by Amy Cross
“You don't?” He stares at me for a moment. “Well, sounds like there must be a story behind that. Everyone believes in ghosts unless something happens to change their minds.”
Chapter Four
One month earlier
“No,” I reply, struggling to support Mel as I finally manage to get her into her bedroom, “you're definitely drunk. You even -”
Before I can finish, she pulls away from me and stumbles across the darkness, finally bumping into her wardrobe and then collapsing onto the unmade bed in a fit of giggles. Reaching down, I fumble for the switch on the bedside table and manage to get the fairy lights turned on, and when I turn to look over at Mel I see that she's laughing hysterically at something. A moment later, she reaches out for her juggling set but misses, succeeding only in knocking her skittles to the floor. This, too, she finds hilarious.
“You okay?” I ask.
She doesn't reply. Whatever's causing her to laugh so much, it seems to be the funniest thing in the world. Downstairs, our other housemates can be heard bumping about, stumbling drunkenly from room to room. A moment later, I hear the tell-tale sound of the Playstation being switched on. I was hoping the party might come to an end after we left the club, but clearly it's going to be an all-nighter.
“If I'm drunk,” Mel says finally, propping herself up on her elbows so she can look at me, but barely able to focus, “then why aren't you?”
“It's just one of those nights,” I mutter, checking my phone and seeing that it's almost 3am. I should have come home hours ago, I knew I wasn't feeling it even when we were at the pub before the club, but I figured I had to stay once Mel started downing shots. After all, no-one else is going to keep an eye on her when she's that drunk, and I know from experience that she has a history of making very dubious decisions when she's wasted.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the desk, I unscrew the top and take it over to her.
“Here,” I continue, sitting on the edge of the bed, which creaks a little under my weight, “you need to drink this. All of it.”
She shakes her head. “I've got vodka in the cupboard.”
“That's great,” I continue with a sigh, “but water might be -”
Suddenly she swings a hand at me, knocking the bottle away until it hits the floor and spills across the carpet. At the same time, she stumbles to her feet and lunges at the cupboard, half walking and half swaying until she grabs the handle to steady herself; she turns to smile at me triumphantly, but a fraction of a second later the handle snaps off and she drops to the floor with a loud bump. Fortunately, I can tell she isn't hurt as soon as she starts laughing hysterically again.
“What's so funny?” I ask.
She giggles for a moment longer. “Did you see that woman in the club? The one who was staring at you?”
“No-one was staring at me in the club,” I reply, wanting to change the subject. Still, I have to be sure. “Did you see her too?”
“She was being totally obvious about it,” she continues. “Like, she was just standing on the dance-floor, ignoring everyone else and looking right at you. Did you really not notice her?”
“I guess,” I reply, relieved but a little confused. I assumed the woman was just another hallucination, but that can't be the case if Mel saw her too.
“Maybe she fancied you,” she suggests.
I roll my eyes.
“She looked pretty intense,” she continues. “Did you see what she was wearing? Like... rags, really. I guess some people were dressing up for the night.”
“You really need to sleep,” I point out, hoping to avoid being led down another of Mel's conversational rabbit-holes. Even when she's sober, she can talk for England; when she's drunk, she can easily keep going until dawn if she doesn't pass out first. Sometimes I'm in the mood for that, but tonight I feel as if there's been a hand on my shoulder all the time, keeping me from really joining in with the fun. “Your parents are coming to get you tomorrow, remember?” I continue. “How do you think they'll react if you're all green around the gills and hungover?”
She rolls onto her back and stares up at me, and for a moment the flashing, constantly changing fairy lights cast a more serious, shadowy expression across her face. It's not the first time I've seen this expression tonight; it seems to have flickered across her features pretty regularly, as if she's drinking and pretending to have fun so she can ignore something else, something deeper and darker in her soul. All the jager-bombs and shots were her way of pushing through the sadness of what tonight meant. Maybe I should have tried that.
“I don't want them to come and get me,” she says finally.
We sit in silence for a moment. I know what she means, and I feel it too.
“I just don't,” she continues. “Like, not ever. How did these three years suddenly go... whoosh!!! How did they go by so fast? It seems like just yesterday we were all rocking up at the halls, ready to start our first year.”
“I know, but -”
“I don't want to graduate.”
“You've already graduated. We all have. Don't you remember the gowns and the silly hats last week?”
“But I want to stay here. I don't want us all to go off to different places.”
“We can't be students forever,” I tell her. “That'd be... depressing as hell.”
“I don't want to go into the real world,” she continues sullenly, placing her hands on her belly. “I've seen bits of it and it seems absolutely awful. I don't want to get a job and have to start paying back my loan and all that other stuff that proper adults do.”
I can't help but smile. This is basically a variation on the same drunken complaints she's been coming out with a lot lately. “You've got that internship, remember?” I point out. “At some finance company in London? You start next week, it's going to be great.”
“Why haven't you got an internship?” she asks.
“I couldn't find one that pays.”
“Neither could I, that's why I'm doing an unpaid one. It means living with Mummy and Daddy for a while, but it's a foot in the door. You should do the same.”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“I...” I pause, feeling as if I can't really explain. “I just can't. I need a paid job.”
She stares at me for a moment, as if she's lost in thought. “Well I don't want to go,” she says finally. “Sod it, I think I'll stay here, safe and comfy on my bedroom floor forever.”
“You can't. None of us can.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” I pause, trying to think of a way to explain it so that drunk Mel will understand. Sober Mel knows, but drunk Mel is more difficult. “Because we're done studying,” I continue finally, “and now we have to go out there and do something with what we've learned. We can't stay like this forever.” Glancing around the room, I can't help thinking back to all the good times we've had over the past two years in this house, after we moved out of halls. It's sad to think that life won't ever be like that again, but at the same time I kind of want to get on with making something out of myself. “Everything passes,” I add. “Nothing stays the same forever. Life's waiting for us. Don't you want to get started with it?”
“I studied Media Production,” Mel replies, “so why am I going to work in some stupid finance company? What's that got to do with anything?”
“Try having your degree in English Literature,” I tell her. “I've sent out nearly six hundred applications, and the only offers I've got have been for voluntary stuff. I can't afford to do that. The way things are going, I'm going to end up flipping burgers for the rest of my life, just to pay off my student loan.” Sighing, I feel a glimmer of hopelessness in my chest. “This isn't how it was supposed to be,” I mutter. “We were supposed to come to uni, take on all this debt, get our degrees, and then get actual jobs. Wasn't that the deal?”
“So let's stay here instead,” she replies drowsily, as if she's starting to fall asleep. “Screw the real w
orld. Let's just... Let's just be cool and hang out like this forever and ever, and...”
I wait for her to continue, but her voice is trailing off and a moment later she turns her head to one side.
And she 's done.
Typical Mel. She's out cold, mid-sentence.
“We don't get to stop the world,” I mutter, grabbing the duvet from her bed and taking it over to her. I make her as comfortable as I can manage, even tucking a pillow under her head, before switching off the lights and then stepping out into the hallway. Pulling the door shut, I flinch a little as I hear the guys playing video games downstairs, but somehow I really don't feel like going to join them. Tonight was supposed to be one last big party after graduation, before we all head our separate ways to start new lives in the real world, but I just haven't been able to get in the mood.
I guess it'd help if I had a job. A future. Everyone has found something, but right now I'm facing the prospect of moving back in with my parents while I scramble to find work, and this is the absolute grade-A nightmare scenario I'm desperate to avoid.
Once I'm back in my room, I push the door shut and head over to the desk. It's late, but over the past few nights I've gotten into the habit of sitting up searching for jobs online. I shake a couple of pills from the bottle and wash them down with water, while making a mental note to call my doctor soon and ask if I need to change the dose. Opening my laptop, I bring up all the usual sites and start sipping at a glass of water as I scroll through the most recent postings. I've been applying for pretty much everything I can find lately, but it's starting to look more and more as if the past three years have been a complete waste of time. It's not even as if I'm picky, but all these jobs look like the same unpaid 'foot in the door' positions and most of them -
Stopping suddenly, I see one that stands out from the rest. I frown, convinced that I've misread the title, but when I click through I find that it really is what it seems to be, and it offers an actual salary.
“Huh,” I mutter, leaning closer. “Lighthouse keeper?”
Chapter Five
Today
“I'm not saying I definitely believe in stuff like this,” Matthew explains later, as we sit on my bed and he uses a swab to wipe my palm, “but it's only fair to warn you in case it's something that bothers you. Full disclosure, yeah?”
I watch as the tip of the swab turns and collects tiny particles of grit from one of my cuts.
“I've been here at Culthorpe almost a decade now,” he continues, “and in that time, I've seen people come and go. Most only last one year before they run screaming back to civilization,some even quit sooner than that. This kind of job really isn't for everyone.” He takes a moment to turn the swab gently, gathering tiny pieces of grit from my wound. “Now, I've personally never seen or heard anything creepy, but I've watched what happens to some of the others.” He sets the swab aside and takes another from the packet, before dipping the tip into a small jar of clear fluid. “This might sting a bit, but it's important,” he explains. “It's to make sure there's no chance of infection.”
“I don't believe in ghosts,” I tell him.
“Really?” He eyes me with a hint of suspicion.
“When people think they see ghosts,” I continue, “it's just... Hallucinations, mainly. It's the mind playing tricks on them.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
I shake my head. “It's just obvious. People who see ghosts are...”
“Mentally ill?” he suggests.
“Troubled.”
“And are you troubled, Penny?”
I pause for a moment. Did he hear my pill bottles rattling around in my backpack earlier? “No more than anyone else,” I suggest.
“Yeah,” he mutters, “well no-one ever tells the truth about that kind of thing.” He smiles as he gets back to work with the swab, and he's right, it does sting a little. “People always lie when they talk about ghosts. They say they don't believe in them 'cause they're too scared to admit the truth, or they say they do believe in them 'cause they really really want them to be real even though deep down they doubt it. So if you say you don't believe in ghosts, that automatically makes me think you've seen one.”
“That's some interesting logic,” I reply.
“And that's an evasive answer.”
I flinch as he presses the swab harder.
“It's a good rule of thumb, though,” he tells me. “So are you honestly saying you've never seen a ghost? Not ever? You haven't even thought you've seen one?”
“I believe in things I can see and touch,” I tell him, skirting the question without necessarily answering directly.
“That's good,” he replies. “Maybe it means nothing'll happen around you.”
I flinch again as he continues to clean my hand.
“There's only two buildings on the island,” he explains. “This one, the bloody great, strikingly obvious tower with a bloody light at the top, and on the other side there's a generator hut. That's where Colin is now, he loves tinkering about in there. He's a bit of a loner, but... Well, each to their own, right?”
I smile, before gasping as the swab hits a particularly deep cut. I instinctively pull my hand away, before offering it back to him.
“So I've got no idea which bright spark decided to put the generator on the opposite side of the island,” he continues, “but quite often one of us needs to go over there, it's just a couple of miles but...” He pauses, watching me with caution as if he's waiting to see how I'll react. “Some people reckon that it can get a little spooky out there. Like when you're all alone and the mist is closing in, and you can feel the dampness in the air, getting under your clothes. There was this guy Tam who did a year out here a while back, and he actually claimed to have seen a figure in the mist, like a woman out there. I told him he was insane, but... Well, from the look in his eyes, I don't think he was messing with me. I think he really believed he saw her.”
“But he's the only one?” I ask cautiously.
“No, a few other people reckon they've seen shadows moving, things like that. Or my absolute favorite, which is when they reckon they can feel a presence nearby. I mean, what the hell does that even mean, right? If you ask me, most of the time it's just people wanting to see a ghost, but they can't bring themselves to pretend they've spotted something so they start making up all this rubbish about sensing things and seeing stuff out the corner of their eye. I mean, you either see a ghost or you don't, right?”
He pauses, pressing the swab against the deepest cut on my palm, getting a pale hint of blood onto the head. And then, suddenly, he leans down and blows gently on the wound.
“It's all rubbish, if you ask me,” he adds with a smile. “I've been out there loads of times and never heard so much as a dicky-bird. There's no ghostly old bint wandering the island, spending her time freaking people out. Or if there is, she steers well clear of me. Mind you, I wouldn't blame her for that.”
He fixes his eyes on me, and although I want to look away, I feel as if he's challenging me.
“We're all alone out here, Penny,” he continues, with a hint of intensity. “There's no-one else.”
I wait for him to continue, but for a moment we sit in silence, with the head of the swab still pressed against my damaged hand.
Suddenly there's a bumping sound from below, as if a door has been opened and then slammed shut.
“All alone apart from Colin,” Matthew adds with a smile. “Sounds like he's back, so I guess you two should meet. Get the ordeal over with. And then, you know what time it is, right?”
“What time is it?” I ask cautiously, as I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Well, it's your first night,” he continues, “so I reckon it's party time!”
***
“No way!” Matthew says, his eyes wide with shock, as he slips another CD from its case and sets it into the player. “You can actually just play music direct from the internet now?”
; “It's pretty easy,” I tell him, unable to stifle a faint smile. “Movies too.”
“So what about CDs?” he asks, tapping some buttons on the deck until an old R.E.M. album starts playing. “Jesus, I guess the world has really moved on while I've been sat out here for the past decade. I never really thought about how much everything might have changed. Out here, life's pretty much always the same.”
“You haven't been back to the mainland once?” I ask, sipping from my bottle of beer. “Not in ten years?”
“I never felt the need,” he replies. “Not until now, anyway. Jesus Christ, music over the internet. I guess it's gonna be a culture shock if I ever take another visit.” He takes a long, deep swig of beer, and then he gasps as he wipes foam from his lips. “To be honest, if I went back, the whole student loan thing'd be an issue again. At least no-one's gonna come knocking on the door of the lighthouse, asking when I'm making my next repayment. I'm happy hiding out here from the real world for a little longer while I consider my next move.”
“Sounds good,” I mutter, turning and looking across the room. It's pretty dark in here, with just a set of fairy lights lining the curved wall, but I can just about make out Colin sitting on a bed by the window, writing in an old journal. To say that he seems to prefer his own company is an understatement; apart from a polite greeting, he's barely even acknowledged my existence at all.
“It's not your fault,” Matthew says after a moment.
I turn to him. “What isn't?”
“Old Colin's a bit quiet,” he continues. “He's a good bloke, don't get me wrong. You can rely on him and he'll never let you down, and he's really good with machines and electrics, he's just kind of...” He turns and watches Colin for a moment. “He keeps himself to himself. Normally I can break through shyness or introversion, no problem, but Colin's turned out to be a tough nut to crack. This is his third year here, too, he's lasted longer than most. We're friendly to each other, there's never any kind of problem, it's just...” He pauses for a moment. “Well, most shy people come out of their shell if you coax 'em a bit.” He turns back to me. “Like you.”