Тим Леббон: New Fears 2: Brand New Horror Stories by Masters of the Macabre

“What happened to it, Dad?”

Magnus rolled it over. His cursory post-mortem was inconclusive.

“I don’t know.”

They followed the curve of the beach, and there lay mackerel, herring and ugly monkfish, dull eyes wide in surprise at their fate. Some were whole, but most were torn up, the clumsy dissection revealing guts and flesh already starting to rot.

“Shame. What a waste.”

They picked their way through more seal carcasses. These had fared less well. Most were missing great chunks. Some looked bitten down to bone, the edges black and high.

“Rank.” Peter covered his nose.

“It’s nature.” Magnus loved his sons too much to coddle them. “We all end up like this.”

Magnus meant rotting, not chewed up. Donald screwed up his face.

They found pieces of oars too, beaten and worn. A rowing boat with a hole in its hull. A length of fearsome-looking chain. The ocean bed had been dredged and deposited on the shore.

After a quarter of a mile, the soft ascent of beach onto land was replaced by vertical columns of rock. The container was in the cliff’s shadow.

Donald was about to run to it but Magnus grabbed the hood of his coat and hauled him back. Peter, who was ten, stayed by his father’s side, frowning.

“What is it, Dad?” Peter whispered.

“A shipping container. Take Donald and go straight home. And not up the cliff path either, it’ll be slippery. Go back the way we came.”

Two figures approached them from the opposite direction. Magnus was relieved to see it was Jimmy and Iain. His sons walked away, looking back. Jimmy waved at them. Magnus watched them go and then turned his attention back to the container.

“They don’t normally drop off ships, do they?” Iain asked.

“No, not usually.”

Magnus had authority on Little Isle because of his knowledge of plumbing, plastering and mechanics, and because his grandfather was John Spence. Plus, he’d worked on the mainland port when he was younger, amid acres of decks stacked high with these identical steel boxes. That was the year before he’d married Hildy.

“That’s odd.” Magnus went from one end of the container to the other, kneeling to inspect it. “No twist locks.”

Iain looked blank.

“There should be one at each corner. They lock each container to the one below it, or to the deck.”

Jimmy picked up a pebble.

“Don’t.”

Iain was too late. It hit the container’s side with a dull thud rather than the clang Magnus expected. The stone that had survived endless beatings by the sea shattered into jagged shards. Jimmy’s gaze darted to Iain and then Magnus’s face, awaiting reprimand. Iain shook his head, then turned to Magnus.

“Are they watertight?”

“Should be.”

“What if it’s full of bodies?” Jimmy said. “Immigrants.”

“Don’t be daft.”

Iain’s embarrassment didn’t register with Jimmy, who put his ear to the container.

“What can you hear?” Magnus asked gently. Jimmy was everyone’s to look out for, not just his younger brother’s responsibility.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying.” Jimmy closed his eyes.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“What?” Jimmy was on Iain, fast and fierce. “For God’s sake, what?”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Magnus soothed him. “Come and help me look for something. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Jimmy looked deflated, as if the unaccustomed anger had taken it out of him. His focus shifted to somewhere beyond Magnus.

“I’m looking for something called a CSC plate. It’s a metal rectangle. So big.” He held up his hands to demonstrate. “It has writing on it. Normally it’s on the doors.”

They circled the container, climbing up and down the rocks, or leaping from one to another. Nothing. Magnus lowered himself between two boulders to inspect the underside.

“What do you see?” Iain called.

“A load of barnacles. This hasn’t come off a ship recently.”

Barnacles, inside their carapaces, looked like closed eyelids or mouths. Barnacles don’t have hearts. His father had told him that.

I must remember to teach the boys , Magnus thought.

He ran his fingers over the jagged colony that was interrupted by limpets, their shells marked with starburst ridges.

Iain reached down to help him climb out.

“Can we keep it? They found one of these on Hesketh Head. It was full of quad bikes. That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

Magnus put his chin on his chest, considering Iain’s suggestion. “The police called them looters.”

“Didn’t catch them though, did they? We don’t have to keep it for ourselves. We could use it for everyone.”

“Maybe you’re right. We’re owed a bit of luck.” He lifted his eyes skyward. “Here comes his lordship. Well, that’s fucked that idea then.”

“Simon.” Magnus gave him a curt nod.

“How’s Hildy?”

“Fine.”

“Give her my regards.”

“Will do.”

“Did that wash up this morning?” Simon gestured towards the container.

Magnus didn’t reply, so neither did Iain.

“There’s no CSC plate on it. We looked.” Jimmy kicked at a dead fish and then wandered away when Simon gave him a bemused smile.

“Have either of you been able to get outside contact?”

“No, everything’s down,” Magnus replied. “The storm’s still out there.”

“We’ll let the coastguard know when the radio’s back up.”

“So that’s it. You’ve decided without a word to anyone.”

Magnus willed Simon to say It’s my island so he could have a go at him but Simon didn’t oblige.

“What’s there to decide?”

“You have no idea what’s in there.”

“Whatever it is, it isn’t ours.”

“Look at it. It’s been in the ocean for God knows how long. The insurance will have already been paid out on it.”

“It might be someone’s personal things.”

“Or there might be a load of laptops.”

“So you’re planning to sell stolen goods?”

“You can’t decide for everyone.”

There were distant figures on the beach. The islanders that couldn’t get to work on the bigger islands were out to see what the storm had washed up.

A fish flopped around in a shallow rock pool at Magnus’s feet. It was barely covered by the water. Magnus flipped the mackerel onto the sand and then seized it. He put his thumb in its mouth, snapping the head back at a sharp angle. The sudden motion ripped the gills from its throat and blood pulsed from its arteries onto its silver stripes. Magnus let it drip, holding the fish fast in its death throes.

“Was that necessary? Wouldn’t hitting it on the head be kinder?”

“Ignoramus.”

Bleeding kept the flesh from rotting, otherwise it clotted in the body where bacteria could breed.

Magnus flung it to Simon who fumbled with it, getting blood and brine on his jacket.

“Take it home. Make some fucking sushi or something.”

Magnus left the gawping crowd that was gathering on the beach. Simon talked to them from the vantage point of a rock. Cormac had joined him. He was Simon’s manager, which made him the second most important person on the island. He was also Magnus’s cousin. Their shared genes were apparent in their size.

Magnus went back to where coarse grass overtook the sand and up the hill. He crossed the sodden earth and made his way to the church. It was the same path his granddad favoured. Stern John Spence transformed into historian and storyteller, just for him.

St Connaught’s stood out against the scoured sky. Faith had arrived in a row boat bringing a crucifix and conviction to Little Isle. All that remained of the church was stone. Windowless, roofless, doorless, grass had sprung up within. Spiders’ webs sagged with raindrops.