While You Sleep

by Stephanie Merritt

  Zoe set the lamp down and rubbed her knuckles into her eyes, leaning against the ledge. The gull’s cries were eerie; at times they sounded like a human scream, almost orgasmic. Was that what she had heard? Had her mind done the very thing Charles had spoken of earlier – interpreted the sounds around her to fit a narrative? But then what about the child’s voice? That at least could not have been a gull. The bird opened its hooked yellow beak and screeched to the empty air. She wondered if it was the mother of the dead juvenile downstairs, mourning her baby. The thought of that feathered corpse with its mangled neck set her skin crawling. She pulled out a stool from under the shelf and settled herself directly opposite the staircase, so that she could see out over the water and at the same time catch the first glimpse of anyone attempting to breach the tower room. Like a princess in her fortress, she thought, wrapping her fingers around the poker. A fitful silence seemed to settle over the house. Even the gull gave up its vigil and flew away, its breast flashing pale in the moonlight.

  She began to feel safer after a while, in her tower. She could not have said how long she sat, watching the sea, one eye on the dark hole where the stairs descended. Clouds chased across the face of the moon as if speeded up; the turret shook under the wind’s onslaught but stood firm. Each time her eyes grew heavy and her head slumped to her chest she jerked herself upright; she needed to stay awake, in case whoever was in the house tried to come up here, into her sanctum. She must have dozed a little, though, because on one of these occasions when she snapped her eyes open, the lantern had burned lower and she could hear the unmistakable tread of footsteps on the stairs below. She had grown so numbed with fear now that she realised she had been expecting it; half in a daze, she slid from the stool and crouched, gripping her improvised weapon with both hands, her arms trembling with tension. The shadow of a human figure crept up the wall as the footsteps progressed, grotesquely elongated by a shaky light.

  ‘I’ll kill you if you come any further,’ she managed to shout, from a cracked throat, as a man emerged from the darkness of the stairwell.

  ‘Zoe? Jesus Christ!’ Mick Drummond shone his flashlight in her face; she put up an arm to hide her eyes from the glare but held the poker out level, its point towards him. ‘Are you OK? I didn’t mean to frighten you – I was ringing the doorbell for ages down there and when there was no answer I thought I’d best let myself in and see that nothing’s happened. Kaye said you rang and hung up on her, and when she tried to call you back she thought you might be – having some difficulties. She told me to get myself over here and check you were all right.’

  ‘Someone was in the house.’ The poker shook in her hands; she could imagine how she must look to him, wild-eyed and insane, hiding up here from shadows. ‘They cut the electricity.’

  Mick rubbed a hand over his mouth and gave her a long look, assessing her. ‘Nah, your fuse box has tripped, that’s all. A bulb must have gone somewhere. It’s easily fixed – did I no show you before?’ There was a faint hint of reproach in his tone. ‘In the cupboard under the stairs.’

  ‘They left a dead gull on the floor,’ she said. Her voice sounded hoarse and wired. ‘They cut its head off.’

  ‘What? Who did?’

  ‘Downstairs. I’ll show you.’

  ‘Come on, then. You’re all right to put that down now, eh.’ He spoke gently, as if to a spooked animal, nodding to the poker. She looked down, briefly confused as to why she was holding it, and lowered it slowly, gesturing for him to lead the way.

  At the foot of the stairs on the ground floor he disappeared into a cupboard with his flashlight.

  ‘Here’s your fuse box, see? Yeah, there we are – the bathroom’s tripped on the first floor. They don’t last five minutes, those bulbs. You need to push this wee switch up, OK?’

  Zoe couldn’t see what he was doing – she had pressed herself flat against the wall, away from the dead bird – but she murmured assent and the hallway was flooded with sudden brightness.

  ‘There.’ She pointed. The speckled corpse looked merely pathetic now, under the electric light, with someone else in the house.

  ‘Bloody hell. That would explain the smell, anyway.’ Mick poked it with his boot and crouched to look closer. ‘I’d say a cat did that,’ he said carefully. ‘Horrible thing to find, though. No wonder you’re upset.’

  ‘Where would a cat come from, out here? How would it get in?’ She disliked the condescension in his tone; besides, he was not a good liar.

  He straightened up, lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘Wildcat, maybe. Did you leave any doors open?’

  She stared at him. ‘You’re telling me a fucking wildcat got in the house?’

  He looked panicked. ‘Well, no a real wildcat, as such. You don’t get them on the islands. I meant more like a housecat that’s run off and gone feral. You’d be amazed the gaps those buggers can squeeze through. Even a window open a crack—’

  She shook her head. ‘There was someone in the house. My son saw them,’ she added, catching his sceptical frown, and regretted the words before they were out.

  ‘Your son?’

  ‘On Skype. He saw someone in the kitchen.’

  ‘But …’ the crease in his brow deepened and he rubbed at it with the knuckle of his thumb; he seemed troubled now, as if he felt unequal to this female non-logic. ‘How could you get Skype? There’s no connection here, I told you. You can’t have—’

  ‘There’s a network that comes and goes. I’ve found it a couple times. It’s called McBride.’ It was the wrong thing to say, she saw that immediately. He thinks I’m crazy, she thought.

  ‘It wouldn’t—’ he began, but stopped himself. When he spoke again his voice was gentler. ‘Look, you’ve had a nasty shock. You could do with a cup of tea and a wee dram. It’s no surprising, with this mad weather and the lights going off and all this business.’ His foot nudged the bird. ‘Kaye said if you were upset, I was to bring you back with me right away and you can stay at the pub tonight. We’ve a couple of the guest rooms empty. I’m under strict instructions,’ he added, seeing her demur.

  Zoe sensed that he did not want to extend this invitation any more than she wanted to accept it; neither of them wished to acknowledge that there might be a problem with the house. But she lacked the energy to argue. When she responded with a limp nod, he seemed relieved.

  ‘Right. Good. Let’s find a bin bag and get this poor old fella out of here,’ he said, with a brisk artificial smile.

  Before they left the house, Mick checked all the downstairs doors and windows while she trailed through the rooms behind him like an anxious child.

  ‘No, everything’s locked up tight as far as I can see,’ he said eventually, shaking his head with the same furrowed expression. ‘I can’t understand how a cat could have got in anywhere.’

  ‘Someone drew a picture in my sketchbook,’ Zoe said, remembering. ‘I left it on the kitchen table. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a cat.’

  ‘Seriously?’ For the first time since he arrived, Mick appeared unnerved. He ran a hand through his sparse hair until it stood up in tufts. ‘A picture of what?’

  ‘I think it was supposed to be me drowning.’

  ‘Christ. Are you sure, Zoe? There’s no sign of anyone forcing the doors or windows, I promise.’

  She wondered if he knew very well that there were some among his neighbours who would like to punish him for resurrecting the house by frightening his tenant away, as Edward had told her. Perhaps he could even guess who was responsible. Was it in his interest to persuade her that she was imagining things?

  ‘Am I sure there’s a picture in my sketchbook that I didn’t draw?’ She stared him down until he dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘Is there any other way into the house?’

  He scratched a thumbnail over the stubble on his chin. ‘No. Unless—’

  ‘What?’ A chill prickled her neck.

  ‘There’s a coal hatch outside that opens into the cellar. But I padlocked it
when we finished all the work. Better give it a wee look, I suppose.’

  Outside, the wind was so fierce she could almost believe it would hold her weight if she leaned into it. She pulled her hair from her face and followed Mick around the south side of the house, guided by the light of his powerful flashlight. He stopped at a wooden hatch with double doors set into a raised box on the ground among the rough seagrass, large enough for a man to fit through with a sack of coal. Its central metal clasp was held together by a shiny steel padlock, so new it had not yet been tarnished by weather or salt. Mick knelt to examine it in the flashlight beam.

  ‘Looks pretty solid,’ Zoe offered, peering over his shoulder.

  ‘Yep.’ He raised his head to look at her and she thought she caught a flicker of anxiety in his eyes. ‘No cats have chewed through that, anyway.’

  ‘So how did the gull get in the hall then?’ She folded her arms.

  Mick stood and brushed sand from his trousers. ‘I can’t explain it, Zoe.’ He looked profoundly uncomfortable. ‘I just don’t know. I can only think there must have been a window open somewhere earlier.’

  ‘But we checked.’

  ‘Aye, but maybe …’ He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced out towards the beach, avoiding her eye. ‘Maybe you don’t remember closing it when you came home. If you were a bit – you know. Preoccupied, or something.’

  He means drunk, she thought. Or crazy. She wanted to assure him that she would have remembered closing an open window, but realised she could not make this assertion with any conviction. She had thought an angry gull was a screaming woman. She had mistaken a crossed line on the phone for a voice threatening her in Gaelic. She had heard a child speaking in the tower room. But the dead bird and the drawing were solid, tangible; those she had not imagined.

  ‘Someone broke in somehow,’ she said stubbornly. ‘There’s evidence.’

  Mick sighed. ‘OK. I’ll come and have a proper look at all the locks tomorrow, in daylight. But I honestly couldn’t see—’

  ‘Does anyone else have a key?’ she asked, struck by a sudden thought. ‘Any of your friends, maybe?’

  ‘Course not. We’ve got the only spares, in case of emergencies.’ He patted his pocket. ‘Come on, let’s get you back for that cup of tea. Some of us have got to work tomorrow.’ He made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Or today, I should say.’

  ‘How old’s your son, then?’ Mick asked, eyeing her sideways as they drove the narrow road back across the moors. The dashboard clock showed a quarter to two. There was a sly note to his voice that suggested he was pleased to have winkled out some personal history at last.

  Zoe leaned her forehead against the window, furious with herself for her carelessness.

  ‘He’s ten.’

  ‘Och, that’s a nice age, same as our Megan, though she can be stroppy as a teenager when she wants. Then we’ve got wee Josie, she’s seven. Where have you left him, then?’

  ‘He’s at home.’

  ‘Oh, aye? With his daddy, is he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your other half doesn’t mind you going off like this?’

  ‘Nn-hnn.’

  She could feel Mick looking at her. Eventually he sniffed and turned his eyes back to the road.

  ‘Bugger me. Well, don’t you go giving Kaye ideas, eh. I bet she’d only love to get away from the girls for a wee holiday. I don’t think I’d cope, if I’m honest. Your fella must be a better man than me, all credit to him.’

  Zoe gave a weak laugh, to reassure him that she understood it was a joke. Let him think she was a selfish mother. Everyone else thought so.

  ‘I saw your friend Dougie driving his pickup along here earlier when I was on my way home,’ she said, to change the subject.

  ‘Dougie? Coming this way, was he?’ He didn’t appear unduly surprised.

  ‘Into town, same as we are now. He had your young barmaid with him.’ She shifted in her seat to watch his reaction.

  He kept his eyes on the road ahead, but she could see he was frowning, as if engaged in difficult calculations in his head.

  ‘Annag does a bit of waitressing up at the golf hotel on her nights off. There’s no many jobs here for the young folk, you can imagine. She’d like to leave the island really, poor lass, but she’s stuck looking after her wee brother. Dougie’d be giving her a lift home, I expect.’

  ‘I thought the golf course was out the other side of the village?’

  Mick hesitated.

  ‘Aye, but this wind’s probably brought some trees down. Sometimes it can be easier to take the coast road.’

  Zoe’s grasp of the island’s geography was not firm enough to argue with this, though it seemed unconvincing. She felt Mick was resisting the obvious explanation.

  ‘I didn’t think there was anything on this road apart from the Mc— your house?’

  He half-turned to her, his expression grown wary. ‘What’s your point?’

  She looked at her hands in her lap. It had occurred to her that Edward had said Dougie helped Mick work on the house; she wondered if he could have held on to a key, but she didn’t feel she could say this to Mick without more evidence.

  ‘I just thought it was unusual to see anyone coming from this direction. From the house.’

  ‘Wait – you’re no suggesting it was Dougie breaking and entering?’

  ‘No, of course not. I only—’

  ‘There’s no way it could have been Dougie. He can’t draw to save his life.’ He let out a barking laugh; she glanced at him and joined in, to smooth over the tricky moment, but the laughter died away quickly, to be replaced by an awkward silence. They drove on without speaking, each looking ahead, listening to the wind punching at the windows.

  ‘Did you really find a Wi-Fi network?’ he asked, as they approached the sleeping town. ‘You’re no making that up?’

  Zoe was too tired to be offended by the implication. ‘Honest to God. Only a couple of times. It doesn’t seem to last long.’

  ‘I can’t understand how that could happen.’ He shook his head.

  ‘I’m pretty dumb about tech, but isn’t it to do with satellites moving overhead?’

  ‘But how could it be called McBride? I’d never set that up. That’s like a sick joke. You swear you’re no winding me up?’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘No reason. Except—’ He shot her a sideways look, heavy with reproach. ‘You’ve been spending a lot of time with Charles Joseph, haven’t you? Listening to his tall tales. I thought maybe the two of you had decided to pretend there was funny business going on up at the house so you could have a bit of a laugh at my expense. He knows I don’t like people going on about those old stories.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, Mick.’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Seriously. I can’t imagine Charles would, either.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t know Charles. Don’t be fooled by all that twinkly-eyed professor act. He’s wily as a fox. He wants to write a book about my family, I’m sure he’s told you. He thinks it would make money.’

  ‘But you don’t want him to?’

  He made a dismissive noise. ‘Well, they didn’t exactly cover themselves in glory back then. Would you want someone writing that you had a child-murdering witch for a great-great-aunt? It’s bad enough the islanders repeating it, but Charles’s books sell all over the world. I’m no having a load of numpties from America or whatever coming to take photos of the house. There’s my girls to think of. No offence,’ he added, as an afterthought.

  ‘I don’t think that’s the kind of book Charles would write, though,’ she ventured. ‘It might clear her name, if it was investigated properly.’

  He snorted. ‘You think that would make a blind bit of difference to anyone round here? People like the legend. No one’s interested in the truth, whatever that may be.’

  ‘Charles would be the person to find out.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ Mick glanced at her as he turned into the Stag’s
car park. ‘I see he’s got to you already.’ He turned off the engine but made no move to open the door. ‘See, that’s why I was worried about you talking to him. I was afraid he might put ideas in your head. Make you start imagining things. We didn’t want you to feel anxious about the house when there was no need.’

  ‘The stories don’t bother me.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked at her, one eyebrow briefly raised. She could see he was thinking of the way he had found her in the turret.

  ‘Look – I know I probably seemed a little hysterical back there.’ She was surprised by how calm she sounded. ‘But I know someone broke into the house. That bothers me. Old ghosts, no.’

  ‘Ghosts.’ Mick gave a thin smile. ‘No, you seem too smart to believe in all that. I’ll get the locks checked over tomorrow, like I said. I might see about getting an alarm too. We didn’t bother because it’s always so safe out here.’ He broke off and glanced up at the pub, where a light shone in one of the upper windows. ‘Come on, Kaye’s waiting up for us. You’ll have to keep your voice down, the girls will be fast asleep.’

  ‘Do you want me to do you a sage smudging before you sleep?’

  ‘Sorry – what?’ Zoe wrapped her hands around her steaming mug and looked at Kaye, whose face appeared oddly young and naked without the heavy eye make-up, her pink hair scrunched into a ponytail.

  ‘It’s a cleansing ritual. You burn white sage and it absorbs darkness and helps to cleanse your aura if you’ve had a traumatic experience.’ She appeared to be entirely serious.

  ‘Oh – no, I’m fine, honestly. It wasn’t really traumatic, I just …’ Zoe smiled, wanting to find the words to make Kaye go away as quickly as possible without offending her. ‘I probably overreacted. I’m so sorry to have woken you – I feel like an idiot. I’m a little hormonal,’ she added, confidentially, thinking Kaye was the sort of woman who would appreciate this.

  Kaye inched closer to her on the single bed and pulled her pink fluffy dressing gown closer over her chest. She fixed Zoe with an earnest gaze. ‘Did you actually see someone, or was it more of a presence?’