Black Cairn Point (15 page)

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 seemed … 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.

‘Emma?’ Had she fallen with me? I looked to my left, where she should be, but I could see almost nothing. The night seemed thicker, like a black fog. The wind was roaring in my ears and the two combined robbed my senses. ‘Emma!’ I felt out in front of myself, hunting for her.

Two hands grabbed me, fingers interlocking with mine. Emma’s touch was cold, but it flooded me with warmth. I pulled myself over towards her, so close we were almost cheek to cheek, her frightened face emerging from the darkness. It was ghostly pale.

‘Where is it?’ I shouted. I should have deafened her, but my words only just reached her.

She shook her head. Her eyes were darting over my shoulder, though I doubted she could see much. I know I couldn’t.

My breath was slowly coming back to me, lungs expanding gratefully. I sucked the air in, practically hyperventilating.

‘We need to get back to Dougie,’ I yelled.

What was happening where he was, less than a hundred metres away? For some reason it felt as though Emma and I were trapped in a bubble, caught in a vicious storm that existed only where we were.

Emma nodded at me, stood up. Still with her fingers hooked into mine, she pulled me to my feet.

‘I can’t see it,’ she shrieked in my ear. ‘I can’t see anything.’

The wind picked up even more. It was tugging and pushing at us, pinning us in place. My hair was in wild disarray around my face and I had to snatch each breath before it was plucked away. I turned in the direction I thought our campsite lay, looking for the firelight, totally disoriented.

‘That way?’ I asked, pointing with a finger. It was hard just to hold my arm away from my body.

I saw Emma lift her shoulders up in a shrug. Then she let go of me. Reached up. Grabbed her shoulders. Opened her mouth, lips moving to form a question, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Then she was moving. Up. Away from me. Up.

I realised what was happening at the exact moment she did. I reached for her as she reached for me. I screamed as she screamed. Our fingers fumbled against each other, scrabbling for a grip. I felt my skin tear as Emma’s nails hooked into my knuckles, dug in. They wrenched deep, bloody gouges as they were torn away.

‘No!’ I threw myself forward, grabbed handfuls of her cardigan, her jeans. Still she continued to slide away from me. In a last desperate bid to hold on, I jammed her foot under my arm, clung to her leg. She was lifted higher and higher until my own feet were struggling to feel the sand beneath them. I held tighter as I was hoisted into the air, but Emma was writhing frantically and it was almost impossible to cling on.

Then something warm and wet sprayed my face. Startled, I jerked my head back, loosened my grasp just for a heartbeat. Emma’s kicking foot slipped through my grip and I was falling again. Crashing back to earth as she soared unnaturally into the sky.