Page 16 of Curse of the Stag's Eye
He held up his hands. “God, no, no, I don’t know a damn thing about lighthouses. I’ve only been here a handful of times. I don’t care for the sea. The Trust hired me because of my success in fundraising for other charities.”
“Well, this isn’t my first lighthouse ghost hunt.” I clamped the book shut. The thump echoed in the silence of the lighthouse. “I’ve done half a dozen. Just not here. These places are like lightning rods for ghosts. They’ve all got a story or two to tell.”
Gaz nodded towards Michael. “You’re a believer, are you? Have you ever seen anything here? Anything spooky, I mean?”
Michael smiled — he had a lovely smile, did Michael — and shrugged. “Everyone who’s spent any time here has. We’ve all heard footsteps on the stairs or caught something out of the corner of our eye. A few people have heard whistling coming from the lamp room when there was no one else about.”
“I can’t wait to get up there.” Nikesh craned his head as thought he could see through the ceiling and up through the tower to the spinning light above.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Michael said, “but you won’t be getting into the lamp. This is a working lighthouse. All automated nowadays, of course, but it’s off-limits to non-personnel.”
Nikesh’s shoulders slumped. “But it’s a lighthouse. What’s the point of coming to a lighthouse if you can’t see the light?”
Gaz wasn’t letting up. “And do you think all these things have a supernatural cause?”
Michael tilted his head and glanced at me. “Of course. Don’t you?”
Gaz licked his own lip. “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”
Michael stalked about the room like a lion around his pride. “I would have thought having a sceptic on the tour would make things more difficult for Rhys.”
Gaz bristled and widened his stance. What was up with those two? They’d sparked off one another from the moment they met. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think— Ah! God, I can be proper slow on the uptake sometimes. They fancied each other! It was so obvious now.
Michael gestured towards me. “Last night, over dinner, didn’t you say really good hauntings are dependent on the right mood? On willing participants?”
“I did but it’s not a hard and fast rule. And it’s not as if Gaz is pooh-poohing everything.”
“But he is questioning everything. That can’t be helping much.”
Gaz balled his fists. “It’s better than chalking every creak and draught up to the actions of invisible phantoms.”
“There’s nothing wrong with examining things from all angles,” I said. “It doesn’t do a ghosthunter’s credibility any good to declare something haunted when really it’s just mice in the walls, or whatever. And as long as Gaz is receptive to there being a supernatural force at work, we’re all good! Aren’t we?”
Gaz and Michael stared at each other. Ooh, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife!
At the end of the bed stood a wicker basket with a pair of black leather shoes set neatly on top. On the bed, a pair of men’s pyjamas — blue and white — lay on the single pillow.
“Can you imagine slipping into those PJs, and under that heavy blanket, while the wind and rain lashed the tall window?” I put my best tour guide voice on. “Knowing that the only living souls for miles around were toiling away above your head. Maybe as you drift off, you hear footsteps on the stairs. But is it the other keepers? Or is something else?”
Nikesh stood closer to Dawn, his eyes darting.
“I don’t normally wear anything to bed,” Gaz said. “But I suppose that wasn’t the done thing back in the heyday of the lighthouse. Or maybe it was. Maybe this is all just set dressing — a nice, family-friendly, sanitised version of the past. I imagine the reality of three men cooped up together for months on end was a good deal fruitier.”
“You sleep in the nude?” Dawn suppressed a giggle at the thought. “What if someone breaks in? Or there’s a fire?”
“Then either the burglar or firefighter is going to get a nice eyeful.” He wiggled his trimmed eyebrows, making her giggle again and filling my head with all sorts of lovely images.
I bet Michael enjoyed it, too, though he pretended he didn’t. He took a square of black cloth from his pocket. “I found a lovely pair of Tom Ford pyjama bottoms in Harrods a couple of months ago. Silk. They feel like air.” He removed his glasses and cleaned them with the cloth. “A tad more sanitary than sleeping with nothing on.”
Gaz’s eyes turned harder. Maybe he was picturing Michael in his PJs. Maybe he was picturing Michaeloutof his PJs.
“You know these investigations you do, Rhys?” Dawn kept her hands in her pockets. She was working up the courage to ask me something. “What’s the worst thing you’ve had to deal with?” She tried to keep her voice breezy. “Like, the most, you know, ghostly thing?”
I flicked through another book, not that I could see a whole lot in the lantern light. “There was this one time, in Birmingham, not that long ago actually.”
Nikesh’s shoulders tensed and I thought twice about telling them.
“No, go on.” Dawn’s hands remained hidden. “Tell us.”
