Page 44 of Curse of the Stag's Eye
Dawn ran her fingers through her blonde hair. “So there never were any witnesses who saw Jessop boarding the boat back to America? Mr Squirrel lied about Baines being strangled, too, but I suppose nobody’s going to carry out an autopsy on an old lighthouse keeper. He spread rumours and lies. But why bother making all that up? He knew Baines and Jessop were gay, why not just tell people? Wouldn’t it have been scandalous enough without making up a murder?”
“That’s the thing about gossip — it’s got to be fun to talk about,” I said. “Exciting. People back then didn’t like talking about gay men. It was all talked about in code, in euphemisms, if at all. No, Mr Squirrel had to be sure that people would want to talk about Baines and Jessop, and what’s a juicier bit of gossip than a murder?”
Rhys spoke quietly. “There's always people like Mr Squirrel around. Always has been and probably always will be.”
I sighed. “Mr Squirrel hated Baines and Jessop enough to sully Jessop's name for all of history. To sully what they had. He hated what they were.”
“And that’s what the curse of the Stag’s Eye latched on to,” Dawn said. “I know it. Ifeltit. It used his hatred as a doorway into his soul, driving him insane for no reason other than to punish the custodians of the thing that replaced the Eye. It would have done the same to Baines or Jessop if it could have.God, how many other keepers were influenced by it over the years? No wonder this place had trouble keeping staff.”
“But we saw him on the bridge with a hammer,” Rhys said.
I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket. “With this hammer! This fell off the bridge two hundred years ago and landed in the lighthouse tonight. Bloody hell… He was shouting up at the Stag’s Eye. He was going to smash it, wasn’t he?”
“Only the Eye wouldn’t let him,” Rhys said. “It pushed him too far and Mr Squirrel started to push back. So it killed him. It killed him and his ghost is still here, blaming Baines for his death.”
“But why blame Baines?” Dawn asked.
“Mr Squirrel must have realised that it was his hatred of Baines that let the Eye get its hooks into him in the first place,” Rhys said.
“No wonder Baines can't rest,” I said. “No wonder he's so angry. He’s being tormented in death by the man who tormented him in life. And people have it all wrong: William Jessop didn’t kill Howard Baines. They were lovers.”
Chapter 25
After my experience atthe cliff edge, we all decided we needed a break. Dawn took herself off to the toilet to splash some water on her face while Rhys and I went back to the keeper’s cottage.
“You were right.” I sat on the sofa. I didn’t care if it was for display or vintage or whatever. I needed a proper sit-down. I kept my boots on the threadbare mat.
Rhys sat on the armchair facing me.
“You were right about it all,” I said again, more to myself than to him. “You weren’t lying.”
Rhys frowned. “Lying about what?”
I cleared my throat. It was time. I had to come clean. “I’m a friend of Rebecca’s.”
He studied my face, trying to remember. “Oh. Her from the pottery studio? In Birmingham?”
I nodded. “She moved into that studio and felt uneasy straight away. She told me about it and I told her she was being silly. It was just nerves. She’d left her husband, her old job. She was starting a new life, a new business— it’s scary, and her mind wasjust, you know, externalising it or whatever. Finding a way to cope with the stress of it all. Anyway, she didn’t believe me.”
Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “Even with your definitely expert professional explanation?”
I glared at him. “She found you on Facebook and got you to come to the studio.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I spent the whole night there. I never actually saw anything, but I could feel a presence. The locals said it was haunted by the spirit of a butcher who’d died there in the early 1900s when the place was a flesh market. I spoke to him and helped him to move on. Or I tried to anyway.”
“You scared her.” I crossed my arms. “With all your talk of unhappy spirits lingering about.”
He held his hands open. “But... it's true. It's what I found. I did her up a proper report and everything. I took her through it all. She said she was fine with it.”
“Of course she did — She just wanted to get rid of you. But it was me she came crying to, saying she couldn't go back to her studio. That place was her dream, and you ruined it for her.”
He clambered up to his feet, tucking his shirt into the back of his waistband. “Hang on, I didn't ruin anything. I just told her what I found. It’s not my fault the place was haunted. I had to be honest with her, didn’t I?”
I exhaled, loudly. “I know that now, but I didn't then. I thought you’d made it all up to get some money out of her. Pretended to do an exorcism or whatever.”
“I don’t do bloody exorcisms, I’m not a bloody priest! And I don’t make things up to frighten vulnerable women.” He paced about, then suddenly stopped. “Hang on a bit. Is that why you came here tonight? To prove I was lying? To prove that I fake all this stuff for, what, financial gain? For kicks? Bloody hell, Gaz. I can't believe I was starting to...”
“To what?”
