Page 23 of Curse of the Stag's Eye
“Oh, Rhys.” She gave me the exact look my mother gave me when I was five years old and I tried to make dessert for the family with wads of wet toilet paper and flowers I’d pulled from the neighbour’s garden.
“And what makes you think I want a chance with Gaz?” I asked.
“Because you’ve been making eyes at him all night. Because you're both single, because you're both gay, because you're both bears — I know all about bears — my uncle Tony is a big, beardy bear, lovely man. You might know him from the scene? So, why wouldn't you be interested in Gaz?”
I wrinkled my nose. “He's an outdoor gay. I'm an indoor gay. It would never work. He'd be all ‘let's go mountain biking’ and I'd be all ‘let's sit on the couch and play theLostdrinking game’.We wouldn’t last a week.”
“What's that?”
“You take a shot every time there's a flashback.”
She batted her long lashes. “I mean, what’sLost?”
“Christ, butt, you’re young.”
“I’m kidding, I know what it is. It’s some old TV show, right? And you’d like to play with him, wouldn't you? With Gaz.” She poked me in the ribs. “You would, wouldn’t you? Admit it.”
I couldn't stop my eyebrows from jumping. “Give over, you.”
She giggled. “I knew it!”
“Well, you are psychic.” I drummed my fingertips on the table. “I'm sure he's not your type but I think he’s gorgeous, to be frank with you.”
She giggled a bit. “He’s not exactly my type, no, but I can see it. He’s got a friendly round face — when he's not scowling, that is — a cute little nose, strong shoulders. If he had a full head of hair, I could be tempted. I know Nikesh is shredded, but I'm not averse to a cuddly dad bod. I love Nikesh's hair though. It was the first thing I noticed the night we met. I love running my hands through it when we're watching telly, or when we're in bed.”
“Have you been together long?”
“Oh, ages. Almost six months. And I'm not psychic. I'm a medium. Maybe.” She chewed her lip. “You saw what form it took? The spirit? When it first manifested?”
“A circle,” I said. “An eye.”
She turned to the window and gazed out across the island, to the bridge, and high above it, the Stag’s Eye. “I don’t like that stone. When the spirit was here, I kept”—she held her hands by her head—“kept seeing images of it. It was like I saw everything that happened through its eye.”
“What did it feel like to you, the spirit? When it was communicating? Did you, like, hear voices in your head, or was it like a little film in your mind, or what?”
She frowned, turning her head this way and that. “It's more like I got these...feelings. Impressions. Like I was remembering a snippet of a dream except it wasn’t my dream? Okay. Look. I once poured a bowl of cornflakes and halfway through eating it I found a bran flake, and I was, like,How did that get there? That's not meant to be there.And that's what it was like. It was a thought mixed in with my thoughts that wasn't meant to be there. It was in me but it didn’t come from me.” She chewed her lip again. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s hard to explain. I’ll tell you this much though: I’ve never felt anything as powerful as that. And I’m worried about what it’s going to do next.”
Chapter 13
I’d taken the stairstwo at a time. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, I just knew I had to get out, as fast as I could. Nikesh ran after me, carrying the shiny red lantern, making our shadows dance.
He slapped the rail with his free hand and chattered on and on. I darted outside to the garden and rested my arms on the wall. My breathing had gotten faster and all those stairs hadn’t helped. Between the lighthouse and the steps from the car park, I knew my thighs would be killing me tomorrow.
Away from the kitchen, away from the atmosphere of it, my mind tried to build a more plausible explanation for what had happened. A reflex, a defence mechanism, whatever it’s called. My brain furiously scrambled for something — anything — that could explain away what the billowing shapereallywas and allow me to go on living my life as I always had.
Footsteps echoed behind us as a very pale Michael shoved past Nikesh and ran outside. He stopped on the gravel and doubled over, trying to catch his breath in the chilly evening air.
“Alright, Michael?” Nikesh slapped his shoulder.
Michael flinched and stood upright. “No, I’m not alright. How can I be alright? Did you see that thing up there?”
“Well, no.” Nikesh beamed his best smile. “But I bloody well felt it, didn’t I? How brilliant was that?”
Michael shook his head so violently I thought his glasses would come flying off. “It wasn’t brilliant. It wasn’t brilliant at all. It was horrible. Justhorrible.”
“What’s the matter?” I asked him. “I thought you were a believer?”
He gnashed his teeth at me. “I only said that to get into Rhys’ good books. Last night, over dinner, he kept talking and talking about ghosts, and poltergeists, and curses. I thought he was just being a bit eccentric, but I played along. It was a relief when you found that speaker because I thought it meant he wasn’t insane, he was just playing a part. But that… thing. That cloud…” His hands dropped to his side. “It was real. Rhys was right. And he does this sort of thing for fun.” He rubbed his face. “Well, you can have him.”
