The Stalker

by Sarah Alderson

  When we first started dating, I didn’t have much experience. I’d only had two previous boyfriends, neither of whom had cared much about giving pleasure, only receiving it, and Liam had to take the lead. I was shy and self-conscious, and I still am to a degree, but much less.

  We make love against the kitchen table. Liam tugs at his belt and yanks down his trousers in his haste and I brace myself with one hand against the wall, hearing my own cries of pleasure as though they’re far away and belong to someone else. Only Liam’s hands gripping my thighs and his voice in my ear bring me back to the moment.

  When we finish, Liam pulls up his trousers and I hop down from the table on shaking legs. Liam pulls me to him and kisses me. ‘I love you, Laura Carrington,’ he murmurs against my lips.

  ‘I love you too,’ I answer, looking into the arctic blue of his eyes.

  How did I end up with him? What did I do to deserve it? I guess it was fate after all, like Liam likes to say.

  Liam takes my face in his hands and kisses me again, gently this time, and then suggests we head upstairs.

  In bed I lie beside him, listening. There’s no noise of traffic or sirens or car alarms blaring, but the peace and quiet is almost as deafening. It takes a while to adjust to the roar of it in my ears.

  I close my eyes and for the first time in months I manage to fall asleep without any problem.

  Chapter Six

  Day Two

  I’m awake before the sun and calculate that I’ve slept at least eight hours. I’m used to existing on much less – usually four or five hours at most – and normally in the morning when I wake up it’s like crawling out of a coma, dragging myself by my fingernails into consciousness. It takes a while on those days for the pieces of my life to rearrange themselves in my head and for me to remember what’s happened. I like that magical moment upon waking where, for a whole minute sometimes, I don’t remember that my mother is dead. I wish I could live in that space always.

  This morning though I feel different; alert, awake and with a sense of anticipation for what the day will bring. I haven’t felt like this in months and I hope that it lasts. I rummage through my washbag to find my anti-depressants. Now they’re starting to work, I don’t want to mess it up. I swallow two pills, as well as my contraceptive, and then, leaving Liam still fast asleep, I make myself a cup of tea. I slip out, mug in hand, to wander down onto the rocky beach in front of the cottage.

  The sun is rising and streaking the sky pink. There are only a few clouds and the day promises to be beautiful. I wonder what happened to the storm the boatman mentioned; for all his talk of storms and dark histories, nothing has materialised.

  I take several deep breaths of crystal-clear air and gaze out in wonder over the mirror-flat water. It’s hard to remember how black and foreboding the loch looked yesterday. Today it looks so enticing that I’m almost tempted to dip my toes in, though remembering how cold it’s meant to be I decide not to. I set my tea down and walk for a little while along the water’s edge, scanning the beach for rocks, gathering several in my arms before choosing a place above the tide-line and setting them down. I crouch down and build a small cairn, carefully balancing the rocks on top of each other until it rises to about knee-height.

  As the sun starts to rise higher, I return to get my tea and then I sit in the sunshine and close my eyes, lifting my face to the breeze, and letting my thoughts drift to the future. It’s not something I’ve been able to do in months. I think about the six days Liam and I have ahead of us on the island and then my mind leaps ahead, beyond the honeymoon, and I start to think about how I’ll manage returning to the real world. I told Liam I wasn’t sure about returning to work, that I wanted a bit longer, but I wonder if I’ll be able to go back sooner after all. I’m definitely starting to feel a shift, and the truth is that I miss working. I miss the banter with colleagues, and I miss being around animals and feeling like I’m making a difference. I want to go back. It’s just a case of making it happen.

  Footsteps crunch across the pebbles at the top of the beach. I open my eyes and turn around to see Liam walking towards me. I wave and he comes and sits down beside me, putting his arm around my shoulder and kissing me on the temple. ‘Morning,’ he says.

  ‘Morning,’ I reply as he steals my mug and takes a swallow of my now lukewarm tea.

  ‘I woke up and you were gone. I was worried,’ he says.

  I shake my head at him, amused. ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ I tell him. ‘You didn’t need to worry. Where am I going to go?’

  He yawns, staring out over the loch. ‘Wow, this is beautiful,’ he says, taking it in.

  ‘It is,’ I agree. The sun is out today and already I’m feeling too warm in my sweater.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Liam asks me.

  ‘Good,’ I say, with a nod.

  He narrows his eyes at me a little, as though wondering if I’m being honest. I smile reassuringly. ‘I slept really well,’ I tell him. ‘Must be all the fresh air. What about you?’

  He nods. ‘Same. Out like a light.’

  He notices the cairn of rocks and pebbles further down the beach. ‘Did you do that?’ he asks.

  I laugh falteringly. ‘Yeah. A little memorial for my mum.’ My stomach clenches as I say it and my throat constricts with that acidic tightness I’ve come to expect when I think of her. ‘She’d have liked it here,’ I say sadly. I really wish we’d made that trip we always talked about.

  Liam frowns at the mention of my mum. Not wanting to put a dampener on the mood, I squeeze his hand. ‘Shall we get breakfast?’ I say.

  Liam nods. ‘Yeah. Then I thought we could go for a walk.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ I smirk. ‘To find the barrow?’

  ‘Why not?’ he laughs. He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, and we head back to the cottage where I rustle up a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. I manage to eat a few mouthfuls, which is encouraging, though my stomach has shrunk and I’m very quickly full.

  Liam’s impatient to get going and make the most of the sunny weather, so I hurry upstairs and pull on a jumper – a blue cashmere that’s butter-soft and brings out my eyes.

  ‘I like that colour on you,’ Liam says when I come back down.

  ‘Well, you’ve got good taste,’ I joke. He’s the one who bought it for me after all.

  ‘I do,’ he says, winking at me.

  We leave the cottage, Liam locking the door behind us, and stroll along the beach. Eventually it peters out and we’re forced to head inland into the woods on the western side of the island that lead toward the cliffs.

  ‘So, what are we looking for exactly?’ I ask Liam as we make our way through the woods.

  ‘They’re usually raised mounds of earth, and sometimes they’re topped with stones, a bit like the cairn you built on the beach,’ he says eagerly. ‘This one is from around the sixth century. It’s where the ancient tribes, the Picts and the Celts, used to bury their dead.’

  ‘So, it’s a grave?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah’ Liam replies.

  ‘Right,’ I say, not sure why anyone would want to go looking for an ancient gravesite, but not wanting to mention that to Liam as he’s obviously desperate to find it.

  ‘Often, when Christianity first arrived in a place and took hold, the church would build on top of what had been pagan sites of worship,’ Liam explains. ‘So, I’m thinking that the logical place to look would be around the area where the medieval chapel is. It was marked on the map.’

  I follow him as he strides through the woods, on a mission to locate the chapel. He’s so keen that I have to hurry to keep up with him.

  ‘Who’s buried in the barrow?’ I ask.

  He shrugs. ‘No idea. But probably someone important. The Picts and the Celts didn’t always bury their dead; I read somewhere that they left criminals’ bodies out in the open to be eaten by animals and the elements. So, people who were interred in the barrows were likely VIPs – kings or priests – but
no one knows for sure.’

  I muse on that, wondering if women were ever considered important enough to be laid to rest with any ceremony. Probably not.

  ‘Did they bury people with treasure, like the Vikings did with their dead?’

  ‘And the Romans,’ Liam adds. ‘I think so, yes. There’s evidence they carried out human sacrifice too,’ Liam says, really getting into the topic. ‘The victims were usually people who’d done something bad like betrayed the tribe or committed treason. The tribe would offer them up to the gods. They’d torture them before they killed them, apparently. Stab them multiple times, even disembowel them, and let them bleed to death.’

  I glance at him askance, pulling a face. ‘That’s horrible.’

  Liam laughs. ‘I forget sometimes that you have a delicate constitution.’

  And I forget sometimes that he’s become immune to horrible deeds and gruesome acts of violence, thanks to all the crimes he’s seen. I suppose if you’re around it for so long, get to witness the worst that people are capable of, you probably do develop a thick skin and become inured to it all.

  ‘It was just a different justice system back then,’ he comments. ‘There were no police or juries or judges. It made sense to them; acted as a deterrent. An eye for an eye and all that. The safety and survival of the tribe depended on it.’

  I nod. I know that Liam thinks our current legal system is a joke, and that a lot of criminals get away with murder, often because of technicalities. He doesn’t think jail works as a deterrent at all, and he’s even told me that he believes in capital punishment for the worst offenders. It’s something I find hard to wrap my head around but, then again, I suppose he is closer to it than me: sees the lives these people ruin. And maybe some people are so evil that rehabilitation is impossible, and death is the best option.

  ‘So how do you know all this about the barrows and the Picts and the Celts?’ I ask Liam as we walk through the woods, heading for the chapel.

  He shrugs. ‘History was always my favourite subject at school. The only one I got an A in. This way,’ he says, darting between some holly bushes.

  I follow him into a small clearing, within which stands a remarkably intact stone chapel – though it’s weighted down by ivy, the windows are mostly all smashed and weeds sprout between the stones. It must have been rebuilt many times over the years as it looks more Victorian than it does medieval.

  It isn’t as creepy as the castle, because it isn’t in such a state of decay, but sitting as it is, shadowed by trees, and seemingly derelict with its broken windows and moss darkening the brickwork, it couldn’t exactly be called inviting either. It has a forlorn sense about it, something that the tumbledown gravestones, which are scattered around and partly hidden among the undergrowth, only help to emphasise.

  Liam stares up at the chapel. ‘We could have got married here,’ he says.

  I glance at him wondering if he’s joking, but he doesn’t appear to be.

  ‘It’s a church,’ I say, surprised. ‘You said you didn’t want to get married in a church.’

  ‘I just didn’t like the idea of being married by a priest or a vicar. And I don’t believe in any of those silly rituals. But I like the setting,’ he explains.

  I take in the grim and unappealing chapel, not sure what there is to like about it. It’s more horror movie than romcom. ‘I’m not sure people would have come all this way,’ I say.

  ‘Well, it’s not like we invited anyone much to the wedding,’ he says. ‘Apart from your mum.’

  I nod. Fair point. Liam’s mum is dead and he never knew his father, and because he moves around a lot for work and was new to town he didn’t have any local friends, so we decided to keep it small, with my mum as one of the witnesses and the registry office providing the second one.

  Liam heads off to explore and search the woods for the barrow and I wander among the fallen gravestones, kicking away brambles and nettles. Most of the grave markers are crooked and the words etched on them have been eroded by time and the weather. I can make out some dates, mainly from the 1700s and the 1800s, and the name McKay is written on most of them, from which I gather it must have been the family graveyard.

  Behind the chapel I find two newer gravestones, dark grey granite with white writing carved into them. I step closer to read them. ‘In ever loving memory of Nancy McKay. Beloved mother, daughter, sister. RIP.’ And on the second stone: ‘Elliot Harrison McKay. Beloved son, brother and grandson. Loved and remembered.’

  I gasp in surprise. ‘They’re dead,’ I murmur to myself.

  I read the dates on the markers. Died November 25th, 2015. Elliot was nine years old; Nancy was thirty-nine. My heart breaks for them. That’s awful. I wonder what happened. Maybe they died in the fire? It seems the most likely suggestion. I glance around for a third gravestone marking Andrew McKay, but there isn’t one that I can see. Maybe he managed to get out. Though, of course, I’m only guessing. Perhaps they died in some other tragic way.

  I notice a dirty vase, tipped over on its side, and the remains of some dried flowers scattered over the ground. Someone obviously used to come and tend these graves, but they haven’t been for a while, by the look of things. I pull up some weeds and wipe dirt off the stones.

  In the wood I find some little pink flowers growing among the moss, and I pick them and place them on the graves, whispering a little prayer as I do. As I finish, I hear Liam calling my name and I locate him after a minute, standing some way off in the woods. I’m about to tell him about the graves I’ve discovered, but before I can he grasps me by the arm. ‘I think I’ve found it,’ he says, gleefully pointing at the grassy mound in front of him.

  ‘It looks like a hill,’ I say. In honesty, it doesn’t look like anything much.

  ‘Yeah, but look around here,’ Liam says, gesturing for me to follow. The other side of the hill is covered in brambles and Liam has ferreted a path through them to reveal a small arched doorway held up by giant stones. I peer into the darkness of the cave-like entrance but it’s too dark to make anything out and there’s no way I’m crawling inside for a better look.

  ‘Come on,’ says Liam, tugging at my arm.

  ‘Inside?’ I ask, horrified at the thought.

  He nods and pulls out his phone to light the way.

  ‘Is that a good idea?’ I ask as he bends his head and takes a step inside the barrow. ‘What if it caves in?’

  ‘It’s been around for centuries, it’s not going to cave in,’ he laughs. ‘What’s the matter? Are you scared?’

  I nod and he grins, amused. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ he reassures me. ‘It’s only old bones. The dead can’t hurt you.’

  ‘Can’t they?’ I ask, and he looks at me funny. ‘I’ll wait outside,’ I say, backing off, but he takes my hand and pulls me towards the entrance.

  ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

  I sigh and let him lead the way into the barrow. Inside, the air smells loamy and dank, and it’s so dark that I can feel the panic start to breed in me like a virus, threatening to shut down my breathing. My thoughts swirl like a blizzard and all I can think about is being buried alive.

  Liam grips my hand tightly and drags me deeper along, and I glance over my shoulder at the shaft of daylight behind us, which is shrinking further into the distance with every step. ‘I don’t want to go any further,’ I say, digging in my heels. I’ve no idea how far back this tunnel goes or where it leads.

  ‘Just a bit more,’ Liam urges.

  A scurrying noise makes me yelp out loud. ‘What was that?’ I whisper, clutching his arm.

  ‘Probably a mouse.’

  He keeps on for a few more paces and then drops my hand so he can hold up his torch and shine it along the packed-earth wall.

  The light suddenly extinguishes, and I scream. ‘Liam?’ I whisper.

  There’s total silence to match the total dark. I reach for him but he’s not where he was.

  ‘Liam?’

  Ter
ror crawls up my spine.

  ‘Boo!’ he says, lunging at me and pulling me towards him.

  ‘That’s not funny,’ I say, annoyed, as he wraps his arms around my waist. ‘Let’s go,’ I say again.

  ‘OK, fine,’ Liam says. ‘You go, but I’m going to keep exploring.’

  I wrench my hand from his and hurry out of the tunnel as fast as I can, emerging into the daylight like a miner who’s been trapped below ground. Hugging my arms around my body and trying to rub some warmth back into me, I stand there for a minute waiting for Liam, wondering what on earth he’s doing in there.

  The trees creak in the wind and I whip around, suddenly feeling as if someone is watching me.

  I scan among the trees, my heart racing, wondering if I’m imagining it; my paranoia has been piqued by Liam’s prank. A branch snaps and a bird bursts out of the undergrowth, taking flight, and I laugh at myself for being so jumpy. It’s all that talk of ghosts and murders.

  Wanting to be back in the sunshine, I return to the clearing in front of the chapel and notice that one of the doors is slightly ajar. I push it open with my foot and peek inside. The flagstone floor is cracked, and the wooden pews are dusty and broken in a few places; some have mildewed hymn books still stuffed inside them.

  I enter, glancing up at the stained-glass window above the altar which is still intact. I head towards it. It’s a triptych: the first panel is Jesus dragging the cross, the second is the crucifixion, and the third and final panel depicts the Resurrection. It’s the only part of the chapel that’s completely untouched and sunlight streams through the glass, painting the flagstone floor with rainbows. I’m gazing up at it, mesmerised by its beauty – which feels like a contradiction inside this dark shadowy place – when I hear the door swing open behind me.

  I spin around to find Liam. ‘There you are,’ he says to me. ‘Why did you run off?’

  ‘I told you I didn’t like the dark,’ I tell him.