Curse of the Stag’s Eye (Haunted Hearts)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

R hys led us out of the museum, his shoes smashing on the gravel path, and past one of the two walled gardens.

I took my phone out, turned on the torch, and waved it across rows of flower beds, unplanted, covered with weeds, and scattered with detritus. Broken and discarded bits of wood, rocks, construction rubble, and old plastic barrels littered the space. The splintered prow of a small fishing boat stuck up from the earth. My torch cast eerie, vigorous shadows across the rough-hewn walls.

It seemed a waste to me. I assumed these gardens had been used by keepers to grow vegetables and herbs. Maybe they’d even been used just for recreation — a nice place to sit and read a book. I imagined that at some point, this garden had been someone’s pride and joy. Left to rot now.

Beyond the garden, the low wall ran along back towards the bridge. In the moonlight, I traced the winding steps up the cliff face, up to the car park, and up to the standing stone with its lone, unblinking eye — on guard, attentive, and observing everything we did on its island.

Rhys called out to me. "I hate to be a pain but we're on a schedule, Gaz."

I sauntered around the corner to find them waiting at a green gate. "What's the hurry? We're here all evening, aren't we?"

Rhys undid the latch and the gate swung open, clattering against the weathered wall. Ahead of us stood the coal shed. From the outside, with only a handful of slate tiles missing from the roof, the shed appeared to be in reasonable condition and resembled a quaint cottage as much as anything else. Inside, however, was a different matter entirely.

My nose wrinkled, as the place reeked of a damp, earthy aroma, not unlike a forest after a rainstorm, or a peat bog. The floor was nothing but earth mixed with decades — if not centuries — of coal dust. The walls were bare stone, and the ceiling consisted of the exposed and rotting beams of the roof.

The glass in the single window remained intact but wind whistled through gaps in the frame. I peered out. Moonlight fell on a slender path separating the back of the shed from a low wall, over which was a sheer drop to the thunderous sea beyond.

“I should have worn boots.” Dawn picked her way carefully across the floor, trying to avoid the worst of the soil. She leaned on an old shovel and scraped the soles of her trainers against a rough stone jutting out from the wall.

Rhys pulled out his spiral notepad, ticked something off on his list, clicked his pen, then gathered us in a circle. “After he was hit on the head by a falling rock, this is where the keeper, Mr Squirrel, crawled to and died. There's supposed to be a feeling of being watched in here.” He paused purely for effect, I’m sure of it. “If there’s anyone here, can they let us know? Can you knock if you can hear us? Just once.”

Dawn hunched her shoulders, bracing herself for a response. Nikesh looked around, open-mouthed and eager. I kept my eyes on Rhys.

“Can anyone hear anything?” he asked.

“Only the waves,” Nikesh said.

I was already beginning to lose my patience. “What’s supposed to happen in here?”

Rhys all but whispered, trying hard to set an appropriate mood. “Some of the keepers who lived here said they often felt a presence in the shed. They said it had an oppressive air, and whenever they’d come in to fetch some coal, they would feel a pair unseen eyes burning into the back of their heads.”

“Well, I don’t feel anything.” I crossed my arms. I was trying hard to play along, I really was, but he wasn’t making it easy.

Nikesh checked the time on his phone. “It’s probably too early for any ghost to be up and about. Maybe we should come back later?”

“I don’t fancy walking about in this muck in the middle of the night…” Dawn lifted her foot to examine the dirt caked into her shoe. “Oh.” She pawed at her shoulder-length hair. “Something just hit me.” She glanced up to the rafters just as Nikesh flinched.

“Who threw that?” He bent to pick up a pebble. “It hit me right on the ear.”

I pointed up to the roof. “There’s probably pigeons up there. Or rats.”

Dawn trotted over to Nikesh. “Rats? I don’t like rats.”

“There are no rats.” Rhys held out his hands. “Well, there might be rats but I’m sure there are none in here. Now come on, I want to try something. Everyone close their eyes. Come on, Gaz, you too.”

Against my better judgement, I did it.

“Now, keep them closed and take a deep breath. Try to clear your minds. It should be easier for some of you than others. Sorry, I’m joking, I’m joking. Alright, now.” He spoke more loudly. “If there’s anybody here, can you please make yourself known? Touch one of us or knock twice.”

Nothing. Not a sausage. As I expected. “Maybe you should try it in Welsh so they—” Before I could finish, something scraped and clattered against stone. My eyes shot open to find the shovel that had been leaning against the wall by the door had slid down to the floor.

“Bloody hell!” Rhys sounded positively delighted. “That was good! Thank you!” He spoke to the air above his head.

I quickly checked for footprints in the dirt but found only Dawn’s from earlier on. “Dawn probably knocked it loose when she was cleaning her shoe.”

“Christ!” Dawn shrieked and pointed behind Rhys. “There was somebody there! A face in the window!”

“Was there?” Rhys sounded genuinely surprised.

We all piled out through the only door and hurried around to the gravel path at the rear of the shed but found no sign of anyone. Whoever it had been managed to make no noise on the gravel.

I leaned over the little run-down wall, as much as I dared. “If there was anyone, I doubt they went down there.” Folds of sandstone and shale peppered with tufts of hardy grass made a steep drop down onto jagged rocks and an angry sea, where the waves rumbled and rushed. The weather was turning.

“I’ve got goosebumps.” Nikesh rubbed his forearm. He was almost giddy. “What was it, do you think?”

“I don’t want to speak out of turn, Nikesh,” Rhys said, “but I suspect it was probably a ghost.”