Robin found himself looking down and met the eyes of the golden retriever, who was also staring up at him. Robin suddenly felt very unsettled. He expected someone to break the silence, say something, but no one did. He turned back to the picture but that seemed worse—the eyes burning into his back.

He stepped away from the picture, picking his way around the dog, and got back to his table as quickly as he could. He kept his head down, and after a moment, he heard the sound of four conversations starting up again—overlapping each other into an inaudible mess of chatter. He dared to look up and found no one was staring at him anymore.

What the hell was that?

He looked at his phone to see the flash had consumed the picture. All he saw were ghosts of the Standedge Five fighting through the light.

“Fish and chips.”

Robin jumped out of his skin and looked up. The barmaid was towering over him, holding the food. He tried to smile, slipping the phone into his pocket.

Trying to suppress the urge to run.

Chapter Eight

Robin ate his food quietly, trying not to look around the room and attract the gaze of any of the other patrons again. As far as he could tell from his peripheral vision, no one even acknowledged that he was there, and if not for the incident with the photo, he would have wondered if he were invisible.

Slowly, the basement started to empty. The family with the dog were first to leave, and the others soon followed. When Robin finally managed the courage to look up, he was alone, with only the snaps of the healthy fire to keep him company.

He waited five minutes and went back to the picture above the fireplace, taking a photo without the flash on this time. He was still transfixed by what was written on Tim’s and Prudence’s wrists, but could not make it out.

He went back to his seat and looked at the picture on his phone, zooming into Tim’s wrist. Definitely something there, but too pixelated to make out. “Crap,” he muttered under his breath.

“Can I take your plate?”

Robin jumped. The barmaid was standing over him again. She had made her way down the rickety stairs without him hearing so much as a creak. Robin smiled despite his surprise. “Yes, thank you.”

She didn’t pick up his plate. Instead she sat opposite him. “I’m Amber.”

“Amber. I’m Robin.”

“There’s a room ready upstairs for you when you want it.” She pushed aside the empty plate and placed a large brass key on the table. It had a tag hanging off it with a large 4 written in marker. Robin refrained from picking it up—it seemed Amber wasn’t finished.

“You’re a long way from home,” she said, but there was an air of friendliness about the remark.

“Yes.”