Page 48 of Curse of the Stag's Eye
“We don’t know that for certain,” I said. “With clocks going back and forward, did they even do that back then? Maybe we’re a day early. Or a day late?”
“I doubt very much if the spirit world runs on British Summer Time,” Rhys said. “I told you, there’s ritual to this. Pattern. It’s happening today and only today.” He held the letter out. “We’ve got to get this to Baines. Come on, we have to go back up to the lamp room. That’s where we saw him first, that’s where he’ll be. Up there.”
“No.” Dawn spoke softly. “Not up. Down.”
Chapter 27
11.51 p.m. Cellar.
Down 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.
