Dylan
What just happened? He could still feel remnants of his lost erection and now he was striding along the Coffin Road, alone and angry. How did things change so quickly?
Dylan ran over the entire scenario in his head again, recalling the initial shock of finding that large unexpected lump on Deidre’s inner thigh. It had thrown him off kilter, his mind unable to comprehend what it could possibly be, the whole Crying Game plot immediately springing to mind despite the fact that he knew for certain that Deidre had no secret appendages. They’d just spent the past week exploring each other’s bodies in minute detail. Now, with the time to think, he had the time to recall and analyse the thoughts and images that had raced through his mind in those brief moments before she’d pulled that... thing... from her jeans. His first ridiculous horror had been that somehow, unnoticed, he’d been fucking a bloke for the past week, a bloke with a penis and a vagina. An hermaphrodite, male and female. Could he, would he still be able to carry on a relationship, or would her penis get in the way? These crazy, wild thoughts had run through his head to no conclusion, strange images flashing through his mind and sticking there; he and Deidre standing at the altar, Deidre in a flowing white dress and full heavy black beard, Deidre naked, her once hidden appendage now in full view and fully erect.
He’d been repulsed, and he’d been unable to hide it.
She’d made a fool of him. Used him, he thought, shaking his head, tramping blindly down the track, his anger deepening with each step and intensifying the more he thought about it.
She hadn’t wanted him to come and look at the croft at all, to cast his professional eye across it, as she’d said. Lied. She’d only come here to retrieve that thing from its hidden place. They’d been there barely five minutes and she’d already had it stuffed down the inside leg of her jeans by the time he’d come back inside. Back inside after she’d sent him off on some snipe hunt outside and around to the back of the building so that he wouldn’t know what she was up to. So that she could snatch it from the chimney where she knew it was all along. It was sly and sneaky behaviour he hadn’t expected from her and he couldn’t make any sense of it. If she didn’t want him to know her motives why had she nagged and nagged at him all week to come here? Why not just come alone as she’d done before?
All he knew for certain was that he felt betrayed. And disappointed, very disappointed, feeling his anger deteriorate into dolour. He thought he’d found something with Deidre, their connection immediate and effortless, the way she’d slotted and interlocked into his life like a missing jigsaw piece. He’d never felt so at ease with anyone before, it had felt right to him from their first moments together.
Until she’d held that vile black cross in her hand, looking down on it with such reverence, holding it in her hand like a precious and sacred gift despite everything she knew about it, everything she’d been told; the lore, the superstition and fear it instilled among the inhabitants of this isle. He’d witnessed an immediate change in her like a cloud blocking out the sun and it gave him the creeps, gave weight to the stories the old folk around here spoke about in low voices, watching as she made a decision right before his eyes, discarding him over the cross.
Wednesday – Erdin Valley
A cold, incessant wind blew across the headland. From up here she could see all the way along the coastline and out to sea for miles, Brud Stone the only obstruction to her view. It stood on the very edge of the cliff, soaking up the colours of the grey spectrum. Deidre walked up to it, the wind hard in her face. It stood about eight feet high, its general structure rectangular in shape with various undulations and bulges in its makeup. Markings covered the rough face, faint primitive scars almost worn away by the ravages of time, weather and exposure to this driving, perpetual wind.
She stepped closer to it, her hand reaching out, her fingers touching, following the faint traces of swirling lines and circles engraved into the rock. It was so old, she thought. Ancient. Her eyes followed the form of the stone and she bent forward, twisting around, inspecting the back of the pillar, surprised by just how close to the edge of the headland the megalith stood. There was barely a few feet of ground before the sheer drop to the sea below.
Small, hand-sized rocks sitting at the base of the stone caught her eye, a rusty length of metal protruding from the ground beside them. Holding onto the pillar for support, she carefully stepped around to the rear of the stone, the updraft of the wind buffeting against her, pulling at her jacket, her loose hair flying around her face as she carefully squatted down to investigate the items. The metal rod she saw had been wedged deep, pounded into the hard dirt. Picking up a rock, she banged against the metal to loosen it, pushing and tugging it from side to side feeling it yield before giving it another yank. It came free unexpectedly and she rolled backwards on her haunches, onto her back, screaming in a pitch of pure terror, bracing herself for the long fall, her head thrown backwards over the edge of cliff, the cross sliding over her shoulder and swinging erratically in the wind.
She dropped the metal rod, her fingernails digging into the hard ground beneath her, feeling its reality, its solidity supporting three quarters of her body, her head and shoulders hanging over the edge. Turning her head, she glanced downwards at the sea pounding and blasting against the rocks below, sea spray blowing upwards, fine droplets landing on her face. Carefully, breathlessly, she sat upright on the edge of the cliff, her shaking hands dragging her hair away from her face. It took a few moments before she was able to move, staying low on the ground, shimmying away from the edge towards the towering megalith.
Focussing on the rock, she now saw that graffiti covered the back face of the stone, initials and names of a much later vintage than the sublime swirling on the face of the rock. FMC. Jam. MAC. B.N. Hart. D.D. Many of the engravings were indecipherable, artlessly carved, a few no more than mere notches chipped and scored into the granite, others, some quite legible, had been chiselled quite deeply while others barely left a mark. Her palm already orange from flaking rust, she reached out, grabbing the rod, a chisel she realised, the metal tapered to a point at one end. She picked up a small rock and went to work.
The valley spooned out below her. She watched the figure running across the valley before ascending the hillside and making its way up towards the headland on the opposite side. Feelings of love and loss and fear swamped her, compounded by devastation and anger. So much anger.
Deidre whimpered, an expression of the pain in her soul coupled with the physical aching pain shooting up her left arm. She tried to bring the limb closer to her body and found she was unable, her arm weighed down, immovable.
Slowly, her senses acknowledged the world around her, enhancing her confusion and disorientation. She could hear water trickling, bubbling and gurgling and then the realisation that she was cold, intensely cold, her muscles seizing at the awareness of this. Her eyelids fluttered open, closed, opened again. Tall grass shot sideways across her line of vision, the horizon vertical, the world sitting on a ninety-degree angle. Her left arm was in water, cold water, her bones singing with pain like a tuning fork. She drew her arm towards herself, her left hand landing on her body like a dead fish. Slowly, slowly she came into herself and sat up, clutching her cold wet hand into her body, every muscle paralysed with cold. She was still in the valley she realised, sitting at the side of the burn.
Deidre staggered to a standing position, swaying, her bewildered brain trying to grasp how she’d come to be here down in the valley, lying partly immersed in the burn. It was dark, but not quite, like a partial eclipse.
Her eyes fell on the croft further over. It looked back at her, darkness behind the blank windows and doorway. She turned, looking over her shoulder to see Brud Stone, omnipresent and baleful in this weird half-light. Had she been standing up there? She remembered the figure running towards the headland on the other side of the valley, scaling the hillside.
Dylan.
She’d let him leave and she wou
ld never see him again. There was a certainty about this that she knew. It was absolute.
Pins and needles prickled in her hand, the blood flowing back again, the sleeves of her left arm drenched. She needed to get home. Home? Home where? A wind was rising, fast moving clouds rolling in and accumulating overhead. It was so cold. She headed off across the valley following the route she’d seen Dylan take, the cross bouncing against her chest as she staggered and stumbled with purpose across the uneven ground of the valley floor.
She would see him again, she said to herself like a mantra, unable to shake this all-pervading sadness, this devastating sense of loss. When she saw him again she would explain to him what happened.
What happened?
Meandering over the uneven terrain, her hazy mind tried to recall the events but all she could remember was Dylan running to the other side of the valley, running away from her, and the consuming hopeless sorrow she felt, like death.
Large splashes of rain hit her face, the wind gusting suddenly as a storm blew in from the sea, churning the bay, sending waves crashing against the shore in loud incessant explosions. The storm descended on the valley like a gauzy curtain, Ayres Kame disappearing from sight. Deidre stopped for a moment, trying to make sense of the confusion in her brain, the deluge drenching her, cold sharp rain penetrating her pores like frozen hypodermic needles. Her body shook, great epileptic shudders like a loose windowpane rattling in the wind.
She stumbled, fell, grasping the cross hanging at her chest.
She watched the figure run to the other side of the valley and it wrenched her heart out.
Come back to me.
The pain was exquisitely pure.
Sorrow. Unimaginable sorrow.
Everything she knew was gone.
Life was at an end.
She knew she would die this day.
Thursday – Stayne House
The breath was hot and wet against her face, the odour strong but not unpleasant, moist. The smell, the warmth, the heat, the insistent whimpering induced her through the dark tunnel, but the light eluded her, leaving her trapped, unable to break through this last crust of darkness. A weight rested against her chest, something scratching her face.
‘Here! She’s oer here! Oer here! Laddie! Laddie, git oer ‘ere boy.’ The warm weight pushed itself up and away, replaced by a cold blanket of emptiness.
Deidre felt hands on her, felt herself be handled and lifted, heard a multitude of voices in her ears, her mind offering a basic awareness, her body unable to respond. She felt buried, trapped, wrapped beneath layers.
‘Deidre.’
She felt the soft touch glide up and down her arm. Deidre lay thinking about it, enjoying the simple unadulterated pleasure it offered, speaking to her of warmth and tenderness and love. Safety. Faint cracks appeared in the darkness of her subconscious and she knew she had to break through them, let the light in. Her eyelids flickered. They had the weight of granite slabs and she held them open with great effort, light stabbing into her brain. Her tongue broke through her dry lips and she inhaled deeply as if it was her first breath of life.
‘Deidre?’
A face. Dylan’s lovely face. She remembered he’d been running away from her, running across the valley and she thought she’d never see him again. But he was here, looking down at her, his eyes, his beautiful eyes penetrating into hers as he leaned in closer, his expression changing from concern to relief. His mouth worked and his head shook. ‘Are you okay? How do you feel,’ he finally asked, his eyes roaming around her face. ‘My God, Deidre.’ He emitted a small, strangled laugh. ‘What the fuck happened?’
Again, she had no idea what time of day it might be. It could be eleven o’clock at night for all she knew. Time meant nothing in this place. It was always light. Mostly. An image of Brud Stone came to her mind, standing up there on the edge of Erdiness in dark monochrome light.
Her hand went to her chest.
Had she been dreaming? She looked around the room, sifting through memories in her head and the potent emotions in her heart, finding her place in reality. Dylan, dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt, gazed at her and she was overwhelmed suddenly with relief. She thought she’d never see him again, and the sadness she carried still coloured her emotions like a black dye.
‘Are you okay to talk,’ Dylan asked, reaching out and wrapping her hand in his. ‘My God Deidre I thought you would’ve walked back to the car and gone home. I thumbed a lift home. I was gonna ring you so many times last night and I didn’t. I was so pissed off at you.’ He shook his head in contrition, his eyes earnest, boring into hers. ‘I sat up waiting till after one waiting for you to ring me. I gave in and finally rang Stayne this morning and no one could find you so I drove to Ayres Kame and your car was still where we’d left it yesterday.’ He spoke so fast. She felt stupid and slow. ‘I walked all the way to the croft and I couldn’t find you.’ His voice wavered. ‘We’ve been out all day searching for you. I thought I’d lost you.’
She remembered standing on Erdiness watching him run towards the headland on the other side of the valley. ‘I tried-‘ Her voice croaked, hoarse and alien to her ears. ‘I tried to get home. I followed you across the valley,’ she said, a part of her registering the confusion on his face, but she was just too tired. And thirsty. ‘Can you get me a drink, please,’ she asked.
Dylan gazed down on her, thoughtfully pushing hair away from her face. ‘Sure baby.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, his endearment echoing in her head as he closed the door behind him.
Friday – Stayne House
Deidre opened her eyes and sat up. Her hand went to her chest. A glass of water sat on the bedside table and she reached out for it, drinking in huge thirsty gulps. Light filled the room, the clock showed it was nine thirty seven - pm. Pushing the bedclothes off she swung her legs out and sat on the edge of the bed realising she was dressed in her pink flannel pyjamas. Plucking at them desultorily, feeling the material between her fingers, she wondered how she’d gotten into them, trying to recall the actual memory of physically changing her attire. Her thoughts were fuzzy and unformed, like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle made out of dough. Dylan had been here, she remembered, but how long ago? He was gone now. But before that…
Closing her eyes, she pressed her hands to her face, trying to clear her mind, trying to think lucid coherent thoughts.
Dylan…
She saw him running up the hill towards the headland on the other side of the valley…
No, not him.
She rapped her knuckles against her forehead trying to dislodge the distortion, trying to knock a clearer reception into her brain.
There was a faint knock and the door opened unbidden, Vee’s head appearing around the corner. ‘Oh, you’re awake,’ she said, stepping into the room. ‘Good.’ She moved closer to Deidre, bending slightly, studying the invalid like a bug in a jar. ‘How’re ye feelin’?’
‘Okay, I think.’ Deidre looked up at her, then away from the eager curiosity in her face.
‘We’ve been checking on ye every half oor.’ Vee sat on the bed beside her, her weight causing Deidre to tilt sideways. ‘Ye woke up for a wee bit afore but den you went back oot again.’
Deidre repositioned herself on the bed, shifting slightly out of Vee’s orbit.
‘Dylan’s been worried sick aboot ye. Dey were oot in da valley looking fur ye fur oors. What happened t’ye?’ Vee fixed her with an expectant look, waiting. Silent.
Deidre stood up, feeling light headed and off balance, stepping away from Vee’s intense gaze. ‘I’m not sure,’ she muttered, grabbing the glass from the bedside table and drinking.
Vee held her stare. ‘Yer gonna hiv t’tell us someting,’ she said. ‘Before da curse gets ye. Afore ye go fully mad,’ she added provocatively and Deidre glanced at her, pressing her hand down on the bedside table for support. ‘Aunty Mavis is sayin’ it’s too late,’ Vee continued, ‘she said ye’ve awready got d
a curse. Ye’ve awready put da cross aroon yer neck.’
The cross. Deidre’s hand flew to her chest.
‘Aunty Mavis had a right fit when she saw ye were wearing it. She was aw fer pulverising it an’ sprinkling it in da sea.’
Deidre took a step towards Vee, alarmed, water spilling out of the glass in her hand with her sudden propulsion. ‘Mavis has got my cross?’
‘No,’ Vee replied calmly, wiping water splashes from the knees of her jeans. ‘Dylan got to it afore she did.’
‘Dylan?’ This came as a surprise to her. The memory of his face, the disagreement they’d had in the valley came back to her. He’d wanted her to leave it there in the croft, get rid of it, he‘d said, but she didn’t, she couldn’t. Then he’d left her, running away from her to the headland on the other side of the valley and she didn’t think she would ever see him again.
‘What happened, Deidre?’ Vee asked again, persistent.
Deidre turned around as the door swung wide open and one of the twins stood there, Mavis or Dot. Dylan appeared moments later, his presence easing but not alleviating the inexplicable desperation she felt.
‘Yes, what happened, Deidre?’ the old woman asked stepping into the room. Mavis. Deidre could tell by the sensible black shoes she wore, dressed in a lilac twinset and a knee length tartan skirt. She stood with her arms folded, her watery blue eyes regarding Deidre with fierce determination. She was in battle mode, Dylan standing behind her like her second in command.
‘Where’s my cross?’ Deidre asked. Dylan stepped forward and stood silent, hands on his hips, defiant beside Mavis.
The Stone Dweller's Curse: A Story of Curses, Madness, Obsession and Love Page 14
