Wychetts and the Key to Magic

Chapter 4- Sun, Sea and Sunshine

  It was a bleak, inhospitable landscape. No trees or flowers grew here, nothing except a few briars sprouting from the rock-strewn landscape like sprigs of rusty barbed wire. A flock of seagulls wheeled above the stark terrain, their forlorn cries mingling with the howling wind to heighten the sense of desolation.

  Bryony shivered as a chill gust whipped across the choppy grey sea. Beside her, Edwin was just as uncomfortable, and clung grimly to Jane as they made their way up the rough shingle beach. Jane had yet to recover from their boat journey; her cheeks were still green, and there were droplets of dried sick on her quivering, lily-white lips.

  Only Bill seemed to be enjoying it. “This is the life,” he enthused, inhaling deeply. “Feel that fresh air on your face.”

  Bryony could feel the fresh air on her face, and her arms, and her shoulders and legs. She was dressed for the Mediterranean, and her skimpy tee shirt and shorts offered scant protection from the harsh elements of the English Channel.

  “Cheer up,” prompted Bill, sensing his family’s lack of enthusiasm. “We’re on holiday. And this is our resort. The Isle of Los Sol.”

  “Are you sure?” Edwin had spotted a wonky wooden sign on the beach. The faded letters were difficult to decipher, but he was certain they didn’t match Bill’s interpretation. “It looks more like the ‘Isle of Lost Souls’.”

  “Nonsense,” chuckled Bill, examining the sign. “It doesn’t say… Oh, so it does. The Isle of Lost Souls.”

  A horrified Bryony glared at her father. “You booked a holiday on the Isle of Lost Souls?”

  “It wasn’t my first choice,” protested Bill.

  Bryony gritted her teeth. “So the Island of Certain Death was fully booked, huh?”

  “It’s a simple mistake to have made.” Bill grinned sheepishly. “Los Sol. Lost Souls. They sound pretty similar.”

  The Isle of Lost Souls. Studying their surroundings, Edwin felt the name seemed quite apt…

  Apart from the ‘Isle’ bit. The place wasn’t Edwin’s idea of an island. It was more like a mound. A mound of rocks in the sea. Only, on closer inspection, Edwin realised the rocks weren’t natural. It was man-made debris. Rubble. The whole island was covered in rubble. There must have been a building on the island once, but now it was just a pile of collapsed and crumbled stonework.

  Edwin’s heart sank. He hadn’t been looking forward to this holiday in the first place, but the thought of having to spend the week in such a forsaken place made his eyes water.

  “There’s something else written on the sign,” said Bryony, tracing the faded letters with her right forefinger. “It says ‘You Will Never Leave’.”

  “That proves we’re in the right place,” said Bill. “That’s what the travel agent said: we’ll like it so much that we’ll never want to leave.” He set off up the beach, beckoning to his family. “Right everyone. Let’s go!”

  No one moved a muscle.

  “Come along.” Bill turned round, gesturing enthusiastically. “This is where the holiday fun starts!”

  Edwin could tell from his mother’s face that she wasn’t in the mood for ‘holiday fun’. He knew this was his chance.

  “I don’t want to stay,” he whined, tugging Jane’s arm. “Mum, let’s get back in the boat and go home.” He pointed to the small boat that lay moored on the beach. It had been a rough crossing, worsened by the fact that the motor had packed up and they’d all had to take turns rowing, but he would prefer a repeat of that horrible experience to spending any more time on this desolate island.

  “Let’s look around,” said Bill, before Jane could respond to her son’s demand. “Wait until you’ve seen more of the place before you make a decision.”

  Jane wiped some sick from her chin, and nodded. Edwin was disappointed, but guessed his mother wasn’t over keen on getting back into the boat so soon.

  Bill led the landing party up the beach, dodging the attention of numerous dive-bombing seagulls along the way.

  “Nice welcoming committee,” remarked Edwin, narrowly avoiding a snapping beak.

  “They’re just being friendly,” said Bill, before a passing gull deposited a large white splat on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he added. “That’s seagull for ‘hello’.”

  Bryony snorted. “I hate to think what seagull is for ‘go away’.”

  “Follow me,” called Bill, picking a path through the rubble. “We’ll get a better view from higher up.”

  A howling gale buffeted the holidaymakers as they approached the island’s summit. Keeping his head bowed to avoid the harsh wind and unwelcoming seagulls, Edwin glimpsed something moving in the rubble. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was a rat. The place was probably swarming with them; and spiders too, judging by the amount of cobwebs smothering the stone ruins. Rats and spiders: that must have been what Bill meant when he’d mentioned the island’s active nightlife.

  “Here we are.” Bill came to a halt at the island’s highest point, which was circled by a jagged crown of crumbled masonry. “Now you can see the whole of the island.”

  “And there it is.” Bryony pointed to the ground just behind her father. “The island’s hole.”

  Bill stepped aside, revealing a round opening in the earth.

  “What is it?” asked Edwin, stepping forwards to peer into the hole. “An animal burrow?”

  “There are no animals that big on this island,” said Jane, pulling Edwin away from the edge of the hole. “At least I hope not. It looks more like an old well.”

  Edwin guessed his mother was right. The hole was about two metres wide, and the sides were lined with stone.

  “Great,” said Bill, rubbing his hands together. “We have our very own fresh water supply.”

  Jane wasn’t convinced. “It probably dried up years ago.”

  “I’ll do a test.” Bill picked up a small stone, threw it down the well, and cupped a hand around his ear to listen.

  Edwin listened too, but didn’t hear a splash. In fact, he didn’t hear anything except howling wind and shrieking seagulls.

  “I want to go home,” he wailed, giving Jane a pleading look.

  “We can’t stay here,” said Jane, shaking her head at Bill.

  “Let’s put it to the vote,” said Bill. “I like to think of this family as a democracy. I vote we stay. Decision carried. I’ll get the luggage from the boat.”

  “Hold on.” Bryony barred her father’s path as he turned to go. “I thought everyone got to vote in a democracy.”

  “Oh.” Bill looked puzzled. “I didn’t mean that sort of democracy.” Then he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh well, have it your own way. Another victory for woolly liberalism.”

  “I vote we move on,” said Jane. “Return to the mainland and look for somewhere else to stay.”

  “I vote we go home,” said Edwin.

  All eyes turned to Bryony.

  “Well come on,” urged Bill. “It’s time to vote. Do we stay or do we go?”