‘Pass it to me. Now.’ I watched, horrified. It looked, at that moment, as if the widows’ whistle was no longer bone but a piece of flayed skin that shrivelled in the moonbeam. Light played on its surface until it seemed to wiggle. For a second, she paused and her eyes met mine in abhorrence. The air gathered around us and in its mystery, I knew that we were watched from some other world. Her hand resisted and then she reached out and took it in her fingers. I could not breathe. Slowly, she brought it to her mouth and the world spun.

Repelled, her lips closed over the reed. She did not blow but drew in her breath, pulling a sound from the widows’ whistle that I had to strain to hear, a sound that came from somewhere beyond the realm of mortal reach. It ripped, for a moment, that membrane between life and death. I knew it in my very soul. Something unearthly screeched from beyond the rocks, as if it had taken the opportunity to slip from another kingdom and pause a while. Then silence. Beneath the cloth, the dolls jerked. And then lay still. The candles fell to quietness. For a flicker, our eyes met, then she lifted the widows’ whistle high in the air and snapped it, leaving the sound to bat the air.

Ailsa leaned over, spat and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. It was over. One by one she quenched the candles. Last was the cloth. Gently, she lifted it and there they lay, still as the night, two wooden dolls in clumsy dress. They no longer held my horror; they were but pieces of wood. They could not walk, they could not speak. They held no souls.

From the bag she took two small boxes, lifted the lids and placed one doll in each, then threw in a handful of earth. With nails and a hammer, she closed them shut. They were coffins, two doll-sized coffins to hold the dead. Finally, she stood.

I followed, aware that the wind had grown and that cloud was skimming the sky as if it scabbed the wound that had ripped it open.

At the north beach, the water had fallen quieter. We crossed a sheet of granite where waves banged at the lip. Ailsa took out a handful of sand and poured it into the bag, secured the top and flung it to the ocean. It made no sound. They had been returned and Iskar was empty. Empty of the dead.

I did not need to ask; I knew that the ghosts had gone. It was over.

Part Three

Sleep, he said, lay down your head

No monsters here beneath the bed

And so she slept star-deep in dreams

Moonlight on the window panes.

And did not see it standing by

Or how it watched with its dead eye.

Anon

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