By Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues
Experiment 4 is part of the first Time Warriors book, First Footsteps and is set on the fictional island of Farran off the west coast of Ireland. Called there to investigate a mysterious death, the Warriors soon find something is stalking the island eager to consume the islanders and then the rest of the world.
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EXPERIMENT FOUR PART 1
It was high summer in the middle of July and the night had fallen like a blanket on the island of Farron.
It was an idyllic picture.
The rough cliffs searing upwards like ancient kings as the docile sea lapped at their feet tossing white crests like jester hats. The air was warm as the island sweltered beneath a heat wave. Islanders slept with their windows open and a few even camped out beneath the stars.
The black sky made the stars sparkle with the fierce white of precious diamonds crowned by a half moon so clear you could see the features on the surface.
Perhaps on nights like this when people looked up at the sky and saw the moon, it gave rise to the old man in the moon stories.
A solitary jumbo jet flew overhead en route to Florida filled with eager holidaymakers excited at going to Disneyland. The few passengers that looked out the cabin windows saw chains of golden lights that looked like giant necklaces.
Some wondered what the people below were doing. What sort of life did they lead? Most people that lived in the country or the cities and towns that cluttered the mainland could not comprehend the appeal of living here away from civilisation.
They imagined little background stories for those who lived there and what their lives were like. It passed the time if you didn’t like the latest inflight movie or had grown bored with the book they had brought to kill time on the long flight.
It was that or go to sleep. Silently the plane left the island behind and as the distance grew, the stories left them. But none could dream up Ernie Reavey’s story.
The sound of laughter and music filtered over the night air, flowing from the golden spill of the pub’s white wood panelled windows which cast shadows over the gravelled ground.
The stench of beer carried through the night breeze as someone played a fiddle rendition of an Irish jig.
Shadows jerked like struggling puppets as some customers danced bringing screams of laughter.
The thatched roof and white painted walls gave it a picture postcard quality, the owners having kept most of the original structure. The squeak of rusty hinges brought attention to a sign above the door.
It was an old style painting of a boat in which sat a man in a navy pullover and black cap smoking a pipe with two grey dolphins swimming at his bow. Above it was painted the words Sailors’ Keep. But fishermen were few and far between these days.
Farron had been a major fishing power some years back but new ideas from university graduates spoke of economic restructuring and relocation. Costs and figures had lessened Farron’s importance.
While it still had a fair amount of trading with the mainland companies, most of its attraction was tourist based. With its historical ruins and myriad of sea bird wildlife that roosted in the giant cliff faces, the island had a regular influx of people that toured and rested.
Some of the passengers aboard the jet may have wondered why people lived here but the tourists who visited Farron knew. It was tranquil where the pace of life was so laid back no one seemed miserable.
When the sun beamed down from the clear blue skies, igniting the water with a serene quality, you could walk the litter free sandy beaches without falling over crowds or sit on the cliff tops gazing out over the vista of perfect sea and enchanting sky.
You forgot there was a world out there where people lived in fear on overcrowded estates and cities. Where pensioners froze to death because their pension wasn’t big enough or slept on cardboard streets, a shaking hand extended for small change.
Of course, in the winter, life could be harsh but the population of over two thousand always looked out for each other no matter what. It was a sight to behold when the sea raged and slammed against the cliffs in bellows of white, causing even the birds to huddle. Thunder growled cruelly and sharp white flames of lightning slashed the sky.
It was the stuff documentary makers lived for and to behold such a sight truly left one breathless with fearful awe.
But tonight was different. It was calm with the slightest of warm breezes dancing across the island. The part moon bathed the island in a soft hazy glow.
No clouds, no storms on the horizon, just nature slumbering peacefully in quiet contentment. A coffin of light broke the partial darkness as the Sailors’ Keep’s door opened and a dark figure stumbled outside.
Tugging his flat tweed cap down over his head, Ernie pulled the lapel of his worn beige overcoat tighter round his neck as he steadied himself. He waved in answer to the cries of goodnight from inside the pub.
The door swung shut, leaving him in darkness once again. His eyes adjusted to the dark. He saw the welcoming light of his cottage. Located on the edge of town, it was only a few hundred metres and he always kept a light burning in the window.
He looked forward to getting into his bed, the central heating having been on since he left for a pint four hours ago. At his age it was always cold even in this heatwave. He caught the smell of Guinness and brandy shots on his breath as he set off down the gravel path, the crunch under his worn booted feet sounding sharply in the night air.
Flowering bushes rustled lazily as he headed in the direction of the footpath that took him to the cliffs. Today was a special day for Ernie. It was July 21st, his wedding anniversary.
He had worked on the fishing boats for years and had met Lily on one of his trips to Farron many years ago.
His first memory of her was on the jetty, walking with some friends, the sea breeze making her curly black hair shimmer. Her brown eyes locked on his as he climbed the steps to get a better look at her while pretending to work with a crab keel. Ernie slipped and fell on the watery steps and Lily had rushed over to help him.
Gasping in pain, he had gratefully accepted a lift to the local doctors. He was told he had broken his arm. Having had it set, Lily had taken him to her parents’ cottage to rest and had a cup of tea.
He recalled her slender fingers round the brown mug as she handed it to him, the slight brush of her skin against his and was inwardly relieved not to see a ring.
Unable to work, he and Lily spent the next six weeks inseparable and shared their first kiss on Shannon’s Point, a local spot frequented by blossoming couples. Most liked it for the abundance of bushes which afforded them privacy. Ernie could not believe how much Lily had captured his heart. He was totally entranced by her.
She was his world.
Her infectious giggle, the way she flicked her hair away from her forehead, the gentle touch of her fingers as she constantly smoothed Ernie’s unkempt blond hair.
Sometimes he saw her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking. The look on her face gave him butterflies. It was a look of absolute love and warmth. And he wasn’t going to let it go.
On September 10th, he had taken her to the Golden Mile, a stretch of beach that sat adjacent to the sea like a tiara. It was dotted by green spiky bushes and shells, the sweet smell of brine travelling on the breeze as gulls cried excitedly overhead.
He laid out the tartan blanket and spread their picnic of tea in a flask and cucumber and tomato sandwiches and homemade sponge cake between them. They had eaten in silence, giving each other the occasional gentle look.
Ernie took his shirt off and Lily pulled her skirt to just below the top of her knees. They lay under the lazy sun tanning nicely.
Gingerly, Ernie slipped his hand in hers and intertwined their fingers. He looked sideways at her. Her eyes were closed but a slight smile lit her face.
“Lily O’Reilly. Would you marry me?” Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him, shielding her startled gaze from the sun. She took one look at his screwed up face, squinting in the sun and smiled.
“Yes,” she said simply as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Pass me a slice of sponge cake.”
Ernie brought his other hand over and opened it. They sat up as Lily put her hands to her face, stifling a grin. It wasn’t sponge cake he held out to her but a simple brass band.
It wasn’t encrusted with diamonds or pearls nor was it fancy. It was plain and simple, just like Ernie. But it was hers. He slipped it on her finger and they kissed.
They had been married eight months later, a simple ceremony but one infused with love and hope for the future.
They had decided to stay on the island. Both liked life here, it was uncomplicated. It seemed the party had been attended by most of the islanders. They rented Mister Shane’s old cottage and set up home.
Within the year, Lily was pregnant but unfortunately, the birth was difficult and that day in July, Ernie lost his beloved Lily and infant son. They had been buried in the local graveyard with a funeral that brought a mass turnout. It was as if the entire island mourned his loss. When the crowds dispersed, Ernie fell apart.
He had remained on Farron and still lived in the cottage. He had never remarried, not even dated. The pain was too much living without Lily and his child. He couldn’t face it again with someone else. He had often thought of taking his own life but he just couldn’t.
God no longer existed for him, for no god of love could be so cruel as to take all Ernie loved and leave him alone. He continued to work on the boats and lived a meagre life style but had been left a substantial amount from his parent’s estate.
As long as he had money for a pint he was alright.
He shuffled along the gritty path, his circulation not what it once was. In the gloom he saw a battered wooden bench with metal arm rests. It was just on the verge rusting, with the grass growing up round it. Sitting himself down, he took off his cap and held it in his lap.
Staring up at the curtain of crystal stars that sparkled like tear drops from heaven, he smiled.
“Well, Lily. It would have been forty eight years today. Had a few brandies for you, hope you don’t mind.”
He sat in silence for a while, letting warm memories wash over of him of their scant years together. He often talked to Lily. He firmly believed she was still with him and had raised their boy in a better place.
He recalled the baby’s eyes, brown like his mother. He had held his stillborn son at the bedside of his deceased mother and soaked in every detail about him before the doctors took them away.
He called his son, James. He was the spit of his mother, same features, and same soft hair. If someone had looked in, they would have thought it was a father cradling his son while the mother got some sleep.
“How’s James? Playing you up I suppose. He probably has your spirit. I miss you Lily. Even after all these years, I still love you.”
His eyes welled sadly and he broke down as he stared at the sky. If the stars could be so bright, surely it could only be a gateway to heaven. He imagined Lily and James smiling down on him, patiently waiting for the day they would be a family again.
Sitting on this cliff top watching the starry sky glimmer on the slate like sea, Ernie truly felt he was close to his family. He imagined that if he just reached up, they would take his hand and tell him how much they loved him. He would hear James’ stories of all the wonderful things he and his mother had seen in the next life and how much they had longed for Ernie to be with them to share it.
He sobbed lightly, rocking slightly. He failed to see the dark shape that slithered up the cliff path behind him.
It saw him in a red hue, alive with colour and energy. It gurgled softly as it seethed forward. Ernie wiped his eyes as the stars seemed to glow with such brilliance he thought the pearly gates themselves were opening. Beyond would be Lily and James, smiling and loving.
He felt a flood of the deepest peace he had ever known and in a second Ernie fell into the open arms of his wife and son.
The Time Warriors and Beyond 