Leatherbound Lives

Chapter Two

The next day, we departed for Cairnholm. We took an airplane across the ocean, a train up through Wales, (our noses practically glued to the window the whole time) and a ferry out to the tiny island where we would be spending the following four-and-a-half days. The locals directed us to the Priest Hole, the only pub on the island, where we were greeted by the bartender - a tall and lanky man with stubble on his face. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and he wore a flat cap and a threadbare sweater. After introducing himself as Kev, he directed us to our rooms. The second floor of the pub had what Kev called a "suite." It consisted of a narrow room with rough graying floorboards and coarse plaster walls. At one end of the room, a sagging, dingy green couch sat fading in the sunlight. At the other, two mismatched chairs were tucked under a round wooden table with folded up newspapers packed under one leg. The larger bedroom contained two twin beds, the smaller - only one.

We graciously thanked Kev, assured him that yes, this was perfect, quaint even, and he began to leave. He must have had an after thought, for he turned around in the doorway and added, "And eh, one more thing - I'm afraid the loo's outta service. S'pose you'll have to use Old Reliable for the time bein'." Kev inclined his head toward the toward the window, where a wooden graffitied shack stood in the alley behind the pub.

Kev went back downstairs to supervise the groggy men at the bar. I tossed my duffle bag on the bed, and strolled back into the main room. My parents had promised that we would spend the first day of vacation exploring. "Should we start with the house?" I asked.

My father collapsed onto the musty-smelling couch. My mother pulled out a chair to sit, but it scraped sharply on the floorboards, which made me cringe. "Don't you want to rest for a while, Lynn?"

"We're only here for four days! I want to explore the other side of the island. We won't get to do that once we get to the mainland cities."

"I still feel seasick from the ferry." My father moaned.

"Then I'll go by myself. I really want to find that old house."

"You're not going alone." My mother said briskly. "I'll go with you." At these words, I darted out the door and down the hall. "But only for a little while!" She called behind me. I heard her sigh and say something to my father I couldn't make out.

My feet pounded down the stairs. Kev looked up from where he was wiping down the bar. "Off so soon, Little Lass? No jet-lag?"

"Nope." I grinned. I could still hear my mother shuffling around upstairs. "Hey, Kev?"

"Yep?"

"What do you know about the old children's home?"

His face darkened, and he quickly looked down at his dish rag. "Right terrible place. Got blown up dur'n the War - ain't much left of it." He looked up at me, eyes narrowed. "Why you askin'?"

"Well," I hesitated. "My mother and I were going to check it out. Kind of like a haunted house, I guess..." I trailed off, suddenly unsure of myself.

Kev's shoulders tensed. He leaned over the bar and lowered his voice. "If I were you, Little Lass, I'd stay away from that place. I distinctly recall an American lad coming through here a few years ago. Slept in that same bed upstairs. Wan't much older than you are now. He wanted to go to the house as well. Kept poking around there, day after day. One day, poor fella never came back. The parents looked all over Europe for him, but nobody knows what happened to the bloke." I shuddered. Kev looked up suddenly, past me. I followed his gaze to find my mother standing at the base of the stairs; she'd heard everything.

"No way in Hell are we going there." She turned and stomped back up the stairs.

I sighed and slumped down in the stool. "Do you make Kiddie Cocktails?"

Kev laughed a loud, hearty laugh. "Nah, I only serve the hard stuff. This ain't America, Little Lass."

__________

While my parents were lounging around in our room, I decided to check out the rest of the village. I promised my mother I wouldn't go to the house, which wasn't exactly a lie. I wasn't going to go to the house yet.

Was I was going to do was find someone who could take me there.

So I threw on a jacket and exited the pub. I asked everyone I passed on the gravel road about the old children's home. Most people looked at me as if I were infected with some contagious disease, and the few people who did talk to me said they don't know much. I can't imagine anyone would tell my parents - nobody knows anything about us. We're just the weird American tourists.

I arrived at the edge of the village, where a teenage boy was playing with a hacky-sack. He was wearing an electric blue tracksuit and cheesy gold chains, which jingled as he moved.

"Hey," I said, and he stopped, "What's your name?"

"They call me Worm." He said. "Who the hell are you?"

"Lynn."

"The American?"

"Yeah."

"Your accent sounds weird."

"Thanks," I said nonchalantly, "Hey, do you know anything about the old children's home?"

"Up on the hill? Yeah, been there a few times before. S'not as as scary as everyone says."

"Do you remember where it is?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because I'm going to go there."

He furrowed his brow. "Why?"

I thought for a moment. I wasn't entirely sure why I wanted to go to the house. I guess I was just interested in its story. "I'm kind of a history buff," I replied.

He looked at me skeptically. "Are all Americans as weird as you?"

"Not the normal ones."

"What's in it for me?"

I shrugged. "Twenty bucks."

"I can't use American money."

"Then get it converted. There's gotta be some place to do that on the mainland."

I held out the money, and he took it reluctantly. "This better be worth something," he muttered. He looked around, as if somebody would be watching, and said in a low voice, "Alright. I'll draw you a map - but you can't tell anybody you're going up there. These people are terrified of that place."

"Wait, you're gonna draw me a map? Why don't you just go up there with me? I thought you said it wasn't scary."

He blinked, caught up in his lie. "Alright, it's true - I haven't been up there. But I've gotten really close a coupla times, and I know where it is. You got a pen?" I took my notebook and pencil out of the pocket of my jacket and handed them to him. He made a crude aerial sketch of the island, with the village on one side and the house on the other. He drew a line going from the village to the house, labeling geographic landmarks along the way. He handed it back to me, and held a finger up to his lips. I mimed zipping my lips and throwing away the key, then started down the gravel path back to the pub. I would leave tonight, I'd decided.