Curse of the Stag’s Eye (Haunted Hearts)

27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

11.51 p.m. Cellar.

D own in the cellar, the crates were just as we had left them. By lantern light, Gaz once again removed the loose brick from the wall.

I carefully placed the envelope in the cavity. "This is where Baines hid his letters. We saw it in the time slip. His ghost still checks it — We heard it the first time we were down here."

"Doesn't Baines know it's empty though?” Gaz asked. “He's the one who took the letters out of there in the first place. He’s the one who burned them.”

"Ghosts don't think the way we do,” I said. “I imagine being a ghost is a bit like having a recurring dream. You're aware to an extent but you're not in control. You just repeat the same patterns until something breaks them. Until a medium interferes, say. Or until they find a receptive mind to latch on to. Then they wake up, however briefly, and are capable of new things, new actions."

Gaz stared at me. "I want to help Baines but I hope none of that is true. It sounds horrible."

We returned the brick, making sure not to crush the letter, and then dragged the crates back into place. Everything had to be just as it was. I won’t pretend to understand how it works but it seems to me that above all a ghost is a broken record, playing the same bit of tune over and over again. I hoped that by giving him the letter — and with the added oomph from Dawn, our resident ghostbotherer — we’d be able to get him to the next verse.

We all took shelter behind an upturned kayak at the far side of the cellar. I didn’t fancy crouching down for God knows how long, but luckily Gaz found some stools under a dusty tarpaulin. We sat side-by-side, peeking out over the kayak towards the crates.

“How long will it take?” Dawn asked.

I shrugged. “Hard to say. He might not come back tonight at all. It’s not as if he appears every night.”

“Sunspots,” Gaz said.

“Moon phases.” I giggled a little. “No, stop that, that’s not the right mood.” I cleared my throat and closed my eyes. “Come on, breathe in and out. Slowly. In. And out.” I held my fingers together like a yoga instructor.

Gaz copied me as best he could but he said he didn’t feel any different for it. When we’d finished he spread his legs wider so that our knees grazed, just a little. “Can’t you do anything?” he asked Dawn. “Wake him up or charge him up, or whatever it is you do?”

“I would if I knew how!” She closed her eyes, pressed her fingertips to her temples, and strained very hard.

“Careful. You don’t want to pop a blood vessel.”

We waited for a sign — a footstep, a knock, anything to indicate that Baines had heard us.

Dawn threw her hands in the air. “We're running out of time. What are we going to do? Rhys?”

My throat ran dry. “I… I need time to think. I had an idea but what if… We need a proper strategy, mun. I don’t think we should just—”

Gaz laid his hand on my arm. “Rhys, stop, stop. Just breathe. You don't always need to have a plan. Just do what feels right. Trust yourself.”

“I trusted my gut about you but look what happened!”

“Hey, your gut said I was a decent person and despite one admittedly large blip, you were right, I like to think.”

“The blip being you lied about who you were.”

“He did what?” Dawn asked.

“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you everything. Never mind all that now,” I said. “Look, I trust you. Dawn trusts you. If you think you know what needs to be done, then do it.”

God, his eyes were beautiful then. Pale blue, and kind, so very kind. I lifted the lantern. “Okay. I think we should go for it.”

“Go for what?” Gaz asked.

I led them to the centre of the cellar. “Hold hands, you two.” I set the lantern down with a gentle tink as the yellow-painted brass of it touched the cold, stone floor. I turned a knob on the side. The flame lowered, growing dimmer and dimmer, and the shadows around us pulled closer and closer. The last of the light twinkled in Gaz’s eyes and then was gone. We were plunged into total darkness. The room turned colder, I was sure of it. I kept thinking that Dawn had somehow sneaked away and was preparing to jump out from behind me. If she did that, I’d pop my clogs on the spot, I would. I reached out for her hand, then for Gaz’s. She gripped me like a vice while Gaz gently held my other hand.

“Right,” I said, “I think we’re going to need a proper invocation this time. We need to let Baines know we’re down here. And Dawn, I think you need to do it.”

“Oh God, not again. Why didn’t you say that before you turned off the light?”

“Because I didn’t want to give you a chance to back out.”

“Oh God, oh God…” I could feel her shaking.

“It’s alright.” Gaz’s voice was suddenly smooth as silk and warm as buttered toast. “We’re right here.” I realised then it was the voice he used for his sceptic podcast. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay,” Dawn said. “Here we go.” She cleared her throat. “Howard Baines, I’m talking to you. Specifically, I mean. All of us are here calling out to you to, like, say hi and let you know that we found a letter you didn’t know about? It’s in the wall over there? In your little secret hiding place? The one behind the loose brick. Thanks and best wishes.”

“Brilliant, that oughta do it,” Gaz said.

I told him to hush. “You did very well,” I told Dawn. “For only your second time.”

We stood in silence and darkness for a while, Gaz breathing heavily every now and then. I think it was his way of reassuring me that he was still there. Every so often, he’d lightly rub my hand with his thumb. I did the same. We stood there for I don’t know how long. My eyes had been playing tricks on me for a while, with splodges of purplish light floating around in front of me, like I’d see in bed right before I fell asleep.

“Listen.” Dawn’s voice startled me, though it had only been a whisper.

Something hit the floor by our feet. Then again.

“Ow. Something landed on my head.” Gaz tried to let go of my hand.

“Don’t let go.”

“Ouch.” Dawn squirmed. “Someone’s throwing things at us.”

What I took to be a pebble grazed my ear and landed on the floor. Again and again, more and more pebbles and stones came hurtling at us from the dark. We shuffled about trying to protect ourselves.

“They’re getting bigger!” Gaz said.

“And heavier!” Dawn said. “I don’t like this. Is this Baines?”

Before I could answer, a rhythmic thump of footsteps and the faint, echoing air of someone whistling came from above us. The hairs on my neck stood on end. The cellar door burst open and slammed against the wall. Electricity shot through my spine, making my whole body tingle. “Don’t let go!”

We all kept our hands firmly clasped as the temperature suddenly plummeted, causing us all to shiver uncontrollably. A waft of tobacco brushed over me, pungent but warming. My teeth clenched like a vice at the screeching of the crates and the rumbling scrape of the brick being pulled from the wall. My heart thumped like it was trying to burst free. From all around us, a sweeping light, not unlike the lighthouse beacon, stung my eyes and I tried to turn away.

Dawn whispered again. “Look.”

In the corner of the cellar, by the crates, stood a man, an older man in a navy-coloured overcoat and cap, with deep-set wrinkles in his forehead and bushy sideburns. Distinguished, imposing, rugged. Howard Baines. I had to crane my neck to see him, but see him I did. I swear I could have reached out and touched him. He stood lit against the dark, like an actor on an empty stage.

He smiled to the stairs where another man stood. This one stocky with little, oval, copper spectacles, wearing a linen shirt and trousers, held up by braces, and a duck-egg blue cravat about his wide neck. William Jessop. Just as he had looked in the visions, or the time slips, or whatever they had been, but older, softer, and entirely grey-haired. He waved to Baines as he had waved to me when he’d climbed naked from the sea and stood on the island’s antler.

Baines crossed the room, carrying with him a charge of static electricity that coursed through each of us. But as he took to the first step, a ring of dark clouds gathered, spinning faster and faster until it reached out and stopped him. The air turned putrid as the cloud grew denser and denser until finally it took the form of yet another man. A thin man with cruel eyes, a wispy beard, and ink-blackened fingertips.

“It’s Mr Squirrel.” I think I said it aloud but I didn’t feel my mouth moving. I didn’t hear my own voice. The whole cellar had slowly filled with a sort of soundless ringing, a pounding in the air, a resonating vibration that shook my eardrums and made my eyeballs wobble in their sockets.

The spirit of William Jessop looked longingly to Baines, eyes gentle and loving. Baines scowled at Mr Squirrel.

My whole body vibrated. We needed to act but what—

“ Howard Baines! ”

I flinched when Gaz shouted.

“You have to forgive him,” Gaz said. “You have to forgive Mr Squirrel. I know it's hard. I know what he did to you. And to William Jessop. I know he didn't approve of your and Jessop’s life. I know he told everyone that Jessop murdered you. I know he’s tormented you for these past two hundred years.”

The whole time he talked, Baines never once looked away from Mr Squirrel. His face contorted further and further, the hate twisting Baines’ face.

“But he's not responsible. Not entirely. It's the stone. The Stag’s Eye. It took hold of him after you died. Those circles he drew, those eyes, on paper, in coal dust — he can't help it. The Stag's Eye took his hatred of you and used it, twisted it, and bent him to its will. It wants revenge. Revenge on those who usurped its purpose of guarding against the sea.

“The only way to break its hold is to forgive him, Baines. I know it’s a lot to ask but we know the truth now. We know what he did. We know William Jessop wasn’t a murderer. We know you loved him, and he loved you. We’ll clear his name. We’ll tell your story, I promise you, we will. But for you all to move on, you have to forgive Mr Squirrel. You have to let him rest.”

Baines finally turned his head towards us. The anger drained from him like water from a tap. Gradually, he reached out and gingerly touched Mr Squirrel’s shoulder. Mr Squirrel hesitated, hung his head low and without a word, he nodded and slowly ascended the steps. He walked past William Jessop, climbing higher and higher, until swallowed wholly by the light.

Smiling broadly, cheeks dimpled and eyes sparkling like diamonds, Howard Baines took William Jessop’s hand and together, the two men — lovers in life and separated in death — ascended the staircase, became enveloped in the brilliant, warm glow, and were gone. The light faded to nothing.

Before we could take a breath in the intense silence that followed, a deafening thunderclap shattered the peace, loud enough to make Gaz, Dawn, and I break our circle and cover our ears. I fumbled for the matches in my pocket and lit my lantern. I held it up to make sure everyone was okay.

The mood in the cellar shifted, the air turned lighter, and the vibrating pressure had gone. Nobody said anything. What could we say? Gaz crouched down and retrieved something from the floor. The envelope, open, its seal broken, and next to it the letter, unfolded.

He read it aloud. “My dearest Howard, I know you were expecting me to arrive on the Branwen and I cannot imagine the disappointment you have felt to receive this letter instead. To begin with, let me state that you have nothing to fear. Our plan to find a quiet house in the Welsh countryside will not come to pass but, oh, my darling, I have such wonderful news. The market has recovered and I have sold my shares for more than ten times their initial value. I have been able to purchase a tract of land with a house on the coast, far away from prying eyes. Only not a house. A home. A home for us.

“I know this last year apart has been difficult and our letters have been both a vital lifeline and a poor substitute for us both. But with this letter, you will find money, enough to pay for a ticket to America. Come to me, my love, as soon as you are able. Come away from that lighthouse, from that vile, poison-tongued Mr Squirrel, from that wretched, all-seeing Eye on the hill. Come away before the curse of that place gets you. I will have a fire in the hearth, and food on the table waiting for you. All our dreams have come true, Howard. At last. Yours always, William.”

On the floor lay some dollar bills, scattered where they fell from the envelope.

“It… it was his lover,” Gaz said, his voice catching. “Baines was expecting his lover to be on the boat. He watched that boat crossing the Atlantic for months, carrying their letters back and forth. Baines watched it sink, with all hands lost. He thought Jessop had perished too. It broke his heart. It killed him.” He spoke with tears in his eyes. “William Jessop may not have ever known what happened to Baines. He might not have written again for fear of being found out.”

“Or maybe he did write again but Mr Squirrel intercepted the letters? Burned them?”

“It’s not fair.” Dawn’s eyes were damp. “Why did they have to go through all that? Why couldn’t they just be together?”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my free hand. “Because back then, people like Baines — people like me and Gaz — we didn’t get happy endings. We didn’t get happily ever afters. We had to live in secret. We had to be ‘confirmed bachelors’. We couldn’t arouse suspicion. It wasn’t safe for people like us. It wasn’t safe for Baines and Jessop.”

“On the day he died,” Gaz said, “Mr Squirrel found Baines up on the gallery.”

“Watching out for the Branwen ,” Dawn said.

“Baines thought Jessop was on board. He watched it sink. He burned all his papers and letters — all the letters Jessop had written to him from America,” Gaz said. “We saw that. In the visions. We saw him burning his belongings.”

“He blamed the Stag’s Eye,” Dawn said. “He blamed it for sinking the ship, for keeping him and Jessop apart. Then he staggered to his bed.” She held her face. “Oh God, that’s when he died. The same day as the shipwreck. A heart attack. A broken heart. Poor Baines.”

Gaz carefully held the letter. “William Jessop could have lived his whole life and died on that land he’d bought in America, just… waiting. And wondering. He certainly looked older on the stairs than he did in any of those time slip thingies.”

“It was in the paper,” Dawn said. “We saw it upstairs. An article about Baines’ death. About his murder. Maybe Jessop read about it? Or maybe he didn’t read about it and he came here, to Wales, to find Baines, to find out why he never got any more letters from him. Can you imagine? Journeying all that way, thinking something awful must have happened, thinking maybe your lover was dead, and arriving to find he was and people were blaming you for it. No wonder he was never heard from again.”

“That poor man.” Gaz covered his mouth. “Those poor men.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “They both waited a long time. But they’re together now. At last.”