I could question her about this, she leant into me, her voice low, conspiratorial, “Ever heard of reverse psychology?”

  “Reverse…? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “If someone says you can’t do something, it only serves to make you want to do it more. Some people anyway. There are those that will take heed of what you say, will see it as a get out clause, seize the opportunity and run.”

  “So it was a test?” I said, slightly annoyed.

  “Which you passed with flying colours.”

  “You really are blunt.”

  “I see no harm in that. Not in these circumstances.”

  My annoyance faded. “Fair point.”

  All around us, people were huddled together in small groups, although a few kept glancing over to where I stood with Shelley, especially Angus, who looked as if he was going to burst with curiosity. Some were pulling their coats on, or tightening scarves, and I realised something: we couldn’t delay any longer; we had to go tonight, whilst morale was high. If we put it off, perhaps waited until the next day, it would give fear a chance to creep back in, to find the cracks in these people, and strangle their hearts and minds.

  “That’s right,” Shelley said, “seize the moment. Tonight is best.”

  I stared at her. “Intuition, right?”

  “If I’m honest with you, Ness, it doesn’t take a genius to work out the way your thoughts are running. I can read your intentions well enough in your eyes, and by the expression on your face. But listen, I’ve more information for you that may prove vital. The person who used to come and visit Cameron, he was, as I thought, and as you suspected, a devotee of Isaac Leonard, a disciple if you like.”

  I inhaled. “How do you know?”

  “Because Donder McKendrick told me.”

  “Donder? I’ve heard of him before.”

  “He was the lighthouse keeper before Cameron, he’s now a taxi driver, lives close to me, on the banks of Loch Ness. He’s an old guy but he’s still working. I don’t think he’ll ever stop. After the isolation of working at Minch Point, he’s gone the other way; loves the company of people. In many ways, although he doesn’t acknowledge it, not consciously anyway, he’s an overseer too, or at least he was. He kept balance at the lighthouse, kept the darkness at bay, in a literal sense and just by being who he was, a good man, a kind man, always with the welfare of others at the heart of everything he did. You see, Minch Point, it’s not too dissimilar to Balskeyne—”

  “It has the same dimensions,” I blurted out, “as Balskeyne I mean, those that were needed for the spell.”

  “Does it?” She asked the question, but there was no surprise in it. “I’ve not been so I wouldn’t know, but it fits with what I’m about to tell you. The land that Minch Point is built on is drenched in blood too. The ship that was wrecked there, in 1909, just after the lighthouse was bui
lt, claimed the lives of so many innocents, just as the fire in the church did at Balskeyne, remember?”

  I nodded.

  “Sometimes, when there’s death on that scale, when there’s so many emotions involved, all of them steeped in fear, it forms an imprint, an attraction. It serves to alert energies that are similar. When Donder handed over the lighthouse to Cameron, he thought him a fine and upstanding man; those are the words he used. He’d come from Barra with his family, no stranger to peace and quiet, not one to be unsettled by it, to be driven mad. On the contrary, he seemed keen to perform his duties; Donder sensed nothing wrong with him at all. Sometime later, he gave a lift to someone who was staying at Balskeyne; he wanted to go all the way to the lighthouse, to speak to the man who runs it. On the way there, he told Donder the purpose of his visit. He had a proposal for the keeper, that’s what he said. What that proposal was, he didn’t elaborate, and Donder was too polite to ask. But Donder took him several times to the lighthouse after that, over a period of weeks, that’s how long he must have stayed at Balskeyne, and on one of those occasions, Cameron came to the car, where Donder would wait to take the man home again, to see his visitor off. He told me he was shocked to see the change in him, he was surly, gruff, barely even acknowledged Donder. In contrast, every time Cameron looked at his visitor, he seemed dazzled, as if he were staring into the face of a God. The fares to the lighthouse eventually ceased and Donder was glad. He never liked his passenger, or his enigmatic conversations. One thing he did though, he asked the man his full name – before that he only knew his forename – and when I spoke to him this morning, he managed to recall it without hesitation: Jonathan Grey. I did some more phoning, some more digging, as there are those in my circles that might know such a name.”

  “And?”

  “And someone did: a woman who lives in the south, close to where you live, in Hastings. She’s a talented psychic, so is her daughter, Jessica.” She paused. “She explained that Grey was an Occultist, one known to have rented a house on Skye, which is probably why the taxi rides finally came to an end. Donder, knowing Skye so well, as well as everyone on the west coast, knew exactly where it was that he’d stayed. He’d also heard what happened to Moira. When we were discussing it, it became clear that all three houses formed a triangle, with Grey’s at the pinnacle.”

  “A triangle?”

  “That’s right, for added occult measure. Like the number thirteen, a triangle has significance too, it represents a merging of the spiritual and earthly realms.”

  “Another reason why Moira was perhaps affected?”

  Shelley agreed. “She was implicated without even knowing it.”

  “Combine that with LSD…”

  “And it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “I wonder if he was her supplier?”

  “Grey?” Shelley questioned. “You’d have to work it out, and see if the dates tally, but you can find a peddler of drugs anywhere in the world, in places even more remote than this. I was in Borneo once, deep in the jungle… ” She paused. “But that’s a story for another time. Concerning Grey’s house, I took a detour there this evening, there’s a For Sale sign outside it, I don’t know how long it’s been up for sale, or indeed how long he stayed on Skye, but the sign is as decrepit as the house itself, creaking on its hinges as the wind blows around it. As for its aura, even the most hardened cynic would be able to sense something wrong. I doubt anyone will ever buy it. In fact, I know they won’t.”

  “You know? How?”

  “Because on my way back to Balskeyne, I shall visit the house again and set fire to it, thereby breaking the chain. It will help in your endeavour. It will help a lot.”

  My eyes widened as my mouth dropped. “But what if you get caught?” I whispered. “There’s already been a fire at Balskeyne, what if people put two and two together?”

  She gestured around her. “These people? You really think they’d turn me in?”

  “Erm… no.” Of course they wouldn’t, not given the circumstances, they’d close the net. As for the people who owned the house, perhaps in some way they’d be glad too. What had been tainted, would be cleansed, and the land more valuable because of it. “Thank you,” I added.

  “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

  I thought back to the supposed kitchen fire at Balskeyne. “Is that the fate of the lighthouse too? If all else fails, I burn it to the ground.”

  “You won’t fail, you know what you’re up against. As I’ve said before, this conjuring needs to be subdued, and a guardian set in place.”

  “Angus. He’ll be in place soon.”

  “A good choice. He’s a good lad. Fond of you it seems.”

  “He’s twenty-three!”

  “And you’re a young head on old shoulders, I get it.”

  “What happened to Jonathan Grey? Did your contact know? Is he still at large?”

  “No. He did leave here at some point, ending up in Brighton. And there he was discovered, in the early eighties, in a grimy little bedsit with his head blown off.”

  “He was murdered?”

  “Like his master, he’d committed suicide. You can’t get that close to darkness and remain sane.”

  I swallowed, digesting this before revealing what else I knew. “The Camerons are all dead too, Mr Cameron shot his wife and kids and then himself. That was in ’79.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me.”

  “So much death,” I mutter, swallowing again.

  “In the Camerons’ case, it might help to think of it as release.”

  It was certainly a more preferable angle. “And you’re certain about this, are you? That Grey ensnared Cameron somehow, that maybe he plied him with promises of magnificent riches if he helped him with his work, with his spell. It does seem to fit, but—”

  “I’m certain,” she replied. “Call it intuition.”

  As she smiled so did I, but it was with difficulty, the gravitas of what she’d said – You can’t get that close to darkness and remain sane – weighed heavily.

  Shelley laid her hand on my arm. “You are the person for the job.”

  “Am I?” My voice was nothing but a whisper.

  “Yes. But for reasons that I wish weren’t so.”

  I frowned, puzzled by her words, but fearing to ask – and she knew it. Her expression softened as she took pity on me. In many ways she reminded me of Eilidh: such a good person at heart. “All you really need in this situation is love. There’s plenty of that here.”

  She was right, there was.

  “And forgiveness,” she added. “Forgiveness is good too. If you can, that is…”

  Thirteen Chapter Twenty-One

  Shelley went her way and the rest of us went ours. I was right: morale was high, everybody piled into their respective cars, not to go to the lighthouse, not initially, but to various houses to collect the equipment that we’d need for the night – torches, plenty of them, candles and tea-lights, thick jumpers and jackets, lots of them too, and bin bags for clearing the rubbish. Everywhere in the lighthouse there were glass bottles and other items that could be used as weapons; we needed them gone, for the space to be as clear as possible. The plan was that whilst Angus and I went up to Caitir’s room, with the kids that were willing to accompany us, the parents would remain downstairs, making sure candles stayed lit and continuing the clean-up operation, making a dent in it, a difference.

  Eilidh held my hands before being dropped home by one of the parents. “I’m too old for this,” she said, somewhat regretfully. “You need strong, young folk, I don’t want to be a hindrance.” I remonstrated, but she was insistent. “I’ll be doing my part from here, don’t you worry. I’m going to sit by the fireside and imagine every one of you bathed in light, and plenty of it. And I won’t stop, not until you’ve all returned.”

  Together with Angus and me in his car, there was Mr and Mrs Ludmore and their son Craig, our mood almost buoyant. There’s satisfaction in taking act
ion, rather than sitting and waiting for the next attack, we all felt that. It was right what we were doing. It empowered us. I’d even secured Shelley’s blessing. In some ways I wished too that she’d been able to come with us. She was such a wise woman, so brave, but I understood where her energies were needed and instead prayed for her safe return via Grey’s house.

  The drive time whizzed by with no traffic encountered en route, just a steady stream of cars – a convoy – our headlights a blazing trail of defiance.

  Parking close to our usual spot, I climbed out of the car, noticing drizzle in the air and a heavy mist starting to swirl.

  “The weather’s on the change,” remarked Angus.

  “Let it rain,” I said. “Rain is cleansing.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” Mrs Ludmore commented. “A nice way.”

  “If that’s so,” her son quipped, “Skye has to be the cleanest island in the world.”

  “Not quite,” I said, smiling at him. “But soon it will be.”

  “Good,” he answered, serious again. “Because I want things to go back to the way they were, you know with Ally, with all of us.”

  “They will,” Angus ruffled Craig’s hair. “Believe it.”

  That also made me smile, Angus buying into what I’d said, what Shelley had said too. Love. Belief. Forgiveness. I had two in the bag at least.

  We convened with the others on the gravel path that led to the lighthouse, our various torches shining, bringing light to where light had been absent for so long.

  Looking around I noticed one of our number missing.

  “Where’s Grant?” I asked.

  The silence seemed guilt-ridden for a moment, and then Lainey’s mother spoke up. “His parents, they changed their minds, they didn’t want him to come.”

  “Cowards,” someone mumbled, but I disagreed.

  “If they thought their child might be vulnerable in some way then they’re far from that. But those who have come, thank you, thank you so much.”