The Lighthouse Witches

by C. J. Cooke

  She sits a long time in silence, her elbows on her knees and her head lowered into the palms of her hands. It was a mistake to bring Clover to an Airbnb. Her training has taught her that children with traumatic backgrounds need to be watched carefully in case of dangerous behavior, that the environment needs to be controlled. In her own home, she’d have put all sharps, pills, and matches in a locked drawer. She has no idea where Clover found the matches, but it’s her fault that she did.

  It was a mistake to take Clover from the hospital. A mistake that could have cost them both their lives.

  After a while, she feels Clover approach. She raises her head to look at her.

  “Why did you do that?” Luna asks. “Why did you set all those clothes on fire?”

  Clover doesn’t answer. She stands in front of Luna with her arms by her sides, her face blank.

  “I’ll take you back to Inverness,” Luna says sadly. “I’ll call Eilidh, the social worker, and take you to the police station. I’m sorry I brought you here.”

  “No!” Clover says, stamping a foot. “I don’t want to go to Inverness! I want to go back to Lòn Haven!”

  Clover’s eyes fill with tears. She sits down on the grass in front of Luna and wipes her eyes.

  “Who are you?” Luna asks gently.

  Clover considers this. “I don’t know anymore,” she says, plucking a daisy. “Actually I do. I’m lost. That’s what I am.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” Luna can see she’s getting somewhere. It energizes her, the feeling that she’s making a connection. That some truth is coming out at last.

  Clover’s face softens. “I miss my mummy,” she says in a small voice. “I want to see Mummy.”

  “Where is your mother?” Luna says.

  “Lòn Haven,” Clover says. “She’s going to be so upset because I’m gone. I have to go back.”

  “What’s your mummy’s name?” Luna asks.

  “She’s called Liv. Her real name is Olivia, but everyone calls her Liv.” She looks up at Luna. “And she looks like you.”

  Luna nods, but she’s struggling to make sense of this.

  Clover sits down next to Luna, who flinches. She’s still scared that Clover’s touch will hurt her.

  “Mummy’s going to be worried about me,” Clover says.

  “Is that why you burned the clothes?” Luna asks. “Because you want me to take you to your mum?”

  Clover nods.

  “Clover, I want you to try and remember,” she says carefully. “Can you do that for me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “What do you remember last? Before I came to the hospital and found you. Who were you with?”

  Clover takes a deep breath. “I was walking along . . .”

  “Where?”

  “On the grassy bit.”

  “In a field?”

  Clover shakes her head. “The road was here . . .” She uses her hands to signal a road to her left. “And the grassy bit was here . . .”

  “Which road? Can you describe it?”

  “Um, it had some stones. And sheep.”

  “And . . . what happened? Did you get lost?”

  Clover picks at the grass in front of her, threading it between her fingers. “Well, I was lost for a little bit, but then the man took me in his car and we went to the hospital. And then you came . . .”

  “Clover, I need you to think back, right back to when you went missing. I know it was a long time ago . . . So, Mummy was painting the Longing. And then what happened? Did someone take you away?”

  Clover cocks her head. “Why would someone take me away? Did they think I was a wildling?”

  Luna reels. She bites her lower lip, trying to recall if she has mentioned this to Clover. She’s sure she hasn’t.

  “Where did you hear that word?” she asks carefully.

  “On Lòn Haven. Everyone said the wildlings lived in the Longing. I think they were hiding in the cave.”

  Clover’s telling the truth. Luna stares, her mind racing. “Which cave?” she says. “Do you mean Witches Hide?” The name comes rushing to her, a memory unloosening without her forcing it.

  Clover cocks her head. “The what?’

  Luna doubts herself. That was what it was called, wasn’t it? Witches Hide. Maybe she just made it up. “Witches Hide. That’s the name of the cave. Tell me about this cave, Clover.”

  “Well, first of, there were no witches in there. So whoever named it is stupid.”

  “You went inside this cave?”

  Clover nods, and she seems wary to reveal this. “Yes. But only because I thought Saffy might be there. And I wanted to find her.”

  Clover tells her it was dark. Nighttime. She went inside the Longing at night, looking for Saffy. She’d seen Saffy go inside there at night sometimes and she thought she might have been there. But she wasn’t. And then Clover found a hole in the floor and fell down, and when she stood up she saw she was in a cave.

  Luna’s mouth runs dry. She remembers this cave. She remembers falling down a long drop into it.

  “And then what happened?”

  “I ran through the cave, trying to find Saffy. But she wasn’t there.” She looks crestfallen.

  “And did you climb back up the long tunnel?”

  Clover shakes her head. “I found another way, where the sea was. I jumped into the water.”

  “So there was no one in the cave with you?” Luna asks. “No one who . . . hurt you?”

  Clover shakes her head. She must have forgotten, Luna thinks. The terrible wound on Clover’s hip didn’t get there by itself. Someone had to have hurt her.

  “Do you remember what happened after you went in the water?”

  Clover starts to look worried again. “I had to swim. But when I was on the beach again I couldn’t find Mummy. I thought she must have driven away because the car was gone. And I must have fallen asleep because I woke up and it was daytime. I walked for a long time and then the man came and took me to the hospital.”

  Luna considers this. I woke up.

  So Clover had amnesia. She’s forgotten—or blocked out—the bit in between entering the cave and being found by the farmer who took her to the hospital in Inverness.

  “And . . . the ouchie on your hip. You don’t remember who did that to you?”

  Clover pulls up her nightgown to look at her wound, as though she’d forgotten it was there.

  “No,” she sighs. “I really don’t know how I got that.”

  II

  It is decided—Luna will take Clover to Lòn Haven. Taking her to Coventry isn’t an option. She’ll go to Lòn Haven, to the place they had once stayed, to find her mother. If she isn’t found, then she has no other choice but to call Eilidh in Inverness and explain the situation.

  At Cromarty they drive onto the ferry, watch the mainland of Scotland slip away from them, and gradually, the triangular shape of Lòn Haven shading in the horizon.

  Luna feels a wave of vomit threaten. She’s already had to pull over at the side of the dock and throw up. She never, ever thought she’d return to Lòn Haven, and even now, she feels caught in a fever dream. The only thing stopping her from turning around is the mad kicking that the baby has launched into, squirming away as if to signal he’s still there. She feels the eyes of the ticket collector on her as she takes Clover to use the bathroom. He’d studied her credit card a moment too long when she passed it over to buy the ticket, and then he’d stared at Clover. She’d tried to tell herself that she was just being paranoid. But when she’d returned to the car, she’d spotted him again on the deck. He had his phone held up as though he was taking a photograph.

  She lifts her phone and finds Ethan’s last message, asking her permission to come and join her in Lòn Haven.

  Can you leave tonight?

  C
lover is like a different child now that she sees the signs for Lòn Haven everywhere. She chats nonstop about things that Luna doesn’t quite hear. When the ferry docks, Luna has to will her hand to turn the key in her car’s ignition. And in a moment, she has crossed the threshold—her first venture onto the island in twenty-two years.

  Lòn Haven is not how she remembers it. Luna recalls the white stem of the Longing sitting against the backdrop of the ocean on its rocky island, linked to Lòn Haven by a snaking causeway. She remembers the small village of Strallaig with its colorful row of shops, and the patchwork quilt of fields, green as algae and dotted with ancient standing stones, somber as monks.

  After driving up and down the road that runs along Lòn Haven’s coast, she stops at the old signpost for Strallaig and looks out at the tide washing up against the cliffs. There’s a dirt track that looks familiar, and a flat bank of rock. There should be a lighthouse here, she thinks, and a bothy with a garden at the front.

  She parks up and tells Clover to stay in the car. She gets out and walks gingerly along the track toward the cliff edge. Below, there’s an odd shape in the gray water, a rock that juts up out of the waves. But as a cloud passes from the sun, she sees it’s not a rock. It’s a jagged hollow.

  The remains of the Longing.

  She has to look three times before she’ll believe it. There are scattered remnants of the Longing’s lantern room at the bottom of the cliffs that confirms it has fallen. The staircase gone, her mother’s mural obliterated. Only the base of it left. No sign of the bothy.

  The destruction of the Longing disorients her so much that she drives through the village twice, looping around the east side and coming to a stop at the Neolithic site. There are new roads, new signs, a few expensive glass-fronted houses dotting the hillside. The Neolithic museum is still there, though much bigger than last time. Historic Scotland have evidently built a shiny new visitors’ center, with a driftwood sculpture of a deer at the front of the complex, a tarmacked car park with a play area for children, and a sandwich board announcing a new Italian restaurant. A long banner promises an exhibition of traditional island tapestries.

  She parks. A bright PVC board by the deer sculpture offers a map of the island and information.

  In 2018, Lòn Haven began experiencing extreme flooding and coastal erosion. Historic Scotland and CCF are working hard to delay and prevent further damage to the island’s historic artifacts, therefore some of the sites may be under construction and/or temporarily closed. Scan the QR code here for updates!

  She feels woozy. Everything is staggeringly, painfully different.

  They return to the site with the dirt track and the rocky bank. She pulls over to the bank and looks out at the remains.

  “I think we’re on the wrong island,” Clover observes, squinting out to sea.

  “We’re definitely on Lòn Haven,” Luna says.

  “No, we’re not. The Longing and the bothy should be there. And you see that hill?”

  She points to the right at the bell-shaped rise that Luna remembers sledding down on a tea tray.

  “There should be a cairn on the top,” Clover says. “Do you know what a cairn is?”

  “It’s a pile of stones.”

  “Exactly. And that one was called Camhanaich. Or it would be, if we were on Lòn Haven.”

  “It’s there,” Luna says. “Look. It’s Camhanaich.”

  She points to where the light reveals the outline of the cairn. Luna hears the confidence slide out of Clover’s voice, feels the shock slide into her as she realizes that yes, this is Lòn Haven.

  “But where’s Mummy?” Clover says, her voice breaking. “Where’s the Longing, and the bothy?”

  “Let’s go and find out.”

  III

  They drive around the island for hours, searching out places that they both might remember. Clover brightens when they reach Strallaig, recognizing a shop front that she expects to be an ice-cream shop and growing upset when it turns out to be a nail bar. They get out of the car and walk up and down the high street. There’s a small Boots store, a “Starbox”—someone’s attempt to pastiche Starbucks, including the green signage—a deli, and an art gallery. A group of blue- and pink-haired teenagers walk along the street, chatting and laughing.

  The back of Luna’s neck prickles. She turns, and a woman is there. She’s an older woman, Chinese, a heavy black raincoat and a pair of wellies. A blunt fringe hangs low over her eyes, and she frowns at Clover before lifting her gaze to Luna. It’s only a half-second glance and yet it seems to pose a question.

  Ling. One of Isla’s friends.

  But before Luna can approach her, she’s gone.

  Lòn Haven is at once familiar and foreign. Luna has moments of recognition, but they are so fleeting that she suspects she’s inventing them. Clover’s mention of their mother, Liv, residing on Lòn Haven has awakened the old hope that somehow her mother is alive. That somewhere, she’s searching for Luna. Waiting for her.

  She goes to the police station and asks about the Longing.

  “Burned down,” the officer at the desk tells her. “Years ago. The sea claimed what was left.”

  Luna’s eyebrows knit together. “Who burned it?”

  The officer leans across the desk, clasps her hands. “The owner, I believe.”

  “Patrick Roberts,” Luna says, and the officer’s silence confirms it. The man her mother was working for. The mural.

  “Do you happen to know why?”

  The police officer shrugs. “I was only little at the time. Probably an insurance claim, that’s what folk said.” She catches herself and clears her throat. “Anyway. He died inside it.”

  So he’s dead, she thinks. The sense of relief that comes with this knowledge is short-lived. Patrick might have had answers.

  She pulls out the photograph of Liv that her uncle gave her, then the Polaroid of Saffy, and asks the police officer if she’s seen either of them.

  “I’ll check our database,” she says. “But they don’t look familiar.”

  Luna buys Clover an ice cream as they wait. An hour later, she returns, and the police officer shakes her head. “I’ve checked the last ten years. Nobody matches those descriptions, I’m afraid.”

  The storm sweeps up again, waves towering against the harbor walls and storm clouds sending rain down like chain mail. The horizon darkens; Luna wonders if Ethan will make it up north as planned. She drives aimlessly, noticing how Clover seems consoled by being back on the island, however different it looks. Luna knows the calm won’t last long. She has to figure out her next steps.

  Darkness stretches across the sky, swift as a blind being drawn. Silver tendrils of lightning whip across the ocean, a low groan of thunder. In the distance, rain is racing toward them in sweeping chains. She drives back to Strallaig to find somewhere to stay for the night. A hotel, Lòn House, sits at the far end of the street, close to a car park and a new children’s play park.

  The room comes with Netflix and a menu for room service. She texts Ethan to tell him where they’re staying, then orders soup for herself and chicken pie with chips for Clover, who has fallen quiet. The room swells with sadness and disappointment. Tomorrow, they will head back to Inverness, where she’ll contact Eilidh.

  The food arrives, the smell of it making her mouth water. She and Clover sit at the small round table by the window. She pours Clover a glass of water.

  “Cheers,” Clover says, lifting her glass with a smile.

  The scene is heartwarming, and Luna finds herself lifting her own glass to toast Clover. “Cheers,” she says, clinking Clover’s glass with her own. It might be miserable outside, and she may not have found what she came for, but Clover is happier. As though she’s getting used to Luna.

  “What’s that?” Luna says, right as Clover holds a forkful of pie to her mouth. Something does
n’t look right. She lunges forward and takes the fork from her hand.

  A sharp turn of the fork toward the light reveals it—a shard of glass sticking up out of the pie.

  Quickly, Luna pulls apart the pie and finds more glass. Smaller pieces. Less easy to detect. A minute longer and Clover might have swallowed one.

  “Why is there glass in my pie?” Clover asks.

  “I don’t know,” Luna says, a chill running clean up her spine.

  But she does know. She remembers the way the ticket officer ran his fingernail under her name on the ticket, then did the same to Luna’s. The way he looked at them both.

  Someone knows they’re here.

  LIV, 1998

  I

  I kept my word to Finn—I rang the island GP and booked the earliest appointment I could. Finn wanted me to drive back to England and go straight to the hospital, but I wasn’t ready for that. I could not, would not leap that fast, but I could manage to speak to a GP locally. The GP only came to the island three days a week, and the earliest slot was the day after. That was good enough for me.

  It was Halloween, or Samhain, as the Scottish called it. The girls had spent the day making costumes at school, transforming black bin bags, twigs, and pipe cleaners into witch costumes replete with brooms and cauldrons. They carved out turnips, or “neeps,” for lanterns. They’d also learned a special Samhain poem by heart to perform to the neighbors.

  Finn brought Cassie over and we painted the girls’ faces green before taking them in the car to the village.

  “When are you leaving?” Cassie asked as I painted her face. She was sitting in the kitchen, swinging her legs and holding hands with Luna, who was next in line to have her face painted.

  “We’re leaving in about thirty minutes,” Finn said.

  “No, I mean—when is Luna going back to England?”

  “Oh.” I bit my lip and flicked my eyes at Luna. Both girls were looking very sad.

  “Can you stay forever?” Cassie said.