‘I don’t know,’ I muttered. I wasn’t quite ready to align myself with Emma. I certainly hadn’t seen anything like she’d described. But I was maybe willing to think about it with a more open mind. But she just … she just seemed so unstable right now. It was difficult to believe anything she said.
‘I’m not crazy.’
I hadn’t heard Emma coming out of the tent, but when I whipped my head around at the sound of her voice she was standing just a few feet behind us.
‘Emma, you’re awake,’ Dougie commented, his voice falsely cheerful, and I knew he was wondering the same thing I was: how long had Emma been standing there listening?
‘I’m not crazy,’ she repeated, moving forward, footsteps silent in the sand. ‘That thing I saw, it was real, and it was there.’
We watched in silence as she rounded the fire pit and lowered herself slowly into the one of the remaining chairs. She was wearing the clothes I’d helped her dress in earlier, but now they were creased, her jumper hanging messily from one shoulder. Her hair was tousled, not in the casual, I-just-got-out-of-bed style that I knew she spent hours creating, but as if she didn’t know what she looked like and didn’t care. The make-up she’d put on at least a day before was now halfway down her face.
She looked older than I’d ever seen her. It was in her eyes: as if she’d witnessed true horror. They were frightened and sad and resigned all in one, and I didn’t like looking at them. I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away, though.
‘Tell me again what you saw,’ I demanded.
Now that she was calmer, I hoped I’d get something a little more concrete than the hysterical fragments Dougie and I had had to piece together the night before.
But Emma didn’t answer. She was looking at me oddly, head cocked to the side, eyes slightly tightened.
‘What happened?’ she asked me.
‘What?’
‘Something happened to you. What was it? Was it the cove, did you go back there? Did you see something?’
‘I’m … not sure.’
‘Tell me,’ she ordered.
I recounted my story again. Emma’s eyes widened in surprise and fear, then settled into a mixture of satisfaction and resignation.
‘I told you,’ she said when I finished. Then, with more feeling, ‘I told you!’
‘I didn’t see a … thing,’ I insisted, uncomfortable corroborating her story when it still seemed so unbelievable.
‘But you think there’s something going on. I heard what you said before,’ she added as I opened my mouth to argue.
‘I don’t know,’ I mumbled pathetically, aware of Dougie’s eyes watching me closely. I took a breath. ‘I think we should just get the hell out of here.’
Nobody argued with that.
Though it was tempting to hide out our final hours on the beach in our tent, none of us wanted to leave the fire. It wasn’t just for the heat, though I was so cold it had settled right into my bones and Dougie was shaking uncontrollably, fever tricking his body into thinking everything was cold, even my arms around his shoulder, desperately trying to warm him.
We huddled by the fire. The world around us was cloaked in ominous shades of grey. Slowly that darkened into unfriendly, threatening black.
We didn’t talk much. After appearing almost normal earlier, Emma had retreated back inside her head and was quietly humming to herself as she gazed into the flames. Dougie looked like it was all he could do to stay awake, although he’d resisted my attempts to get him to go and lie down. I didn’t push the matter. His presence, even weak and dizzy and barely conscious, was a comfort. As for me, I spent my time scrutinising every inch of the brooch. Tilting it an angle, I used the flickering glare from the flames to throw the engravings into sharp relief. Twisting it this way and that, I tried to make sense of the squiggles and shapes. I wasn’t sure why, but I remained convinced that the little circlet, small but big enough to almost fill my palm, was somehow, if not responsible, then at least connected to everything that was going on.
They were so strange, though, those markings. Unrecognisable, but not random. Undaunted, I continued to try to decipher them, spinning the brooch round, peering at it from different perspectives, attempting to force the loops and irregular angles to become something that made sense.
‘You know,’ I said slowly, squinting down at it, ‘if you look at this the right way, that bit kind of looks like a man.’
‘What?’ Dougie turned to me, his eyes half-shut, jaw juddering. He sniffed, pulled his second jumper tighter around his shoulders, but looked down at where I was pointing.
‘The brooch,’ I said, ignoring when he sighed. ‘This bit here.’
I held it out for his inspection. Rather than straining to see across the short space between us, he pulled it from my grasp. I watched him rotate it this way and that.
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘You mean this bit, in the middle of the flames?’
‘Flames?’ I blinked. ‘What flames?’
‘Yeah, these bits.’ He pointed to jagged scratches that I hadn’t been able to decipher. ‘They’re flames, right?’
I wasn’t sure – they didn’t look very flame-like to me – but I remembered how easily Dougie had interpreted the cairn when I had seen nothing more than a jumble of stones.
‘Sure,’ I mumbled.
‘And these look like gifts.’
Gifts? I snatched it back from him. I hadn’t seen any ‘gifts’.
‘Where?’
‘Here.’ He stretched over, ran his finger around the lower half of the brooch, opposite the man apparently surrounded by fire. ‘See? That’s a pot or something, and that’s maybe a spear or an axe … it’s hard to tell. Definitely votive offerings, though.’
‘Votive offerings?’ I echoed, trying not to sound like I’d never heard the phrase before in my life.
‘Yeah, you know, sacrificial offerings to a god or whatever.’
‘Right.’ How the hell did he know all this stuff? ‘So then … this might be a god?’ I pointed to the man I thought I’d found.
Dougie made a face. ‘Doubt it, not with all the flames. Not unless it’s the Devil. Or a demon, perhaps.’
‘Something evil …’ My thoughts were racing. I looked back down at the scratched figure of a man, the jagged shapes Dougie said were flames. ‘Or could they be –’ I squinted, connected lines in my head – ‘wings?’
‘Yeah.’ Dougie lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘Flames, wings.’ He paused, thought about it. ‘Might even be waves.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Silence. Uncomfortable silence.
I didn’t know what Dougie was thinking, but only one thought was spinning round and round my head.
What if the brooch was old? Really, truly old.
What if there was some spirit tethered to it, to the isolated cairn, one that had lain dormant until Dougie rooted around where he shouldn’t have? It sounded ridiculous, so ridiculous that I couldn’t even bring myself to say it out loud for a second time.
But it wouldn’t go away.
And now that thought had cemented itself in the depths of my mind, the darkness – already unwelcoming, frightening – became terrifying. What lurked out there, hiding in the night? It was hard to stop my imagination inserting the muddled description Emma had provided into the villain’s role. Now every gust of wind that rolled around us carried with it ethereal noises. Low moans, high-pitched wails, a chorus of whispers. The rush of air tickling my hair was like brushing fingertips, making goosebumps erupt on my arms under the thick sweatshirt I wore.
The fire, a comfort before, became an absolute necessity. Neatly stacked off to the side was our pile of wood for burning. Collecting wood had been the furthest thing from my mind during both trips to the cove and now the stack was pitifully small. I was loath to shrink it, but the flames were retreating into the pile of smoking ashes. Heat still rolled off the embers, but the light was receding, darkness encroaching upon our circle so that it
was a strain to make out Emma’s outline, just a few feet away. I opened my mouth to suggest delving into our dwindling reserve when Dougie reached forward and yanked up a couple of good-sized branches.
‘These won’t catch if we leave it any longer,’ he said, thrusting them into the heart of the fire pit. Taking a thinner stick, he poked at the smouldering heap until virgin flames leapt up, gnawing hungrily on the fresh fuel. Job done, he chucked the spindly twig into the fire and sat back, satisfied. His face was troubled, though. I knew why.
‘How long do you think that’ll last?’ I asked, pointing towards our reserves. There were only four or five logs there and a few handfuls of dried seaweed and grasses.
Dougie shrugged, made a face. That wasn’t reassuring.
‘Will it last us till morning?’ I pressed.
‘Are we going to sit here all night?’
Yes. Or at least that was my plan. There was no way I was going to huddle in the tent in the darkness. The flimsy material could barely offer protection from the weather, what chance would it have against a vengeful spirit?
Dougie seemed to read my mind.
‘We could lock ourselves in the Volvo,’ he offered.
Steel and glass were a lot better protection than canvas, but …
‘I like the light,’ I said.
There was a long pause, then Dougie said quietly, ‘Me too.’
‘Are we going to need more wood?’ I asked.
Dougie thought for a moment, then nodded. I sighed. I’d suspected as much. Dougie was in no fit state to go wandering around and Emma was still half-in, half-out. Which left …
‘Well.’ I stood up decisively. ‘Might as well get it over with.’
‘What?’ Dougie looked up at me, eyebrows raised. ‘On your own? No, Heather.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I won’t go far. I won’t even leave the beach. I think I saw some driftwood over the far side. Leftovers from other campers, maybe.’
‘Heather –’
‘Five minutes,’ I said firmly. ‘Give me the torch. It’ll last that long.’
I wasn’t feeling as brave as I was trying to sound, and there was no way I was going out there into the darkness empty-handed. The measly glow from the dying flashlight would at least keep me from being completely engulfed by the suffocating black.
Dougie wasn’t happy, I could see that, but he handed me the torch without further complaint. As I swept the beam in front of me, sending a narrow strip of light outside the circle of the fire, I caught Emma’s silhouette. She was standing, too.
‘I’m coming,’ she said.
I was surprised but I didn’t question it. I was too relieved not to have to hunt for burnable material by myself.
We didn’t speak as we took our first tentative steps away from the safety of the campfire. My hand was shaking, making the torchlight tremble. I tried to tell myself it was just the cold – it was chilly away from the heat of the flames – but truly I was scared. Whether I believed my theory about the brooch’s wraith I wasn’t sure. But being in the dark, far from anyone, two of our friends mysteriously gone, was enough to terrify me anyway.
The moon was hidden behind a thick bank of clouds and we didn’t have to go far before the brightness of the fire seemed no more than a memory. The weak light from the torch was cold by comparison, turning the world into layers of shadows. Colourless; nightmarish. My teeth started chattering. To cover the sound, I marched forward with more purpose, heading for the jumbled pile of wood I thought I’d seen along the far side of the beach.
‘We’re not leaving here, you know,’ Emma said quietly as we walked.
I glanced at her, taken aback by the sombreness with which she said the words.
‘What? Of course we are, Emma. We’re leaving tomorrow, as soon as it’s light.’
‘No, we’re not,’ she disagreed, but so low I could almost ignore it. I chose to. Emma’s ominous comments were not helping me steady the vibrating torch beam.
‘Look,’ I said, grinning with relief. ‘Firewood.’ Right where I thought it would be.
I had to stick the torch under my arm so that both hands were free to grab bundles of logs. Emma didn’t help, but stood staring towards the rocks at the edge of the cliff, water lapping over the path Martin had taken the last time we saw him. I turned my back on it resolutely, concentrating on the task at hand. I kept my eyes fixed on Dougie’s fire, where I was going to be in about four minutes. It looked tiny from here; I could barely make out his silhouette, hunched in a chair.
‘Emma, can you help me?’ I asked, a little impatiently. I wanted to be back inside that halo of warmth as soon as possible. No answer. I turned, annoyed. Why had she come if she wasn’t going to help? ‘Emma?’ I asked again sharply.
She was still gazing away from me, standing utterly motionless, her hands by her side.
‘Heather,’ she whispered. ‘Heather, can you feel that?’
Feel what? I shuddered.
‘What? Emma, I don’t feel anything. Come on, help me with the firewood.’
She turned to me. I trained the torch on her face and saw she was smiling wistfully.
‘The wind,’ she said. ‘It’s gone.’
I knew she wasn’t commenting on the weather. I held her stare for a brief moment, then started snatching up wood with haste.
‘Let’s get back to Dougie,’ I said as I stuffed a final log under my chin. This would have to do.
‘It’s too late,’ she murmured. Now that the air was completely still I heard her easily. ‘Can you hear the waves?’
‘They’re still there, Emma,’ I snapped, to cover the fact that no, I could no longer hear the quiet lapping of the water on the sand. ‘Come on!’
She still wasn’t moving.
‘Emma!’
I started to make for the fire and Dougie, but without turning I knew, I just knew, she wasn’t following. I managed to go six steps before I had to stop.
She was right where I’d left her, facing the rocks.
‘Emma!’
She didn’t even flinch when I called her name. I stood my ground, waiting, hoping, just for a few more seconds, before I gave in to the fact that she wasn’t going to come and I couldn’t leave her.
‘Dammit!’ I hissed under my breath. I dropped the wood to the ground and half-walked, half-ran back across the sand.
‘Emma!’ I repeated as I reached her side. I grabbed for her arm, folding my fingers tightly around the fabric of her cardigan. ‘Come on, I want to get back to Dougie.’ Nothing. ‘Emma!’
Impatient and still trying to swallow the panic I felt that the situation was getting quickly out of my control, I took another three steps until I was in front of her, right in her line of vision. She continued to stare straight ahead, as if she was seeing right through me. My stomach dropped. I’d hoped she’d been getting better, slowly coming back, but she’d never been as far away as she was that second.
She opened her mouth to speak. ‘I told you we weren’t leaving here.’
My lips popped open in a silent ‘O’, but I gathered myself quickly.
‘Yes, we are! Emma, come on!’ Putting both hands on her shoulders, I started to force her backwards. She didn’t resist, but she still refused to move of her own accord. Slowly, I shoved her back until we were level with the logs again. Now I had to let go; this whole excursion had been about getting the wood for the fire, after all. ‘Don’t move,’ I warned as I released her.
She blinked, looked at me, right at me this time. The expression on her face stopped me from reaching down for my bundle of logs.
‘It’s here,’ she said.
Any doubts I had over whether I believed her story, whether I believed in the ‘wraith’, were dispelled as my body went into total and utter shutdown at her words. My brain froze; my lungs were too tight to breathe. I’d stopped shaking simply because my muscles refused to move. Panic and fear immobilised me. I couldn’t even feel confused that Emma didn’t look scared. She s
eemed … peaceful. Relieved.
But then that changed.
Emma looked up, staring at the sky directly above my head. In the space of an instant, her eyes widened, her mouth stretched open into a horrifying parody of a scream mask.
I whirled, searching the inky heavens to find out what had frightened her so entirely. I saw nothing, but then Emma started to scream.
The noise went on and on and on. Longer than Emma had the breath for, and I realised it wasn’t Emma screaming I was hearing, not any more. It was the creature. Wailing at us.
And then I saw it.
Black on black, that’s what it was. No face, no form, just a deeper, darker, more sinister shade than the murky clouds behind. Raven on charcoal. My eyes could hardly make out an outline, it just seemed to bleed into the inky sky. What I could tell, though, was that it was moving. Fast. Plummeting towards us, silent yet shrieking. It had no eyes, but it was staring right at me, dark pits in the centre drinking me in.
I backpedalled. Tripping and falling, I didn’t dare take my eyes off it. I bashed past Emma, our shoulders connecting. My searching fingers brushed the soft wool of her cardigan. Feeling frantically down her arm, I grabbed a firm hold of her wrist. Squeezed tight. Then I turned and together we began to sprint back towards the fire.
‘Dougie!’ I shouted. ‘Dougie!’
But the wind was back. Swirling around us in a turbulent gale, it ripped my voice away and I knew he hadn’t heard me. I couldn’t even hear my own ragged breathing, or the gasps of Emma running beside me. At least she was fleeing with me. I tightened my grasp on her arm, determined not to lose her.
My eyes were fixed ahead, drawn by the dying flames of our campfire. There was no point looking at my feet; the ground was covered in darkness and the torch was back with the pile of firewood. Besides, there was nothing underfoot but smooth sand. Nothing to trip us, nothing to make us fall.
So why was I sinking? Why was I tumbling to the ground, gravity claiming me with terrifying speed? Instinctively I flung my arms out to cushion the impact, letting go of Emma as I hit the cold silk of the beach.
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