by C. J. Waller
“Oh man, you crack me up. How long are you going to keep searching, Paul? If the truth is out there, I don’t see it banging on your door any time soon.”
“Hey! You're one to talk. This is your recommendation, remember? If it’s all made up bollocks, why are we here?”
As soon as the words were released, Paul regretted them. He wanted to steer clear of this and there he was, plunging headlong back into it all. Idiot.
Decker check his mirrors and snapped the indicator on. Ahead of them hung a sign – not the warped, battered mess he had been expecting, but a neatly painted banner that proclaimed: Fàilte a Dùisg a' Pheacaich.
Paul didn't have a clue what it meant, but guessed it was a welcome sign. Even with Decker's coaching, he still struggled to pronounce the name of the town – it sounded something like Dooshk uh fyechkeesch, but he wouldn't like to lay money on it – and so had asked him what it meant in English so he could talk about it without calling it 'the village' or 'that place'. Decker had looked uncomfortable, and for a split second Paul had feared he would shut him out again, which would then trigger another inevitable argument, but thankfully Decker had mumbled 'Sinner's Wake'.
Sinner's Wake. An odd name for a town, and a quick Google search hadn't dug up much, but it still played on his mind. Sinner's Wake. Who has sinned? And how? And what did it mean by 'wake'? Had sinners been awoken? Or did they go there to die? Was it all tied to the legend? And if so, how?
That thought sent a little shiver of traitorous excitement down his back.
“We’re here because we need something special,” Decker continued. Paul gave himself a little mental shake and focused back on his partner. “Do I believe there is something in the loch? I don't know. Chances are it is all just a load of old rubbish. But the legend is creepy, the people here believe in it, and that loch is beautiful in the most eerie, sinister way possible, especially after dark. And I figure that short of footage of Nessie herself, this is about as good as it gets for people in our trade. So that's why we're here, Paul. That reason, and no other.”
Paul wished he could believe him.
Chapter Two
“Woah, Decker… you weren’t kidding, were you?” Mags climbed down out of the camper and stretched. “This place is the real deal, isn't it? Backwater Central. Do they even have electricity here?”
She grinned as Decker aimed a fake punch at her, but it was a legitimate question. They spent a moment taking in their surroundings: no lights bordered the narrow cobbled streets, just small homes made of a drab grey stone capped with dark slate roofs whose chimneys dribbled soot and smoke. Only one other car was parked nearby, and judging by its numberplate, it had to be over thirty years old. The whole tableau gave the place a peculiar, lost-in-time quality, a feeling that was compounded by the thin mist that wreathed their feet and crept up the sides of the buildings. Mags shivered, her former ebullience forgotten. Paul knew how she felt. He didn't want to say anything that might offend Decker, but there was something off about this place – something creepy with a capital 'C'.
“One thing’s for sure, their mobile reception is shot,” Piers said, stabbing at his phone. “Not even a whisper of a connection. We’ll be lucky to send texts, let alone get any teaser footage up as we work.”
A curtain twitched in the window of a nearby house. So, there was life here after all. That should have made Paul feel better, but instead it only intensified the creepy vibe.
Someone was there, and they were watching them.
“That’s okay,” Paul said, trying to ignore the shudder that prickled its way down his spine. “We’re not doing any teaser footage this time. That unedited crap is what kicked us in the teeth last time. This time, it’s professional all the way. Our last chance with the TV suits. We’ve got to show them we can do this properly, or the deal is off the table.”
“Heavy,” Mags muttered, and everyone but Paul nodded.
“Heavy or not, that’s what we’ve got to do,” Paul said. “But first things first – we've got to find that guesthouse... what was it called, Decker?”
“Kelly's” Decker all but whispered. Mags' brow crinkled in question. Paul offered a short, sharp shake of his head in reply: I know. And no, I don't know what's bothering him. Just leave it be.
“Kelly's, yeah, that's right.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up and down the empty street. “Uh, which way is it?”
Decker sighed and pointed to his left. “It's up there. Last house.” Without waiting to see if his friends were ready, he heaved his pack on his back and walked off.
“Shouldn't we take the car?” Paul asked his retreating form.
Decker didn't bother turning around. “No. No parking and the roads are narrow. I doubt we'd get it through. Best leave the vehicles where they are.”
“A guesthouse with no parking?” Piers said. “Never heard of that.”
Neither had Paul, but he decided to leave that one hanging. With nothing else to do, they gathered their possessions and followed Decker up the road.
“Is he always like this?” Yolanda whispered. Paul shook his head, but said nothing. Thankfully, Yolanda didn't press the issue.
“So, what's the plan, chief?” Mags said. Paul could tell by the way she watched Decker that she was as concerned as he was, but knew better than to say anything.
“I guess we’ll unpack, freshen up and then hit the streets, see who might consent to an interview. We’ll go back to the loch tomorrow and set up cameras there. We’re going to do this properly, chaps. Like I said – professional. Any questions?”
At this, Mags burst out laughing, but it was an uneasy laugh borne out of a desire to lighten the mood rather than out of genuine humour.
“Come on, Paul – why so serious? Last time I checked, 'being professional' meant grabbing ourselves a beer and talking to people. Or as professional as you can be when you’re talking to people about demons living in lakes.”
o0o
Kelly’s Guesthouse lived up to the promise of the rest of the town. A drab stone building, it reared up before them like something out of a Hammer horror movie, which only enhanced the feeling of stepping into a time warp.
“Doesn't look like many people stay here,” Piers said. Paul could only agree. There was no sign, no star rating displayed and the curtains were drawn tight against the world. He'd never seen a more uninviting house in all his life.
“Are you sure this is it?” he asked Decker.
Decker nodded.
“Funny how there's a guesthouse here,” Yolanda said. Everyone looked at her. As the new girl, she hadn't really said much, much less offer opinions.
“Why do you say that?” Paul said.
“Well... it's a pretty remote place and judging by the lack of tourist tat, I'm guessing they don't get much in the way of visitors... so why have a guesthouse at all?”
“She's got a point,” Piers said. “Why bother?”
They all switched their attention to Decker, who just shrugged. “I don't know. It's just always been here, I suppose.”
“You ever remember anyone staying?” Piers said.
Decker mumbled something that might have sounded like 'not really' and started climbing the steps to the front door. No one questioned him; instead, they all trudged up after him whilst he heaved the door open.
Entering the guesthouse was something different altogether. Chintz covered every surface, complete with flowery wallpaper and a pervading scent of lavender and rosewater. There was even a sweet, grey haired Granny-type who looked up from the front desk and greeted them with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
“Hullo? Can I help you?” Her brogue was thick and melodious, full of heather and peat, but, like the town, there was something about her manner that didn't quite add up.
“Uh, yeah,” Paul said. “We'd like some rooms, please... we would have rung ahead, but we couldn't find any details to do so. Sorry.”
Mrs Kelly pursed her lips, but nodded a
ll the same. “Aye. I see. Well, we aren't exactly on the beaten track. Don't have many visitors, you know.”
“Right.” Paul didn't know quite what else to say. If they didn't have visitors, then why have a guesthouse at all? Where did they get the money to run the place? The only conclusion her could draw was people were strange, and who was he to question? After all, he chased lake monsters for a living. Before he could say anything, Yolanda piped up.
“You don't have any visitors?” she asked. “Not even people looking for the monster in the loch?”
Paul froze, as did the others. Lesson #1 in dealing with the locals: get comfortable, ingratiate yourself and then ask questions.
Mrs Kelly stiffened.
“Oh. I see. You're out after that, are you? Well, I'm not here to stop you, but I would say you're wasting your time.”
“We are?” Paul said, cutting across Yolanda before she could wedge her foot any deeper into her mouth.
“Aye.”
He paused, inviting her to elaborate, but she didn't oblige.
“Well, we're also here because this is a beautiful place,” he continued, hoping to warm the chill in her eyes. “Decker is from this part of the world – he was the one who told us about you, so, uh, if you don't mind... could we book some rooms? Please? We don't mind sharing...”
He trailed off. Mrs Kelly's face had hardened to something resembling granite.
“I see. So, what do we have? Two ladies, three gentlemen... I suppose I can do that. But you are going to have to share, mind”
“That's fine, Mrs Kelly – as I said, we don’t mind sharing,” Paul said, offering her his most winning smile. She narrowed her eyes just long enough for him to realise this tactic wasn’t going to work and it was probably worth knocking it off before she threw them out.
“I suppose I've a nice suite for the ladies, and for you gentlemen, three adjoining rooms with a shared bathroom,” she said brusquely. “Does that sound all right to you?”
“That sounds fine,” And even if it wasn't, he wasn't going to say so. “Do you serve dinner?”
“Aye, well, I guess so. Nothing fancy, mind you. Just good, honest fare.”
Paul rubbed his hands together. “Good honest fare sounds just what we're after, Mrs Kelly. Thank you.”
If she heard him, she made no indication. “The tea rooms are along the hall and to your right. Frank here will help you with your bags, and I hope you have a lovely stay.” By the way she spat that out, Paul doubted she meant it. Note to self, he thought. Next time, ring ahead. Always ring ahead.
A wheeze from behind them made them all turn around. There stood Frank, who looked like he’d been dug up and reanimated. When he went to pick up their luggage, they all waved and smiled politely, refusing any kind of help. Mrs Kelly’s lips pursed again, but none of them were willing to watch Frank struggle, so they loaded everything up between them and instead followed him up the stairs to their rooms.
The first to be dropped off were Yolanda and Mags, whose rooms were as chintzy as the rest of the guesthouse. The rest of them then went up another flight of stairs to a narrow corridor with four doors: three bedrooms and one bathroom.
“Just like being back at Uni, eh Decker?” Paul remarked.
Decker didn't reply. Instead, he just stood there, looking distracted, biting the skin around his thumb. Paul shot him a concerned look, and Piers, who had been at university with them, took up the slack.
“Yeah,” he said. “If our digs had been decorated and maintained by a pair of maiden aunts, maybe.” He peered into the first room and let out a low whistle. “Jesus… it’s like The Room That Taste Forgot. That bedspread alone should be taken in for crimes against humanity.”
“Tell me about it, Paul said as Piers wandered off to the next room. “What's it like in there?”
“Wow!” Piers' voice floated in. “Whoever gets that room should count themselves lucky, ’cos whoever gets this room also gets the shelf full of those creepy china dolls.”
Chapter Three
They didn’t so much unpack as dump all their stuff on the floor and dig out their research before meeting in the dining room. It took all of Paul's courage to ask Mrs Kelly if they could use it for a little meeting; she hadn't looked too happy at the prospect, but he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Mrs Kelly never looked pleased about anything. In the end she relented as long as they promised to leave the room tidy. Oaths sworn and hearts crossed, he set the laptop up and they all huddled around the screen, only to discover that the problem with the wifi extended here as well. He thought of asking Mrs Kelly if she knew what was going on, but decided against it. He’d printed off the meagre research he’d managed to dig up so the laptop wasn't all that essential – and, of course, they had Decker, who’d grown up hearing nothing else.
This wasn't the first time they'd been through his research, but now they were actually here, it all took on a new significance. Or, rather, the lack of it did. Because that’s what had surprised – and now excited – Paul the most... just how little there was to find. Usually, a town with any kind of monster legend attached to it quickly hyped it, marketed it and then sold it to as many tourists as it could. Not this place. Very little apart from the barest of details were available, with some people wondering if the whole thing was in fact tied up with nearby Loch Ness and was more likely a misidentification, or someone had filed some information in the wrong place. Others argued that near enough every body of water in Scotland had some kind of legend attached to it, be it Kelpies or Boggins or some other kind of Gaelic boogeyman, and so it wasn't all that unusual if you thought about it. In fact, the only thing that made it stand out from hundreds of other, similar tales was the church – and Decker's personal tales. If it hadn’t been for those, Paul probably wouldn't have even considered this place.
“Well, now, what are you all doing?” Mrs Kelly’s question cut through their musing. Paul looked up and laid his sheaf of papers down.
“Just swotting up, Mrs Kelly.”
“So it is true? Like the girl said, you are looking into the legend?”
Paul glanced to Decker, who offered him a small shrug.
“Yes. We’re here to make a documentary about the legend of the, um, Beast an ta Sloosh-” Beside him, Decker winced. “Uh, sorry, I mean the Beast of the Hollow.” He leaned forward a little. It might be a long shot, but those who didn't ask, didn't get. “Do... do you know anything about it, Mrs Kelly?”
Mrs Kelly fixed him with a dead stare and set down the teapot she carried. A tiny drop tumbled from the spot and stained the pristine white cloth.
“Well, now, I don’t know… it all depends on what you want to know, “she said in a clipped tone. “What I mean to say is, everyone knows of the legend – of course they do – but whether it’s something to believe, well, that’s another matter.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” he said. “I understand that. So... what do you believe?”
“Me?” she seemed shocked, as if he’d asked her what kind of underwear she wore. “Oh, I don’t know, I mean, it isn't something we really talk about in polite company, given everything-”
“Hang on – what?” Mags gave her an incredulous look. “It’s a local legend, nothing more. Why don’t you want to talk about it ‘in polite company’?”
Mrs Kelly turned her laser stare on Mags. “Because, young lady, there are some of us around here who don’t like to talk of such things.”
“Things such as…” Mags said, undeterred.
“It’s okay,” Decker said, his tone placatory. He shot Mags a look. “I don’t remember people being too keen to talk about it when I was a kid, so I don’t see why that would had changed.” He focused all of his attention on Mrs Kelly. “We’re not here to spread any kind of malicious rumours or anything. My father was from Dùisg a' Pheacaich, and part of this is about me discovering more about my family. My name is Decker – Brandon Decker. I lived here until I was seven. My father was John Decker – m
y mother and I left when he died. I think my paternal grandmother might still be here, although she'd be about eighty or so now. You might know her. Her name's Sadie – Sadie Decker.
At the mention of Sadie Decker, Mrs Kelly’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but she quickly schooled her face back to hard distaste.
“Do you… Do you know Sadie Decker, Mrs Kelly?” Decker continued. “Is she still alive? I haven’t had any contact with her in twenty five years, and I’d love to-”
“No,” said Mrs Kelly. “No. I don’t know Sadie Decker. Never have. Now would you all like some tea? I have things to do.”
“Yes, of course, tea would be great,” Paul said before anyone could say anything else. He’d caught the look on Mrs Kelly’s face when Decker mentioned his grandmother and knew a lie when he saw it. Quite why would she lie about something like that, though... “Look, I know it's intrusive, but could we interview you? My friend Decker here said there has been a guesthouse here for as long as he can remember, and so I wondered if you might have any tales to tell – anything you might be willing to share with our viewers and add some flavour to our search-”
Paul didn't think it was possible, but Mrs Kelly’s demeanour turned even chillier. “I am not here to trade lies with you, young man. If you’re looking for someone to do that, then Malcolm Allen is your man, may the Lord forgive his soul. He runs the Post Office and I have no doubt he’ll be only too happy to spin you yarns and sell you postcards plastered with fake sightings of this so-called Beast. Other than that, leave people alone. There's nothing but good, honest people here, and that loch has dominated their lives for too long-” She stopped, and for a split second, her stony mask slipped and took on the air of something hunted.
“Mrs Kelly… we’re not here to cause trouble,” Yolanda said. Her voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, and Paul remembered all the reasons he’d agreed to let her join them. One day, whether she realised it or not, she was going to make an awful lot of money with that voice; he was just glad to get in at ground level. “We’re here simply to take a few shots of the loch and ask about the legend. It’s interesting. People like this sort of thing-”