“Hard to say,” Will replied. “Some people believe it was cursed by the Blue Men of the Minch. If you’re from London, then I guess you won’t have heard of them, but they’re—”

“I know who they are,” Rosie interrupted, eager to show off her encyclopaedic knowledge of all things weird and wonderful. “They’re strange blue men who live in the sea round the Outer Hebrides and cause storms and try to drown people.”

Will looked surprised. “That’s right.”

“You don’t honestly believe in things like that, do 65you?” I asked, incredulous.

“It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t believe,” he said. “All I know is that there are no records for the original lighthouse’s construction. None at all. No architectural plans, no expense accounts, no work schedules or contracts, no deed of ownership, nothing. I know because I’ve checked. The earliest records that exist relate to when the new tower was built around the old one in the 1800s. But as for the original lighthouse, it’s as if nobody knows how it first came to be here, or who built it, or why. No one wants to claim it as their own.”

I shrugged. “So what? Paperwork like that must go missing all the time.”

“But it doesn’t,” Will replied. “The lighthouse boards have always been meticulous about that kind of thing. There are records going back hundreds and hundreds of years. A total lack of information isn’t just unusual, it’s unheard of. There are no references to this one in the archives at all before 1807 when the new tower was built. And no one in authority wants to talk about the lighthouse on Bird Rock.”

I didn’t see what the big deal was about a bit of missing paperwork and was about to say so when 66Will looked at Charlie and said, “How old are you anyway? Like, five?”

“I’m six!” Charlie said, sounding slightly offended. “Six and a half.”

Will shook his head. “Mad,” he said under his breath. “I never thought the whole family would be here. Six-year-olds. Jesus.”

“But why does all that mean we shouldn’t take photos of the lighthouse?” Rosie asked.

I could tell she was disappointed with Will’s explanations so far – they were nowhere close to being spooky or interesting enough for her.

Will paused, then said, “The Northern Lighthouse Board used to receive dozens of photos of the lighthouse every year. People sent the negatives too.”

Rosie raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“To get the bad luck to stop. The lighthouse doesn’t like being photographed.” A faint frown line appeared between his eyes. “I don’t think it really likes to be seen at all.”

“It’s a lighthouse,” I protested. “It can’t like or dislike anything.”