Psychic Surveys Companion Novels

by Shani Struthers

  Again there was silence, followed by another comment on the weather.

  “Shouldn’t be surprised if the rain turns to snow soon, it’s so cold.”

  “Aye, right time of year for it, and if it does, it’ll last ’til Christmas and beyond.”

  I marvelled at that. A white Christmas on Skye, that’d be something to see.

  Another parent stamped his feet. It was Ben. “Tell you what, wish I’d bought a flask of whisky too, for medicinal purposes you understand.”

  Everyone laughed before Mr Ludmore replied, “Let’s deal with this first, then there’ll be all the time in the world to celebrate.”

  I hoped so: that life could go back to how it was for these people, as Craig, and as all of them so desperately wanted, with its ups and downs for sure, but nothing extreme, nothing to tip it into the abyss. A steady life, normality – it was a gift we often took for granted.

  As we made our way to the house, I looked up at the tower, the top of which was lost in cloud, as though a shroud had been thrown over it – a natural occurrence, but I knew it to be something else too: a mockery, a challenge even. I tore my gaze away.

  At the door, we waited; every one of us steeling ourselves for what lay beyond. I hoped that by assigning the parents practical tasks, it would keep their hands and minds occupied downstairs, allowing me to address more spiritual matters upstairs without interference. Again, I looked upwards, this time at the window of the bedroom that Caitir had once occupied. Poor, terrified Caitir. What easy prey her father had been, and what terrible consequences it had had for them all.

  That’s what we refused to be: prey. Not anymore.

  “Are you ready?” I said, turning to those gathered beside me.

  The response, as ever, was positive.

  “Remember what I said earlier, everyone has weaknesses, God knows I do, but we put them aside, we don’t take them in there with us. We’re here, we’re together and we’re strong. We can do this. We can restore balance, at the lighthouse and in our lives. We’re doing this for Ally and for Moira, for all those who lost their lives here when that ship floundered on the rocks below, and for the Camerons too, who were as much victims as anyone else, especially their children, Caitir and Niall. We’re doing it for every one of us.”

  “When good men do nothing,” Angus muttered.

  “Sorry?” Diane questioned. “Did you say something?”

  “Och, it’s just a saying,” Angus told her, “a famous one. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’”

  “Oh,” Diane said, but unless I was mistaken her eyes seemed to mist, as if she found such a quote incredibly touching. I know I did.

  “Amen,” said Ben and then began to clap. Slowly the others joined in and I did too. Who were we clapping? Ourselves, I suppose, and why not? Why shouldn’t we give ourselves the biggest round of applause ever? These people deserved it.

  Bolstered further, we pushed the door open and, single file, trooped inside.

  “Keep your torches switched on and light as many tea-lights as possible. At no point let the lights go out completely, that’s imperative.”

  I apologised about the rubbish clearing. “I know it seems a menial task, but it isn’t, it heralds change. This is no longer a dumping ground where things that are rotten can thrive. It will soon become a guesthouse, and there are plans for more buildings to be added, so the whole feel of it, the energy, will become more dynamic. It’ll attract people, not those looking for cheap thrills, sorry kids, I don’t mean any disrespect by that, but it’s true. Those who come here in future will be those in search of beauty, who want to immerse themselves in God’s Own Country as Angus once called it, and, of course, to enjoy his very own brand of hospitality, which I can highly recommend.”

  “Aye,” Angus said amidst more laughter, “there’ll be a roaring log fire, and a good choice of whisky to hand.”

  “That’s right,” I said, “keep the home fires burning. Always.”

  While everyone made themselves busy, Angus, five teenagers instead of six – Craig, Amy, Isabel, Denny and Lainey – and I went upstairs. A total of seven. A good number, I decided, the number of perfection. Perhaps it was providence Grant hadn’t come. We all carried torches, back-up torches and had a bagful of tea-lights between us, some of which, even now were being burned downstairs, each tiny flame a protest.

  Understandably, the parents were nervous at letting their offspring out of their sight, but at least they weren’t far away. I’d already agreed with them to only come running if they heard me shouting the word ‘help’. Otherwise, they were to expect some noise, some banging, and crashing, as the conjuring railed against its suppression.

  Climbing higher, I was assaulted with a vision – Caitir and Niall and their terrible demise. I expected the assault, but for the subjects to be strangers, not them. It shook me, but quickly I sideswiped the image. Later I’d spend time with their memory, imagining sweet smiles on their faces, their childish wonder at simple things: a favourite meal perhaps, or a walk in the open air. I wasn’t like this thing; I wouldn’t dwell on the negative.

  We reached Caitir’s room, it wasn’t an attack this time, but I could see her clearly. She was lying on the bed, or at least the residue of her. She was reading a book, trying to lose herself in a story, anything to take her mind off the increasing madness she was being subjected to in her own home. Her parents were arguing below, their voices so loud she could hear every word. In subsequent months, her mother would no longer argue, she’d be afraid to – and the silence that ensued, especially at night, was far worse, because in it you could hear other things: whispers, a sudden peal of laughter, a low scream, none of it from the people inside. Finally, the shade that was Caitir threw the book across the room – frustrated, frightened, and angry too – you couldn’t help but be angry here, you fed on it as much as it fed on you. Such a young child and so bewildered, resident in a home that had once been ordinary, but was now filled wall to wall with terror. As for Niall, he barely spoke, barely left his room and no one cared, no one gave a damn.

  “Ness, are you okay?”

  Angus broke the connection. What I’d seen had taken mere seconds, but the depth of emotion would leave a permanent scar. Her fear and her loneliness, I understood it. There were other children in the room, however, living children, I mustn’t let the dead consume me. I could help them whereas I couldn’t help Caitir. I had to fill my mind with practical tasks too, lest it start to wander again…

  “Clear the room,” I instructed. “You’ve each got a bin bag, fill it to the brim.”

  Torchlight bouncing haphazardly off the walls, we set about our first task. We’d thought to pack latex gloves courtesy of Diane, who worked on reception at a doctor’s surgery and had a bundle in her house already. “You never know when they might come in handy,” she’d said enigmatically. They were certainly coming in handy now. I don’t suppose anyone in the house actually wanted to touch anything that was here, covered as it was in a layer of filth, but there was glass too, some of it broken, and glass could cut.

  Whilst we were working diligently, it was Denny who screamed.

  “What is it?” I said, straightening up. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh nothing.” He seemed embarrassed by his actions. “A rat or something.”

  “A rat?” Lainey sneered. “You sissy.”

  “It was a big rat!” he retaliated.

  “Where’s it gone?” asked Craig.

  “I hate rats!” declared Isabel.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Angus calmed them down. “Think of it as a giant mouse, and mice are cute, aren’t they?”

  “Well, yeah,” Isabel admitted.

  “And it’s gone now, more scared of us than we are of it.”

  “Just like the other thing will be,” Craig said boldly.

  “That’s right,” I said, encouraging that boldness.

  When the room was cleared, I took somethin
g else out of the carrier bag we’d brought – salt – and made a large circle with it.

  “That’s where you sit,” I told the group, “inside the circle.”

  “Because in ritual magic, salt forms a protective circle, one in which summoned energy cannot encroach.”

  It was Amy who’d recited those words – almost exactly as I’d said them in the hall.

  I smiled at the spiritualist in the making. “Whatever happens,” I added, “stay inside the circle. In it you’ll be safe. If you’d like to take your seats…”

  “What about you, Miss, are you sitting in the circle too?”

  His somewhat schoolboy address amused me. “Yes, Craig, and so is Angus.”

  “Good job it’s a big salt ring you’ve drawn then,” Angus said, smiling too.

  Once seated with our legs crossed in front of us, I suggested we place our torches on the ground. I had one, but the kids and Angus had two, one for each story they were going to tell – and that we hold hands. “Feel the energy that exists between us,” I instructed further, “how powerful we are when we stand together. We need to draw on that power, on the positive in each of us, feed on it, as this thing has fed on us. You know what, you can feast as much as you like, fill your boots, as long as it’s the good stuff. If any negative thoughts creep in, shut the door on them and turn the key.”

  “It’s like witchcraft,” giggled Isabel, a little nervously.

  “If it is, it’s the white variety,” I answered. “Remember what I said about the light too, to keep it ever present in your mind, as though it’s surrounding us in a bubble.”

  “And the torches?” asked Amy, more serious than Isabel.

  “We turn them off, all except one. Angus, you said you’d tell your ghost story first, so keep yours on. Next up is Craig, then Amy, and so on, remember the rota?”

  All nodded.

  “When it comes to your turn, switch the first of your torches on, switch the second on when you tell your second story. If either torch should fail, light a tea-light, and if that blows out, light another and another, keep going. There’s no shortage, we’ve plenty with us. That’s how we play the game this time, in reverse, instead of lights going off, we keep them coming on. At the end, when they’re all fully ablaze, we blast this thing into oblivion.”

  As torches were turned off, the darkness crept closer, I could hear several sharp intakes of breath, and the hands that were holding mine, tightened their grip.

  “Are you ready?”

  “We’re ready,” everyone replied in chorus.

  “Then let’s begin.”

  Thirteen Chapter Twenty-Two

  “It was a wild and stormy night…”

  Angus’s opening line – the same that he’d used with me when we’d first visited the lighthouse – drew giggles from several of us, including me. That was good, that was what was intended. Laughter was the best kind of energy. To his credit, he didn’t falter, but carried on. We’d agreed a maximum of five minutes per story, shorter if possible and I was to oversee, making sure that no one ran over their allotted time, encouraging the next person, watching for subtle changes in behaviour, and dealing with them. We’d also agreed to make each ghost story end on a high note. ‘They don’t need to be dark, or frightening, they can be heart-warming instead, a spirit is united with the light for example, or gets a message across that he or she hadn’t been able to do in life. They might help to solve a mystery. Use your imagination, but use it for the good.’ After all, the last thing I wanted was fear to get a stronghold, not when we’d only just managed to kick it to the curb.

  Angus’s story continued, concerning the ghost of a highwayman parted from his head during an execution, but managing to find it at last, although preferring to carry it under his arm rather than stick it on his neck – the view was better apparently! It was a good story, a classic story – one that made us all smile because of its familiarity.

  Craig was next, his story containing a small amount of gore and more sci-fi than horror, with Artificial Intelligence at its heart, but we could forgive him that. It was thrilling in parts, amusing in others, making us wince only slightly. As soon as he’d uttered the last sentence, he switched his torch on too, chasing away more of the darkness.

  Amy’s story erred towards the sentimental, centring round a lost child reunited with his mother. As soon as she finished, she switched her torch on – a third light joining the rest.

  Isabel told the fourth, Denny the fifth – it was all going so well, and then Lainey started. It was nothing to do with the tale she told, which was harmless enough – it was the energy here, besides ours, fighting back, making her torchlight flicker.

  “Damn,” she muttered. “I put new batteries in as well.”

  “Let’s just carry on,” I said. “Angus, it’s your turn again. Limit it to three minutes I think.”

  He eyed me warily. “Is that necessary?”

  “It is.”

  “Ah, that’s a shame, it’s a belter this one, but I’ll do as you say.”

  It was another humorous story – this time about the ghost of a cheeky monkey. He had us all in stitches by the end of it, although my laughter was forced. It had grown so much colder in here, the temperature dropping several degrees – had no one else noticed?

  When Craig had finished his turn, he picked up the second of his torches and switched that on. It refused to work at all.

  “Light a candle,” I instructed.

  Immediately obeying, he leant across to a selection of tea-lights closest to him, grabbed one of several boxes of matches and lit the flame. It took a few attempts, and a fair bit of swearing as he burnt his fingers, but eventually the candle burst into life, and was a wonderful sight to see – small but perfectly formed. I willed it to stay put, to do its job.

  Amy picked up the second of her torches, ready to start her tale, and as she did, she screamed. “Look! There’s a spider! Just outside the circle. Oh my God, it’s huge! It’s close, really close. I can’t sit here with that thing next to me.”

  I looked to where she was pointing and could see nothing but empty space. “Amy, there’s no spider.”

  “There is! There is!”

  I sensed panic on the rise, not just in her, but in some of the others too. If I didn’t do something, if the spider she thought she was seeing edged closer, she’d bolt, and the others would follow suit. I sighed with exasperation, couldn’t help it. A spider – that’s all this entity had to do, conjure a spider and the circle would be broken. It was so simple, yet so damned effective; some might even call it genius.

  “Amy, look at me. Amy, please. Take your eyes off what you think you can see and look only at me.”

  “I… I…” Despite the preternatural cold, I’d bet she was sweating.

  “AMY!” I shouted this time. “Look at me! Every one of you do the same. There is no spider. This thing that we’re dealing with, that we’re trying to beat, it plays havoc with your imagination, you know that, I’ve told you that. It’ll worm its way into your psyche and it’ll dig out your fears, and your phobias, all the stuff that makes you question yourself. Slam the door on it, Amy. Bolt it in place. You have to lock away your fears, just for tonight. There’s no way we can break the circle, not until all the lights are shining.”

  “Is it scared too, Miss?” Craig asked. “Because it knows that we’re winning?”

  His words were such a relief. “Yes, Craig, it’s scared too, very scared. I’m so glad you understand that. We’ve got Amy’s story to go, then Isabel’s, Denny’s and Lainey’s. It’s not long now ’til we blast this sucker to kingdom come.”

  Clearly he approved of my use of language. Turning to Amy, he said, “Listen to her. There’s no spider. Get on with your story.”

  Amy was still rigid, but she relaxed slightly as she moved her gaze from the corner to the centre of the circle again. “It’s gone,” she said. “It must have crawled off somewhere.”

  “Amy,” Angus echoe
d, “listen to Ness. It was never there.”

  “But what if it returns?”

  “Then… I don’t know, I’ll try and catch it, although what I’ll be grasping at is thin air. Honestly, don’t give it another thought. Tell your story, we all want to hear it.”

  She gave a timid laugh. “It doesn’t involve spiders.”

  “Just as well,” Angus said, smiling back at her.

  She not only obeyed, she did incredibly well under the circumstances, her voice shaking only slightly here and there as her eyes left mine and roamed elsewhere. When she did this, I had to interrupt. “Look at me, Amy, only me.”

  Finishing, she picked up the second torch – it came on, but hers, like Lainey’s was flickering, growing weaker as she fiddled with it.

  “You know what to do,” I said. “If it goes out, you light a candle.”

  She swallowed audibly. “I keep thinking something’s crawling on my back,” she said, “I know there isn’t, but…”

  “There really isn’t,” I said. “We cleared this room, remember? There were no spiders then and there are none now.”

  She nodded, but her breathing was heavier too.

  “Isabel…” I prompted. “It’s your second turn.”

  “I’m not scared of spiders,” she answered.

  “Let’s not talk about spiders.”

  “But I don’t like rats, or snakes. There won’t be any snakes manifesting, will there?”

  “Not if you close a door on that fear.”

  “My story is about monsters though,” she continued, “not scary monsters, they’re cute actually. They turn out to be the good guys in the end. I based it on Beauty and the Beast. This situation, and you, it sort of inspired it.”

  As flattered as I was, this was no fairy-tale.

  “Denny,” she said suddenly, “will you stop doing that, shining your light in my eyes?”

  “What?” Denny sounded surprised. “I wasn’t. I’m pointing it straight ahead.”

  “No you weren’t, you were shining it at me, blinding me. Turn it away.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Denny continued to object. “I’m not!”