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

“Mummy?”

“Hey, little man.”

Magnus waited until Donald settled and then went downstairs.

He tried the radio but all he got was static. Outside the light was still thin and grey. The storm had blown over but Magnus could see another front out on the water, waiting.

There came a tap, tap, tap.

Iain was at the kitchen window. Jimmy stood beside him, grinning.

“Mags, come quick. They’re trying to get the container open.”

The night had brought another massacre. The beach was littered with sea birds, flight curtailed. The tide line was thick with their carcasses.

The storm and tide had been merciless. It had thrown the birds about. Feathers were matted with blood. Heads made strange angles with their bodies. Guts were revealed, auguries that Magnus couldn’t read.

He recognised the fallen, even in pieces. The black guillemot’s monochrome plumage and their shocking red feet. The large angular wings of the gannet, tipped in black. The puffin, comical with its painted eyes. A variety of gulls. And his favourite, the storm petrel. His grandfather would tell him how whole flocks of these tiny birds would feed in the wake of the trawlers. Their feet would patter on the water’s surface and they held their wings in a high V shape, as if trying to keep them dry.

Flies rose from the dead as gulls and corvids landed to feast on them.

Magnus stumbled on the rocks in his rush to reach the container. He could see the shower of sparks from the welding rod as he pushed through the crowd.

“Oi! What are you doing?”

Niall flipped back his visor and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “What’s it look like?”

“It’s not yours.”

“It’s not yours either.”

“It belongs to everyone.”

“It belongs to whoever can get the fucking thing open.”

“Check it out, Mags.” Isla stepped in. “Niall’s been at the same spot for twenty minutes and the paint’s not even blistered. Go on, show him.”

Niall pulled off his glove and slapped his palm against the spot that he’d been trying to cut. Magnus reached out with a tentative fingertip to check for himself. The metal was like ice.

“I thought I’d made myself clear.” It was Simon, standing shoulder to shoulder with Cormac. “I told you all to leave it alone. We don’t know what it is. It might be military. There could be something dangerous in there.”

“Then it’s something they’ll pay to get back,” Niall countered.

“The military don’t pay ransoms.” Cormac rolled his eyes. “They’d take it by force.”

“As soon as the radio’s working, we’re calling it in.” Simon was adamant.

“You’re full of shit.” Everyone turned to look at Magnus.

“Less of that.” Cormac stepped forward.

“What, you and Simon are best buddies now? I remember when you picked on him every chance you got.”

Cormac flushed.

“We’re not fourteen any more.” Simon shook his head. “Cormac had an interview, just like you. He was the better man for the role. Is that why you’re so sore?”

“No, it’s you. You want to be part of the community. For all of us to work together. What’s in there could help fund wind turbines to replace that shitty old generator.”

“I’ve applied for a grant for that. I told you.”

“You’re full of ifs and when . Nothing’s guaranteed. And you’re ignoring my point.”

“Which is?”

“That you don’t listen to any idea that runs contrary to your own. Everything’s fine as long as we all do what we’re told.”

“You mean I ignore you . You’re bitter because you don’t get a personal invitation to meetings. Because you don’t get the last word in everything. If you bothered to listen you’d understand.” Simon paused. “What exactly is your problem with me?”

“You’re blind. More and more of us leave each year. You’re not one of us. You don’t understand. Your rich daddy bought this place for a song. And your stuck-up mother didn’t even want to live here.”

Simon’s face was a mask.

“My mum was painfully shy. She didn’t come back here because she didn’t feel welcome. She was anorexic. She spent most of her life after I was born in and out of clinics being fed through nasogastric tubes. Little Isle was all Dad and I had left. I care about it as much as you do.”

“Refurbishing a few cottages and building a kiln isn’t going to save us.”

“And who made you the mouth of the people?” That was Cormac.

“I know the art world. My mother was a dealer. I have connections through college. I can make this happen. People will come. They’ll need housing and food.” Simon was talking to everyone now. “We’ll bring back farming. Rare breed sheep. We can start dyeing and weaving again.”

All the colours of the landscape in the warp and weft.

“That’s not sustainable industry. The other islands are developing halibut farms.”

“Which is exactly why we need to be different.”

“What we need is to be rid of you. Form a community council and a development company. Flog that big house of yours for capital. Attract people with business ideas and young families.”

The sky was getting darker. The air smelt of iron. Their anger was calling in the gale. Clouds were as unreliable as the sea; they too were water, after all. Now they were in scud formation, black and loaded with rain. Magnus felt the gust front on his face, the cold downdraught a harbinger.

“And you’d be in charge, I suppose. The problem with you, Magnus, is that you need to feel important. Most of us are keen for this to work. And Hildy will be a massive draw when her book deal is announced.”

“What?”

“She’s not told you? Maybe you should show more interest in your wife.” Simon’s laugh was bitter. “You never liked me, not really. Hildy’s a diamond. Did you know that I persuaded her to apply to St Martin’s when I did? She turned down one of the most prestigious art schools in the country to stay here with you . She made me promise not to tell you. All you’ve done is hold her back—”

Magnus was a juggernaut. He barrelled Simon over. He felt a satisfying crunch as he landed on the man. They made a furious knot. It came down to who was bigger. At least here, in the muck and brawl, Magnus was the better man.

Hands gripped his arms. Jimmy and Iain hauled him off. Cormac pulled Simon to his feet. The rain was coming down hard.

“I’m not sleeping with your wife, you stupid sod.” Simon wiped his bloodied nose. “She’s too good to cheat. In fact, she’s better than both of us put together.”

Magnus deflated. He felt Iain’s grip slacken, then he threw another punch at Simon.

“Where have you been all day?”

Hildy was sat in the hall chair, facing the front door. Magnus’s hair and coat were dripping. He bristled at her tone. She threw him the towel that had been folded on her knee. He kicked off his boots and started to pat himself dry.

She followed him into the kitchen, picking up his soggy shirt and trousers and throwing them into the washing machine. He pulled warm clothes from the clothes maiden that she’d left in front of the radiator.

“Where are the boys?”

“At Jack and Helen’s.”

“Why?”

“So we could talk properly. Why have you been fighting with Simon?”

“He had it coming. I don’t want that man in this house. I don’t want you to ever see him again.” Magnus sat on the kitchen stool, his mouth rucked up. “You and Simon have already done a fair bit of talking. What’s this about you getting a place at a posh college when we were kids?”