Chapter Two
Octoberchilled into November, and wild winds danced around the lighthouseat Hagerawl Point.They rocked Jem Priddy in his bunk room belowthe control deck, and carried weird voices up from the grey-glasssea.The voices didn’t wake him.Seals sang.Waves surged intoserpentine caves and forced air up through blow-holes in thecliffs.No true-bred Rosewarne Cove lad would break his sleep for asong from the sea.
Priddydreamed on.
Sometimes they didn’t feel like dreams at all.They were justrecall, detailed and playing on an endless loop.The nightclub wascrowded, faces fading in and out of focus over the top of Priddy’stenth margarita.The place was pretty damn funky by Penzancestandards, Eric Prydz thudding out of high-end speakers, analchemist’s toybox of neon-glow shots lined up behind the bar.Priddy had already tried most of them, and circled back to themargaritas out of boredom.
He knewhe was being a twat.About the drink, about the kaleidoscope ofsubstances, legal and illegal, that came swirling out of the summervisitors’ vans or got dealt by hard-eyed locals in alleyways behindthe pubs.It was just that he and Kit had been hammered down sohard in their classrooms at Penwith College for the past fewmonths, cramming for the A levels that might springboard them outof the Cove and into a bigger world.It was easier for Kit, who hadparents who gave some kind of shit about his future.When Priddyhad gone home with a rucksack full of textbooks, his dad hadsnorted in derision, then shoved his only son straight back out thedoor to one of the boat-mending gigs that brought the family somesort of living.It had been too easy, once he’d turned eighteen, tocut some of the moorings and float on the tide of visitors whotransformed the southwest into a rough Riviera, a carefree hippieplayground, for a few brief summer months.They were fun.Theyappreciated Priddy’s knowledge of the sea and lifelong acquaintancewith surfing lore, and they usually had drugs.
Marijuana mostly, but occasionally something harder.Harder orweirder—bright little packets marked with peace symbols andshimmering colours, to appeal to adult children who’d missed thewave of rave and were struggling to cobble together a dream-worldof their own.The bulk of it was harmless, tea leaves with a bit ofdope mixed in, aspirin dyed pink.Priddy enjoyed his experiments inthe same way he’d once enjoyed chemistry, mixing stuff up in thetest-tube of his body to see what would happen.The margaritaswould have to do it for him tonight.He was cleaned out, onlyenjoying this last drink courtesy of the handsome surf-bunny he’didly been flirting with for the last half or so.It was all fine.The music morphed intoOpusFourtet’s weird, floating drum-and-bass,and the club’s single cellar room began to heave withdancers.
Beautiful people, beautiful times.Priddy beamed at Kit,who’d just appeared beside his table.“Hey, dude.Paul, this is mybest, best mate, Kit.Kit, this is...”
But thebunny was gone.His seat had the air of having been vacant for awhile.Priddy should have got round to the kissing and thethigh-caressing sooner.He never seemed to time these things right.“Never mind that,” Kit said, thumping down on the sofa next to him.“I’ve scored some bloody lovely crack.”
Even Priddy drew the line somewhere.“Actualcrack, Kit?Heroin?”
“Jesus, no.Just something herbal.But Billy and Dave said it’sfantastic, like being off your face and really, really clear at thesame time.Dave said he saw weird lights in the sky.”
“Dave lives beside Land’s End airport, Kit.”
“All the same.You look bored.Wanna give it a try?”
Priddydid.Lights in the sky sounded good, even if all the drug did wasmake you forget they were probably the Scilly Isle Skybus.Hewanted to be off his face, out of his skin.He could cram away athis studies, stride about the beaches on his life-guard shiftslooking like he knew what the fuck he was doing in the world, butnever for one minute—unless stoned—could he forget that he was aPriddy of Rosewarne Cove, latest in a shuffling, trailing line ofmen and women distinguished for doing absolutely nothing.He’dscrewed up his exams, he knew.Kit said he’d done the same, butPriddy wasn’t so sure.Kit had far horizons in his eyes, the lookof a man on his way.“Thanks,” Priddy said, knocking back thebright purple pills with a gulp of margarita.He tipped the glassin a vague toast, then drained it.“Not gonna see any lights inhere, are we?Let’s go for a walk on the prom.”
“It’s three in the morning, mate.”
How wasthat possible?Priddy had got here just after eight o’clock.Hiswhole affair with the bunny—mutual glances, drinks offered andconsumed, the mistimed flirtation—couldn’t have taken more than acouple of hours.Surely he hadn’t been sitting here knocking backcocktails ever since.
He wassuddenly ashamed of himself.“I’ve got to pull it together,Kit.”
“Pull what?”
“Me.I’m pissing everything away, and I don’t even know why.Let’s go down Long Rock sands and have a run or a swim orsomething, then we’ll hit the truckers’ caff and get a pint or twoof coffee.I’m gonna email the college tomorrow and see about doinganother year, re-sits, whatever it takes.”
“Why, you daft bugger?The results won’t be out untilAugust.”
“I know.But I still...”He faded out, losing the thread.Theremust be some kind of fancy-dress party going on in the clubtonight.He hadn’t seen anyone putting on masks, though.
Christ, they’d put on differentheads.Priddy stared in horror as theplump, pretty girl whose uninhibited dance he’d been admiringturned to grin at him.Her ringlets had transformed into writhingragworms.Her face was armoured with scales, her lower jawthrusting out, lips receding.A single antenna sprang out from herbrow, a sickly green light bobbing at the end of it.“Shit,” Priddywhispered, pressing back in his seat.“She’s a fuckinganglerfish.”
“What?”
“That girl, the one in the red vest.She’s a...Oh,God.”
“What’s the matter with you?That’s Julie, Bill’s sister.Pretty hot, if you ask me.”
A demonwouldthink that.Priddy recoiled to avoid the claw Kit had put outto help him up.“Fuck, mate.Where did you get the head from?Idon’t mind—I just want to know, and then I won’t be soscared.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Thedemon got to its feet and came round to Priddy’s side of the table,leaning over him in concern.The claw closed on his wrist.Priddygave a yowl of fear and tried to scramble away, overturning thetable in a shower of ice cubes and shattering glass.The monsterson the dance floor began to stare.There was a definite aquatictheme going on.The anglerfish was part of a shoal, hemmed round bylampreys and hammerhead sharks.
Priddyloved the creatures of the deep—had been sincere in his desire tostudy marine biology—but this was fucking ridiculous.He scraped athis eyes.“Don’t touch me,” he pleaded with Kit.“Not with thosethings, anyway.Where have your hands gone?”
“Julie,” demon-Kit yelled, and the anglerfish came swimmingover, a mobile phone incongruously clutched in her fin.“Call anambulance.Priddy’s sick.He’s freaking out.”
“I can see that.”Her sweet Falmouth accent was bizarre,emerging from that horror-movie mouth.“What’s he had?”
