“Just love your Australian Scottish accent, doctor,” Catherine said.
“Aye, loch sounds much simpler than estuary, and we may have a monster in our midst.”
Ruby agreed. What sort of person would bury someone alive? A monster. Ruby looked down at her hands—her fingers covered in bandages. Her body felt cold. She shivered and her eyes watered up. A monster.
15 – The witnesses
JACK DECIDED TO WALK to the house where the two male witnesses were staying. It wasn’t far, and he wanted to get a feel for the island’s environment. He found the house and opened the gate, which gave a loud squeak. Those hinges needed oil. A head appeared from around the back of the house. Maybe the squeaky gate was their doorbell?
“We’re out on the deck. Walk down the side and join us.”
An old aqua blue timber fence outlined the boundary of the property. Jack walked down the side of the house, his feet crunching on shells and white pebbles. A handmade fish hung on the fence. It looked like one of those scary creatures from the deep. Big teeth, big eyes—the eyes were bottle caps and he wasn’t sure what the teeth were, but they looked real enough.
Two men stood on the balcony. Jack walked up the stairs. It was easy to pick out the islander—he wore a blue shirt splattered with white palm trees, board shorts with blue and white stripes going everywhere, and sandshoes that were once white. Now they looked like they’d been attacked by the thing hanging on the fence. He had a weathered stubbled face and gentle blue eyes. The other man—the visitor—wore cargo shorts and a polo shirt supporting his local football team. He didn’t look like a local, but his white beard had an island feel about it.
“Gents, I’m Detective Sergeant Jack Kinnaird. I believe you got a tipoff that I might be visiting.”
“Yep, sir, we did,” the island man said. “I’m Christopher, and this is my good mate Wally.”
They shook hands and Christopher pulled out a chair for the detective. Jack dusted sand off the seat, sat down, and looked around.
“This looks like a good life.”
“Still getting used to it,” Christopher said.
“And it does take a bit of getting used to,” Wally said. “The mozzies and midges look forward to visitors coming. But my friend Churchie here, he covers me from head to toe in lotion.”
“Churchie?”
“That’s my nickname,” Christopher said.
Jack tried to recall Christopher’s last name without referring to his notes. He was sure it wasn’t Church or anything similar.
“I’m sure it has a bit of history attached to it. Maybe you can tell me one day,” Jack said.
“He sees things. Demons. And he used to hang around a church building. That’s where the name came from.”
“Hey, Wal. Take it easy, we don’t want to scare this man off.” He moved uncomfortably in his chair. “We don’t want him thinking we’re crazy.”
“Well, I reckon you are, Churchie. Especially when you told me there are witches on the island who attack people with swarms of insects.”
Sees demons. Attacking insects. Interesting. Jack hoped this wasn’t heading in a direction he dreaded.
“Just getting you used to the island folk, Wal. The insects and witches thing—one of the locals had that idea.”
Jack had a sudden urge to find some insect repellent but fought it off. “You blokes did good last night, saving that girl,” Jack said. “But can I ask why you were there? You weren’t participants?”
“It was his fault,” Christopher pointed to Wally. “He was gripped by the tourist bug and wanted to do something exciting. Like an animal let loose from his cage.” Wally gave Christopher a soft punch to his bicep.
“Not really Wal’s fault,” Christopher said. “I encouraged him. I had a feeling that something might be going on, as I’d found a symbol painted on a path in the parklands when I was out on one of my walks.”
“Symbol?”
“Found out it’s a pentagram. Used by witches and the like. So the chances were high that there’d be a ritual at the park over the weekend. As it turned out, we were right.”
“What did you see?” Jack asked.
“Well, they go around in circles and there was a hooded person . . . well, they were all hooded but this person had an air of authority about them. Like they were their leader. Then, after a while they proposed a toast and lifted their glasses to the sky and drank from their glasses. Hate to think what was in those glasses,” Wally said.
Jack sensed some reservation from Christopher.
“Then the black sheet went up—couldn’t see much then. Then they departed. They looked like zombies.”
“Scary stuff,” Jack said.
“It was and it was evil. I sensed it,” Christopher said.
“He probably saw demons everywhere.”
Jack wasn’t sure where to go from here, but he asked anyway. “Did you see lots of demons, Christopher?”
Christopher nodded.
Jack didn’t like where this was heading—it felt as though he’d taken a big step into the unknown. The occult worried him. He knew there were powers out there, things unseen, but preferred not to think too much about them.
“I’ve heard stories from meth addicts, Christopher. So I won’t think you’re crazy or anything. They’d seen things. Like their eyes had been opened to another realm.”
“Yes, I’ve seen what they see,” Christopher said
