Cruit Island

By R. S. Cunningham

As Mairead squinted out of the window, the steam from her tea fogged up her glasses. She set down the tea, took off her glasses and wiped the steam off with her sleeve. She put the glasses back on and looked back out the window.
It was still there.
The oddly shaped pile of leaves in the garden.
It rippled. No leaves blew off it.
Had it been there the whole time?
Mairead arrived at the cottage three nights ago. It was mid-November, so she wasn’t spending a lot of time outdoors.

But still, she could have sworn the garden was clear earlier.

She shook her head. Stress. That’s what it was. She wasn’t exactly on holiday. She turned from the window and surveyed the living room. It smelled of mothballs and damp. The furniture looked like it was donated by St Vincent de Paul because no one else would take it. Even the sofa was unappealing, with a brown stain on the seats she hoped was coffee.

Mairead took her tea into the kitchen, swigged the last of it and placed the cup in the sink. No dishwasher. She methodically washed the few dishes, dried them and put them in the presses. Keeping busy was important.

I am safe here. This is a new beginning.

She passed a cracked mirror in the hall on the way back to the living room. She didn’t want to look at herself, but felt it was important to see how she was healing up.

Carefully she tapped the tender skin around her eye. It was less swollen than before and more yellow than purple. Easier to cover with make-up. She gently ran her fingers over her swollen, cracked lips. Ouch. She reached for the disc of Vaseline in her jean pocket and slowly ran some over her lips. She pulled down the roll of her polo neck to check the bruises there, but quickly yanked it up again. They looked the same. She was a woman who owned a lot of polo necks, but they were neatly folded in her wardrobe at home.

Sighing she ran over what she needed in her mind…
Her clothes needed washed. But how was she going to dry them when the house was barely warmer than outside?
She needed more food. But how could she go shopping without meeting the locals?
Her car needed petrol. In theory if there was a self-service station she could pay by card, but he had access to her bank account. If she withdrew money at an ATM, he would see that too.

Frustrated, Mairead shrugged on her coat, grabbed her mobile, went outside and dialled Women’s Aid. “Hello? It’s Mairead. I’m at the Cruit House.”

“Hello?! Hello?!”

“Can you hear me? It’s Mairead. At the Cruit House.”

“I can hear you now. Just about. Where did you say you were?”

“C.R.U.I.T. Pronounced Critch. I was placed here on Friday. Audrey helped me.”

“Ah! I found you on the system. What can I help with?”

Where to start? “Audrey said there’d be help getting supplies and stuff. I can’t use my cards. I’ve hardly any cash. And I don’t want to go to town.”

Static. Please don’t be gone. Mairead climbed awkwardly up onto the stone wall that encircled the property, clung onto a tree branch and checked her phone screen. One more bar. “Can you hear me now?” She pleaded.

“Yes! That’s better. Stay there. Audrey, was it?”

“Audrey White. Yes. She was great.”

“Aye, well she’s rang in sick today. Suspected Covid. Are you feeling, ok?”

Odd. Audrey had seemed fine when she was with Mairead. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“We don’t have any other team members based near Cruit. Very hard to recruit in that part of the world.”  

Mairead surveyed the desolate landscape from her new vantage point. It had a rugged, Wuthering Heights’ aching beauty. But also, a bleakness that was hard to see past.
“I bet it is.” She answered.

“Can you last for a few more days?” The call handler asked. Mairead realised she didn’t know her name. No. She couldn’t last for a few more days. But what was this person going to do about it.

“If I need to. But is there really no one else who could… OH!”

“What? What is it? Is someone there?” The call handler jumped to emergency mode.

Mairead surveyed the garden, mouth agape. The leaf pile was gone. What on earth? Leaves weren’t scattered across the garden. The grass was clear. “No. No one. I’m all alone.”

“Oh good.”

Mairead rolled her eyes as she jumped off the wall and walked to where the leaf pile had been. The grass was flattened. Mairead spun in a circle. No leaves. She put her hand on the flattened grass. Warm. She swallowed hard.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m going nowhere.” Mairead bet the call handler was about nineteen years old.

“I can’t really hear you. The sig___” The phone went dead. Mairead looked at her screen. Zero bars. She looked back at the grass. The wind had stirred it up a bit. She placed her hand back on it. It was cool now. She covered her face with her hands and breathed deeply. Was she losing it? Had the blows to her head caused more damage than she thought? At a loss of what else to do, she went inside and boiled the kettle.

The next day Mairead looked in the fridge. No milk. Two heels of bread. Some hard cheese and a squishy tomato. She thought about calling the helpline again, but doubted Audrey would be over Covid yet. She looked out of the window. The garden was leaf free. A laugh escaped her. She was cracking up.

She breathed deeply to centre herself. I am safe here. This is a new beginning.

Her home was miles away. Dean was miles away. No one knew her here and they must get tourists all the time. Americans and Daniel O’Donnell fans. The thought made her smile. The great DoD. She had no idea what her next move was, but she couldn’t stay in this shithole alone for weeks on end. She’d have to go to the local village sooner or later. Kincasslagh was about two miles away. It was a bright, dry November day. Freezing cold, but dry. Sure, what more could you ask for at winter in Ireland?

Mairead put on as many layers as she could get her hands on. Wrapped a scarf round her neck and pulled down a beanie hat with a faux fur bobble. Gloves completed her mismatched outfit. She snorted when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. ‘A Holy Show’ would have been the phrase her mam would have used to describe her. Her mam was dead going on five years. She didn’t miss her. Maybe if she’d been a better mam, Mairead wouldn’t have been grateful for a man like Dean.

The walk to town felt long. The view was either fields of miserable looking sheep or close thickets of trees, so dense you couldn’t see more than a meter into them. Mairead shivered. She felt watched. A few cottages dotted the landscape, but that wasn’t it. There was a presence in the wilderness around her. She reprimanded herself for being a coward.

She thought of the nanny cams at home, at least one per room. For her ‘safety’ and so Dean could relax at work without ‘worrying’ about her. It all seemed so absurd out here. That the same man who broke her arm ‘worrying for her safety’. Mairead shook her head, trying to clear it and shake the feeling of unease. Eventually, she started to sing as she walked and soon Kincasslagh came into view. She pulled her hat low and her scarf high, hoping her heavy make-up hadn’t rubbed off on the way here.

There was a pleasant buzz about the small square. Tourists and locals milled about. Kids with ice creams. Hipsters with coffees.

But if you looked closely, the cracks where there. A missing person poster on the telegraph pole. Kids not wrapped up warmly enough. Mairead went into the small Spar. God it was grim. Overdue a make-over by a couple of decades at least. She browsed the meagre offering up and down the aisles. The spotty teenager on the tills didn’t raise his head from his phone to acknowledge her. She lifted milk, dried pasta, a jar of Dolmio and a bag of apples. Food of the Gods. She had thirty-five euros on her. Her small haul cost almost twelve.

She left without making eye contact with the cashier and walked past the main pub, Mac Tíre Duine. It had a gruesome, weather-beaten sign outside depicting a bloody, decapitated dogs head. But as she was passing, the whiff of cooking stopped her in her tracks. God she was hungry. A cheerful hubbub emanated from inside. A trad band were playing. She walked back to the entrance and peered in. A turf fire was blazing. She spied a menu pinned to the door. Chowder and homemade wheaten bread were only eleven euros. If she had a glass of tap water with it, she’d still have twelve euro left.

Mairead dithered at the door. A young couple with a baby squeezed past her with a nod.
She should go home. Ah! Feck it. She followed the couple into the restaurant.

It was like a scene from a hokey Irish movie. Families, couples and old men occupied almost every seat. A trio of musicians were stationed by the fire, playing the fiddle, tin whistle and bodhran. The only seats available were at the bar. Mairead climbed onto one of the high stools and waited patiently to be served, hat still on. The music was great. They started a new song she knew well, and it was hard not to join in as half the pub burst into song.

“Can’t beat The Dubliners, eh?” A friendly barman appeared in front of her.

“You cannot, indeed.” Mairead answered, awkwardly. It had been a long time since she was out on her own, ordering her own drinks. “Chowder, please.”

“Good choice. Drink?”

She fully intended to say water but to her surprise blurted, “White wine.”

“Chardonnay or Sauvignon?”

“As long as it costs less than twelve euro, either.” She replied.

“Ooookay. Coming right up.” The barman smiled.

Mairead guessed she needed to brush up on her social skills.

Slowly the heat built. First, she removed her hat, then her scarf. A few minutes later she shrugged off her coat and hung it off her seat. She swept her fringe over her swollen eye and hung her head forward. She was used to making herself invisible.

“Bon Appetit. Mind your tongue, it’s roasting.” The barman set down the bowl of chowder, with a wedge of wheaten on the side, followed by a large glass of white wine.

“Thanks.” Mairead mumbled.

“I think you’re my new neighbour. Up in the old Fáinne na gCon House?”

“My Irish isn’t very good.” Mairead answered, painfully aware she was in the Gaeltacht.

“Fáinne na gCon means ‘Ring of the Hounds’. There are the remains of an ancient stone circle a couple of fields over. Supposed to have been built by a pagan order that believed in werewolves and the like.”

“Is that what the pubs named for?” Mairead ventured.

“Oh aye. It’s not a shameless tourist name you know.” The barman said with a wink. Werewolf’s the modern name. Mac Tíre Duine was the old Irish word for a dog person.”

“Dog person? Very forward thinking of them to be gender neutral.” Mairead quipped.

“Ha! Good one. Anyway, I’m a few fields over. Up the lane on the right before your turn off. Gerard’s the name.”

“Nice to meet you, Gerard.” Mairead said, meaning it. Gerard was very good looking. He hesitated, likely expecting Mairead to introduce herself. She dropped her head and blew on her chowder. Gerard took the hint and served someone else.

Mairead ate the chowder as slowly as she could, savouring every bite. It was creamy and salty, crammed with fish and potatoes. She sipped on the wine. It was crisp and delicious, with notes of apple and honey. When was the last time she picked out a nice wine for herself? She willed herself to live in the moment. To enjoy every morsel.

When the usual dark thoughts assailed her, she shook them off determinedly.
Dean throwing his dinner up the wall, plate and all. Nope.
Dean opening a tin of dog food for her, a hateful smirk on his face. Nope.
Running for the front door. Not making it. Nope.
Lying about her injuries. Pity on people’s faces as they didn’t believe her. But not offering to help her. Nope. Nope. Nope.

I am safe here, she repeated to herself, just as Audrey had advised. This is a new beginning.

“How was it?” Gerard and his twinkling eyes were back.

“Absolutely delicious. Compliments to the chef.” Mairead said with a shy smile.

“That would be me ma. I’ll tell her you liked it.” Gerard said with a grin as he cleared her bowl. “And if you want to go searching for the stones, let me know. I’m out with my Irish Wolfhound, Brian, most mornings. Not much left of it the stones now. And what is left is mostly grown over, you’d walk past it without noticing it, thinking it was just a pile of leaves.”

“What kind of a dog’s name is Brian?” Mairead asked with a giggle.

“Named for the great Brain Boru.” Gerard said with mock indignity. “The legendary High King who fought off the Vikings. Sure, you must have learned about him in school.”

“Aye, I think I did. Anyway, I think that pile of leaves came to visit me.” Mairead hiccupped. “One wandered on and off my garden yesterday.” She continued with a giggle. She wondered if she was a little drunk.

Again, it was like a scene in a movie. The pub went quiet, and everyone turned to look at Mairead. She gulped. This was not how you kept a low profile.

Gerard leaned on his elbows, a look of concern on his face. “What did you see, exactly?”

Mairead started pulling on her hat and scarf. “Could I get the bill?” She hissed at him.

Gerard reached for her arm. An image of Dean’s arms lashing out at her hit Mairead like a brick in a riot. She cried out and pulled her arm away. Unbalanced, she tipped back off the stool and crashed loudly to the ground.

“Jaysus, are you alright love?” An elderly man materialised beside her and reached out for her. Another flash of memory; Dean kicking her in the stomach this time. She batted away the man’s arm and jumped to her feet. Tears flowing, she emptied her purse onto the counter without waiting for the bill and raced out to the street. She walked briskly up the steep street to the road home, wiping her eyes.

“Wait! Wait a minute would ye?” She heard behind her. She turned to see Gerard jogging after her, plastic bag in hand. The milk! It was likely off after being in the hot bar for an hour.

Gerard stopped in front of her, breathing deeply. “Christ, I’ve only stopped the football for a few years, but I can’t run the length of myself!”

Mairead reached for the bag. Gerard held it firm. Mairead let her arm drop, hot tears of frustration filling her eyes.

“Look, we know who owns that house. Of course we do. It’s a small town.”

Mairead wiped the tears away angrily. “And?”

“And…it’s none of my business. But they don’t know these lands. They shouldn’t just… drop people off.”

“The tourists do ok.”

“That’s what Fáilte Ireland would like you to think. We’ve had more than a few disappear over the years. The leaves. Can you tell me what happened. Please.”

Mairead remained mute, staring at her grocery bag, cross with herself for being unable to demand it back. Her eyes flicked to the missing person sign on the telegraph pole.

“Here! I didn’t mean to keep it from you.” Gerard said in a rush, as he handed over the stripey grocery bag. “Now, come on. What did you see?”

“I, I thought I saw a large pile of leaves in the garden, but when I looked again it was gone. And the garden was leaf free.” Mairead mumbled. “But it’s been a shite time. I probably imagined it or looked out the wrong window, or something. I’m stupid!”
Dean’s words had a habit of bursting out of her when she was stressed.  

“GERARD! There are customers waiting.” An older woman in chef’s whites guldered up the street at them. Instinct told Mairead that it wasn’t the customers his ma was worried about.

“Shit.” Gerard swore under his breath. “Look, you’re not stupid. You’ve noticed more than most. I can’t say much more. But keep inside after dark. And keep your windows and doors locked. Promise me!”

Mairead lifted her head to look at him. At his kind eyes. “Thanks, Gerard.” She turned and continued walking up the street, out of town. God knows what he was on about, but it had been a while since anyone was nice to her.

The cottage was freezing when she got home, just before dark. She scanned the garden, all clear. She boiled the kettle, made tea and sat down with a yellowed Stephen King novel she’d taken from the ancient bookshelf, Cujo. She hadn’t got more than a few pages in, when she dosed off, awakening with a start when her cup tumbled to the ground and smashed on the tiled floor.

“Ah for feck’s sake!” She exclaimed, fetching a cloth from the kitchen to clear up the mess. As she rinsed out the cloth in the sink, she looked out the window.

What she saw made her blood run cold. The leaf pile was back. In a totally different part of the garden this time. Mairead took a step back from the window, breathing hard. She looked around the dark house. Had she locked up?

She raced to and tried the back door first. Locked. Then the front door. Also locked. All the windows on the first floor were closed. She forced herself to look out the kitchen window again. Was the pile closer than before?

She breathed deeply. In and out ten times, just like Audrey advised.
I am safe here. This is a new beginning.
She looked out the window again. It was in the same place. No change. She was losing her mind. There was no other explanation.

Her phone pinged, making her jump. She’d almost forgotten about it; the signal was so bad. She had a message from an unknown number.
“Did you really think leaving me would be that easy? (monocle emoji)”
Mairead dropped the phone into the kitchen counter. She’d blocked Dean’s number on Friday. She wondered whose phone he was Whatsapp’ing from.

This was all to be expected, she reminded herself. She wasn’t out of the woods, but Dean couldn’t find her here.
I am safe here. This is a new beginning.
Mairead stared at the pile of leaves and let her shoulders relax. Stop being ridiculous! She chided herself.

Her eyes moved to her phone. She lifted it and switched on ‘Airplane Mode.’ Glancing at the leaf pile again, she opened the camera app on her phone and set it to video. She placed her phone on the windowsill behind the sink. It had 50% charge. She hit record. If the leaves were still there in the morning, she could laugh it all off. Bloody twinkly eyed Gerard had got in her head.

On autopilot she made another cup of tea and made her way up stairs to her bedroom. Her room was first door in the corridor. She looked down the gloomy, cold corridor. She hadn’t opened any of the other doors. Audrey had said the rooms hadn’t been used for years. Should she check them, their windows? No, too creepy. She hadn’t the nerve.

Once in bed, she opened Cujo again. This time she got a hundred pages in before her eyes started closing. She popped in her earplugs and turned off the light. Her bedroom curtains were open, so she could see the full moon. She didn’t think sleep would come, but slowly she drifted off.

Mairead woke with a start.
What was that?!
Fully alert, she tried frantically to remember what woke her.
A noise?
A dream?
Her heartbeat slowed as the minutes passed. Of course she was on edge. All this was new.
I am safe here. This is a new beginning.

She coughed and realised two things. One, she was very thirsty. She blamed the wine and the salty chowder for this. And two, she badly needed a wee. She picked a jumper off the floor and pulled it on, followed by her socks. Silently, she padded her way downstairs to the kitchen and poured water into a pint glass. Her eyes flicked to the phone. Out of charge. Chugging water, she went to the living room to retrieve her charger. She plugged it into the socket nearest the sink and plugged in her phone. She looked out the window. It was too dark to see anything. With a mirthless laugh she realised she’d likely recorded blackness until 3am. She went to use the only toilet, which was located, rather unhygienically, off the kitchen.

She heard the phone ‘ping’ as it came back to life. She opened it and hit the photo app to look at her recording. Five hours. She used the scroll bar to slowly go from the start of the recording to the end. About halfway through a flash of light caught her eye. She used her thumb to wind back through the footage to before the flash. She brought her phone close to her face and hit play. Blackness. Then, a car made its way up the road, headlights dipped. The lights rounded a corner and shone directly onto the kitchen lawn.

When the lights hit the leaf pile, Mairead gasped. The light passed under the pile! It wasn’t resting on the ground. As the lights turned up the road, the pile of leaves stood up on two legs, forming a tall, slender, humanoid shape, with a wolf’s head.
Mairead screamed.
As the light moved on, the wolf headed man-shape broke into a run towards the house, leaping before it hit the window, disappearing from the camera view. 

Shaking, Mairead lifted her head to look up at the kitchen ceiling. The unknown rooms were above this one. Was the wolf headed man in one of them? Or the roof? With a shuddering breath, she looked back out the window. The moonlight lit the garden a little.

What was safer, staying or leaving? Story of her bloody life.

She squinted through the window, looking at the grass in front of the kitchen. Something was scattered on it.
Her heart sank.
She started to cry.
It was the key safe.
In pieces.

Code 5826. She had diligently placed the key back in the key safe, in case Audrey or someone else from Women’s Aid needed it when Mairead wasn’t there. But someone had smashed it to pieces.

When the footsteps came behind her, a strange calm overcame her. “Dean.”
“Mairead. It took me a minute; I’ll give you that.”
“How did you find me?”
“Audrey. She was a feisty one.”
Of course. The text was from Dean, on Audrey’s phone.
“How did you find her?”
“Found a member of the Women’s Aid IT team on LinkedIn. Paid him a wee visit.”
Nodding, Mairead turned.
Dean looked great. The thrill of the hunt suited him. His eyes shone. He smiled widely. The charm she’d once found so attractive, strong as ever.

A thump sounded over their heads. As one, they looked at the ceiling.
“Have you got company already, Mairead?” Dean asked, cool as a cucumber.
A new, frightening image assaulted Mairead.
The sight of the tall, wolf-headed figure leaping at the house.
She hesitated, just for a second.
“Yes.”

“Fuck. I mean, I knew you were a whore. But that’s fast work for someone as ugly as you. What’s his name?”
Another pause. “Gerard.”
“Uh huh. And where did you pick up this Gerard?”
“Pub. Kincasslagh.”
Another thump.
“’Course. Small town barman would be just about desperate enough round here, to go home with you.”
Dean stepped towards her.
A tear ran down Mairead’s cheek.
He stroked her hair gently. Ran a finger down her face.
Another thump, from a different room.
“You know I need to have a wee word with Gerard now, don’t you? About messing with another man’s woman.” Dean whispered.
Mairead nodded with a whimper.
“Don’t go anywhere, will ya?” Dean said with a smile, waving Mairead’s car keys in his hand.
Mairead nodded again.
Dean placed her car keys in his jacket pocket, left the kitchen and climbed the stairs.

Mairead walked slowly to the back door, unlocked it and stepped into the garden.

Moments later, the screaming started.
She forced herself to keep walking slowly, heading for the gate.
I am safe here.
A dark shape rushed past on her left. She refused to look at it. Nope!
This is a new beginning.

Lights appeared on the road ahead. They stopped at the top of her lane, placing Mairead in the highlights.
“RUUUUUUUNNNNNNN!!!!!” Roared Gerard.
Nope! Mairead continued to walk at the same speed.
I am safe here. This is a new beginning.

“INCOMING!!!!”
Mairead glanced to her right, where Gerard was pointing. A tall figure was rushing towards her on two legs, snarling ferociously.
Mairead stopped walking. Waited for the end to come.
The figure was almost upon her, when a large, shaggy grey shape streaked in front of her, snarling just as aggressively.
“GO ON BRIAN!!!!!” At his shout, Gerard’s Wolf Hound leapt through the air at the inhuman shape coming for Mairead.
Horrific snarls rent the air.

Mairead cried freely as she continued on shaking legs towards Gerard’s car.
I am safe here. This is a new beginning.
“COME ON!!” Gerard roared.
She sped up a little.

Something round bounced along beside her, coming to rest in front of Gerard’s car lights.
It was Dean’s head. Mouth still open in a silent scream.
A bloodied Brian shot out of the darkness, snatched the head in his large jaws and raced into the night, tale wagging. He looked like it was having the time of its life.
“Bon Appetit.” Mairead said softly, fighting hysterics. 

She reached the car, stepped in and calmly clicked her seatbelt as Gerard fired the car into reverse, before speeding off down the country lane.
“Will Brian be ok?” She asked in a small voice.
“Och Aye. He’s a good match for those Bastards. Doing better than your fella anyway.”
Mairead laughed at that, as delirium hit in earnest.

She looked over to Gerard as he teared through the countryside, a grim look of determination on his face.
I am safe here.
This is a new beginning.