Island of the Dead

He came here looking for ghosts.

I’ve heard Thanet is full of them.

I couldn’t say, I said, It’s not really my thing.

And the tunnels. So many tunnels. There must be a story or two there.

No doubt, I said. Again, not my thing. Ask the bartender. They often hear about this kind of stuff.

He looked up at the carefully coiffured lady behind the beer taps. Freshly applied lipstick but eyeliner bleeding into the contours of creases.

He was sceptical. She won’t know.

Doesn’t hurt to ask. I emptied the last of my beer, said nice to meet you, good luck, and walked out.

...............

I met him again in Margate a week later. He was crouched uncomfortably beside the the Shell Lady with a camera pointing up towards the scallop folds of her dress.

Oh hello. Did you find what you were looking for?

Startled, he leapt up, flushed from exertion or embarrassment.

This is the Island of the Dead! he exhaled enthusiastically.

Excuse me?

And there’s an underground cave covered in shells apparently. I’m seeing it tomorrow. Do you want to come?

..............

Sometimes it takes an outsider to reveal what has been under your nose all the time.

The Shell Grotto was astounding. More so as nothing was documented about its year of conception or its purpose. It seemed to be some kind of underground temple.

You see? It’s a town of mysteries. Smugglers, pirates, shy shell interior designers and ghosts. So many ghosts…

Have you seen one?

I’m going to tonight. I met a guy who knew the gardener who worked at the Northern Belle Hotel. He says he’s seen her.

Seen who?

The Wailing Waif.

I decided against accompanying him on that visit and once again we parted ways.

..............

This story would have remained uneventful if it weren’t for a casual remark uttered by an old man to the owner of a key cutting shop.

It so happened I was waiting in line for a replacement back door key and my mind was focused on nothing in particular though I vaguely found the poster on the wall peculiar. It was a picture of a watery alien planet with what I assumed were human-like space men with large heads and fins for hands.

She’ll no doubt ask her dead grandmother tonight. Don’t be late.

The keycutter glanced my way and muttered, careful mate. Then louder, Pick em up on Wednesday afternoon.

The old man scooped up his receipt, left a pair of old brown shoes and shuffled out the shop.

I smiled sweetly at the keycutter.

I need a replacement copy of this please. And also, I have a friend who is looking for ghosts. Haven’t seen any around by any chance?

He took the key. Course not. No such thing.

............

On the way to the Turner Museum, who should I stumble into again but the young ghost hunter himself who at the Grotto had revealed his name to be Stan.

How’s the hunting? Any luck?

Nothing. I think it was a publicity stunt for the hotel.

I related to Stan my chance eavesdropping moment.

Wow! Wish I could speak to him.

If you don’t mind waiting outside a key cutting shop on Wednesday afternoon, you might just be lucky. He’s picking up his shoes.

............

Wednesday afternoon 1.00 we were seated on a bench on the other side of the road with a direct view of the shop.

I brought sandwiches. We might be here a long time.

You might be. I have to get back to work in an hour. I’m having enough trouble with the boss as it is.

How will I recognise him?

Old. Beard. Trimmed a little. Aristocratic almost. In a shabby way. Bout my height. If he comes out with brown shoes, it’s likely to be him.

Five minutes to 2, I got up to go.

What will you do if you see him?

Follow him.

Keep me informed.

We exchanged telephone numbers and I walked off.

............

I was testing out my new key when the call came.

Half an hour later we were having a coffee outside a café watching the sea turn purple then orange.

We can keep an eye on when he comes out from here. It’s the white building opposite the clock. I think he lives on the top floor. I saw the window open when he was in the kitchen. Now we wait.

Now we wait.

...........

We waited for the duration of three coffees.

I can’t stay here all night. I have work tomorrow.

You’ll be up all night after all that coffee anyway.

True.

Then over the course of 10 minutes, we watched one person after another between the ages of 30 and 90 push a buzzer and enter the old man’s building.

Hey, that’s the keycutter!

Ah, seems like the old guy’s the host to this grandmother conjuring. Do we dare ring the bell?

I don’t. He may know them all well. We’d stand out. Let’s try round the back…after I’ve had a pee. All that coffee.

I nodded. Don’t be long.

...........

The backyard was hidden by a flint wall the height of one and a half men.

The wall’s too sharp to clamber over. Let’s try next door.

The neighbour’s wall was lower and we managed to avoid landing in the blackberry brambles, then made our way towards the old man’s fence.

We can’t see anything from here. Didn’t you say he was on the top floor?

Come one. Let’s go round the side of the building. There might be another way in.

Hey, I’m not breaking in.

.............

We waited, uncertain, for another 10 minutes, stooped between the wooden fence and the neighbour’s brick house.

Lucky there’s no dog.

Wait. I hear something. I strained to hear it again. It was coming from inside the house, but lower. Definitely not from the top floor.

Yes, I hear it. People’s voices. Murmuring.

Do you think it’s started?

What?

The séance.

We don’t know what it is yet. Come on. We need to get closer.

Look, the sound is coming from the grating on the side of the house. They must be in the basement.

Do we wait?

No, I have a better idea.

...........

Saturday morning, we found ourselves once again with our noses in a coffee, this time in a small bar at Westgate on Sea overlooking the beach where seagulls pecked at the mussels imbedded in the rocks.

So, did you talk to him?

Yes, I approached him while he was looking at the rakes.

The rakes?

I asked him if he could help me choose a good compost for my tomatoes.

You have tomatoes?

No. He was friendly. We talked a bit about slug control too. I tried to steer the conversation towards ghosts by mentioning my hobby of investigating local mysteries, but he was far more interested in advising against pesticides and pellets. In the end I had to drop it. It was sounding forced.

Ah, shame.

But I followed him again to a pet shop though I think he was onto me because I lost him soon after that.

What’s next?

I’ll try bumping into him near his house this evening. Maybe he’ll invite me in for a tea.

...........

I was tied up with dramas at work for the next week and hardly realised I hadn’t heard from Stan since that Saturday. I decided to give him a call.

So, what happened? Did he invite you in for tea?

No, he threatened me.

What do you mean?

He saw me loitering outside his building. Came down and asked me what I wanted. I told him I was investigating supernatural occurrences. He asked if I was a reporter. I told him it was a hobby of mine. He seemed pretty angry. I could see he knew that I knew something about him. Said he’d call the police if he saw me again. I guess it’s over.

I dunno. I’m more curious now. If he has nothing to hide, why would he get so defensive?

He thought I was stalking him probably.

Hhmm, you were. How about if we ask neighbours if they know anything about strange noises. Does he share the house with anybody? Hey! It’s Wednesday. Maybe they’ll have another séance tonight!

There was a pause. I’ll meet you at the clock at 8.

...........

We’ve got to find a way in.

We were back in our stooping position at the fence. As far as we knew, no one had turned up yet.

We may be early. Let’s hop over and see if we can find a door into the basement. Like in the movies when a tornado is coming.

Wrong country.

I’m going over. I’ll whistle if I see something, ok?

I watched Stan pull himself over the fence and drop heavily to the other side. He grunted loudly.

Shh!

I waited, crouching, expecting him to reappear any moment. A few minutes passed. I decided to take a peek. Stan! I hissed. Nothing. I pulled myself up on tiptoes to get a better look.

Stan! A little louder. Still nothing. Fuck.

I waited another few minutes before deciding to follow. He must have found a way in. By piling a few bricks by the fence, I managed to gracelessly throw myself over and land on my feet in a tangle of leaves and dry branches. No wonder he needed a rake.

...........

Ah, you brought a friend.

The old man was holding the back door open. I seemed to have interrupted a conversation.

Why don’t you both come in now you’re here.

I glanced at Stan, who shrugged, a little uncertain. He eyes seemed to say, he’s just an old man, what could go wrong?

He led the way upstairs to the kitchen and waved a hand toward the small table. Take a seat. Just in time for some tea.

Look, we’re terribly sorry for trespassing. My friend is keen on finding a ghost and I overheard you at the key cutting shop mention something about a dead grandmother. We thought you might help us? I turned the last word into an apologetic question.

The old man poured the water into a small teapot. Milk and sugar?

Just milk for me, thank you.

Me too.

The man poured the milk into two China cups before adding the tea. Stirring slowly, he turned to face us.

You know, I think I may be able to help you.

...........

I knew immediately I had been drugged. The thought was enough to panic me into wakefulness. I was sitting, hands tied behind the back of a chair. Feet tied to the legs. Stan was not here.

The room was dimly lit and spacious. I guessed it was the basement and I was alone. Looking around I could make out little furniture except for a long table in the centre. The walls seemed to be covered in posters of planets and aliens. Where had I seen that before? This is some serious shit. What have we stumbled into here? Where was Stan!

The chair I was tied to appeared to be stuck to the floor. I couldn’t shift it. Should I call out? Should I pretend to still be drugged? Were there cameras in the walls? All my options flashed through my head. I tried to draw on all the movies I’d seen, YouTube videos of escape artists. What the hell? What was going on? Was I seriously in danger? This was Margate for God’s sake!

Half an hour passed before I heard voices. They were coming down. The same people who were here last week, no doubt. I decided quickly to pretend to still be drugged. Would that work in my favour?

..........

No need to pretend dear. It wasn’t a strong concoction.

A dozen or so men and women of all ages were gathered around the table, the keycutter among them. All eyes were on me.

What do we do with her?

We talk to her. We explain.

Where’s Stan?

Ah, the young man. He’ll be along shortly. He’s getting dressed.

What are you planning to do with us?

All will be revealed dear. Ah, here he is.

Stan appeared at the door wearing what looked like a purple robe with stars. He seemed apprehensive but calm.

You see, Stan has told me he is looking for ghosts. We can help him there.

The old man paused then continued quickly. You know, our ancestors built the Shell Grotto 300 years ago. Stan tells me you visited it recently. Isn’t it beautiful? Unfortunately, since it was discovered in 1835, our society has been unable to use it. We have made do with churches, halls….

He swept his hands around him.

…..basements. Shame really. The Grotto really is quite special.

I opened my mouth to speak.

Shush shush. Patience dear. Every week our society meets with our dead ancestors. They have left their physical manifestations to re-join the one true consciousness on planet Zeeta. Once a week they come back to help us thrive in our current form. They help us excel in all areas of our lives: our family life, our professions, our own spiritual journey. They help us to help humanity. For those of us who are approaching the end of our earthly manifestation, they help guide us to their planet.

Scientologists! You’re scientologists.! I blurted out.

The old man was visibly disgusted.

Good lord no! Nothing of the sort. We do not go by any name.

The aliens. In your pictures. Are they your ancestors?

Our ancestors, my dear. They are the original inhabitants of this planet millions of years ago. We evolved from them.

Sounds like Scientology to me, I muttered.

............

The group was getting restless. They clearly were here for action, not speeches.

The old man sensed the mood and turned around to Stan, who had been nervously pulling at a thread on his robe.

Young man, you have the great fortune to find what you were looking for. Fate has brought you to us today. Please lie on the table.

Can’t I just stand? I’d rather watch from here.

Of course not. You can’t travel standing up. Your consciousness will be lifted up by the souls of our dearly departed. They will show themselves to you at the right time.

Is this like an out-of-body experience then?

Most definitely. You will feel liberated and at one with the Great Consciousness.

My eyes connected with Stan’s and I’m hoping they were saying — are you sure about this?

Stan shrugged and got onto the table.

Close your eyes young man. Let your breathing relax your body. Feel your breath enter into every fibre of your being. I will see when you are ready.

We waited, watching, focused on Stan’s breath, feeling his inhalations and exhalations along with him. A few minutes passed.

...........

It is time.

While we had been fixed on Stan, the old man had wandered over to a wall and now stood over him with a small dagger. Before I could scream, the knife was plunged into his heart.

Then I screamed.

Hush dear. Quick, let’s hold hands.

Everyone around the table held hands and chanted sounds that were not any language I had ever heard. I stared at Stan who continued to lay still on the table but now with blood flooding his robe and dripping onto the basement floor. My own heart felt as if it had been sliced open too. The chanting continued, louder, more insistent.

Finally, it ended. The basement was heavy with the sudden silence. I sobbed.

What the fuck!

Let’s go upstairs and have a nice cup of tea. I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you tied up for now.

............

I’m happy to tell you that your friend is not the only one who will benefit from tonight’s encounter. You too will be blessed.

I was still shaking. The others had left. It was just me and the old man sitting at his kitchen table.

You’re a murderer. You’re all murderers. I could hardly speak clearly. My eyes were blurred, probably from tears.

We are not murderers, my dear. Every month we send one of our older members — willingly, I might add — to the Great Consciousness. This helps keep us connected to our ancestors. They would rather go like that than die unexpectedly of a heart attack or stroke in their beds.

He was just a boy! He didn’t want to go anywhere!

He was too young to know what he wanted, but he is at peace now. You, however, my dear, are a little older and wiser. I believe we can help you too.

............

Epilogue:

A year has passed since Stan left us to go live out eternity with the Great Consciousness on the planet Zeeta. I now own the company I worked for and am in the process of expanding business to other cities. Even China has shown interest in opening a branch in Shanghai. So, I can now afford to live in London which is where I met the love of my life. Once a month I go down to Margate to reconnect with the powers that have given me all that I ever dreamed. I look forward to Connecting Time when I can speak to the souls who have departed. I know Stan is with me, helping me realise my whole potential.

I always make sure to thank him.