Curse of the Stag’s Eye (Haunted Hearts)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A carpet of lush, velvety moss cloaked the tip of the blade-shaped megalith, trickling down one side like a flow of verdant blood. A circular hole ran through the stone, front to back, large enough to fit my head through, had I wanted to try. A good eight feet tall if it were an inch, the ancient standing stone loomed at the edge of the clifftop car park, facing outwards, overlooking the rolling, grey sea far below.

The white markings on the pitted tarmac had long since rubbed away but it didn’t matter. There were only two other vehicles there — a camper van parked near the exit and a small electric car a couple of spaces away from me. I sat for a moment, making the most of the warmth. Outside, the wind rustled the bare branches of trees lining the cliff.

Steeling myself, I grabbed my bag from the back seat and peered over the edge of the low stone wall. I inhaled the cold, briny air. The sea crashed against the cliffs stretching away into the distance on either side of me. It would be dark soon, not that it had been a particularly bright day. After a week of sunny weather, a grey gloom had stretched overhead since this morning, robbing the land of its vitality. Zipping up my jacket, I shuffled off down the rough track, my boots crunching all the way.

I flinched and paused as footsteps other than my own suddenly rattled around the cliff alongside the thunder of waves. I glanced behind me but found no one. Above me towered the dour standing stone. From here, the hole resembled an eye, an eye thousands of years old, unblinking, watching and waiting. I shivered a bit but gave myself a stern talking-to. It was much too early to start psyching myself out.

Around a corner and out of sight from the car park, the rough track gave way to a set of steps cut into the steep cliff face. An awful lot of steps.

“Four hundred and twenty-seven of them, there are.” He was waiting for me at the bottom, by the entrance to the covered bridge.

“I know.” I struggled to catch my breath after the exertion. “I counted every bastard one on my way down. I’m Gary Gilchrist, Gaz will do. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” I put on my best smile and hoped it appeared sincere.

“ Diolch yn fawr. ” He shook my hand, his grip firm and warm. He wore a gold signet ring on his little finger. “Rhys Maddocks. Pleased to meet you, too, Gaz.” He was a little shorter than my five feet ten inches, and his belly was a little bigger. At thirty-one — according to his blog — he was a year or two younger than me. He wore a beard, black and full, and a red and blue checked shirt tucked into his dark jeans. He had decorated his fur-collared denim jacket with various enamel badges. I spotted a few different pride flags, a Superman shield, and a Ghostbusters logo. One earlobe held a small black dot of an earring. “Do you know the others?”

The rest of the group who had tackled the steps before I did waved at me as I descended. A smiling, short blonde woman in her twenties and wearing a knitted cap with a furry pom-pom on top stood with her muscular boyfriend, both from Essex.

The boyfriend shook my hand vigorously. “Remember, his name’s Rhys like peace . I thought it was Rhys like pies .”

“Really?” Rhys asked. “It's not an uncommon name.”

“Well, maybe not in Wales, mate.”

“Don’t mind him; he’s just having you on. He’s Nikesh Mishra,” said the blonde woman. “And I’m Dawn, Dawn Chorus.” She held out her hand, palm down. I shook it.

“I laughed when I read your name on the sign-up form,” Rhys said. “I was expecting a drag queen!”

She cocked her head. “Why?”

He cleared his throat. “No reason. Shall we?” He already had one backpack over his shoulder and another two at his feet. I offered to carry one but he wouldn’t hear of it. Under a harsh floodlight, he unlocked the gate to the bridge. “We have the place to ourselves. I know someone on the board of the Trust that owns the island, she owed me a favour. I did an investigation into their head office last summer. They were having problems with an unwanted visitor. I soon put a stop to it.” He moved to lock the gate behind us.

“Is that a good idea?” I asked. “What if something happens and we need to get help?”

“I can always give you the key.”

“Unless you can’t,” Nikesh said. “You know. If the ghost gets ya.” He held his hands out as if to tickle Rhys around the waist.

Rhys fidgeted about, glancing up the hill towards the line of stark trees at the car park. “I suppose you’re right. There shouldn’t be anyone else around anyway. It’s off-season so they’re probably glad to have someone here keeping an eye on the place.”

Dawn smiled up at me. “Did you come on your own, Gaz? Not with your girlfriend? Or your wife, maybe?”

My brow furrowed. “I don't have any... I'm here on my own.”

She grinned and paced off, cat-like, closer to Nikesh. I couldn’t imagine what she so was pleased about.

I was often on my own. I liked the freedom to do my own thing. To do what I wanted, when I wanted. Being tied down never suited me. Would it be nice to come home to someone every evening and talk about my day? Sure. Would it be nice to have a meal with someone in front of the telly? Yeah. Absolutely. But did I want to constantly have to explain where I was going, what I was doing, what I was thinking? Absolutely not. I tried that life and it wasn’t for me. No, I was on my own which was just fine by me.

The covered bridge arched slightly and the pale blue metal of the side railings stopped at chest height to allow views out to sea. On a bright day, it must be spectacular but that evening was hazy, the sky and sea growing more and more indistinct, the one bleeding into the other. It gave the impression we were standing at the very edge of the world.

A series of thick glass panels in the floor of the bridge framed the chasm and the angry waves splashing far below us. I avoided stepping on the glass, just in case. Nikesh, in a display of bravery meant for Dawn, jumped up and down on each of them in turn.

Rhys couldn’t wait to tell us everything he knew about the place. “It was on the predecessor of this very bridge, on the night of the Great Storm of 1827, that a rock was blown off the cliff and struck the head of the keeper, Mr Squirrel. With blood pouring from his wound and drenching his clothes, while rain lashed his body, he crawled on his belly all the way to shelter.”

“Was he alright?”

“I won’t lie to you Nikesh, he wasn’t. He died in the night. They say when the conditions are just right, you can see the bloody handprint he left on this chain link.” He laid his hand on a huge loop of iron fixed to the rocks. “Try and lift it! Go on. Weighs a ton, doesn’t it? There used to be a rope bridge here, originally. They replaced it with this metal one in the 1980s. Much safer, it is.”

We each had a go at lifting the chain. I hadn’t come here to perform feats of strength, but I needed to play nice for the time being. I did my best but hardly budged it. Nikesh made a big show of heaving it up a few inches. Dawn laughed and clapped. My hand rusty from the ancient chain, I took a tissue from my pocket and wiped it clean.

Rhys pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Spiral-bound and periwinkle in colour, it had a picture of a cheerful cartoon ghost on the cover. He clicked his pen and checked his watch, a wind-up one with a large face. “Right, I’ve got us down to arrive at six p.m. on the twenty-third of October, which is fifteen minutes from now. Well done, everyone, for arriving early.” He ticked off an item on his list. I half expected him to give us all a gold star. “We’ll be ready to start exploring by ten past six, all being well. Come on, then.” He cheerfully clicked his pen again and tucked it away.

Rhys led us across the bridge to a little grassy outcrop barely bigger than a football pitch. Wedge-shaped, with one long, jagged promontory jutting out from one side, the island was smeared with grass and scrub. A misshapen lump of rock, it had a spine made from a crumbling, zigzagging wall running up from the bridge to a clump of thatched buildings and a dreary pale tower.He turned to face us, holding his arms out wide, like a circus ringmaster entertaining his audience. “Drink it in, everyone! This is going to be our home for the evening — Stag’s Head Lighthouse!”

Nikesh grinned like a Cheshire cat. Dawn frowned and forced a smile. I bit my tongue. Rhys’ enthusiasm was infectious, I had to admit, but I needed to stay focused. I just kept telling myself, over and over, that he was a liar. And I was going to prove it.