The murderers' song by Amy Marvill Sophie Mander (mind reading books .txt) 📖

/> “Yeah, some boring old book.” Brodie repeated before sticking his tongue out at me for interrupting their game.
I nodded them the thanks they didn’t deserve and made my way upstairs. I first went to the lounge, hoping that she’d be in there. A fluffy Persian cat lolled lazily on the battered floral sofa that I had jumped on many times as a child. Charred logs spat amber sparks like snake venom from the stone fireplace upon the far wall. Above the fire, the mantelpiece- without a speck of dirt as ensured by Mrs. McDonane- was decorated by masses of family photographs; dozens of smiling, scenic memories caught forever in wooden frames. A small coffee table sat idle in the centre of the room and ageing novels collected dust on a large book shelf placed on the wall by the sofa. I left the lounge and continued down the landing to Isla’s room. I knocked on her door, twice, once then twice again.
“Come on in Kade!” Isla yelled through the door.
I opened the door and walked in only to be knocked over and jumped on. We both lay on the floor laughing for a few minutes then I said through fits of giggles
“What…the hell…did… you …do that… for?” We both laughed again and she said through a mix or snorts and giggles;
“I… was …trying… to do… a… run… and hug”
As we were still lying on the floor I pulled her into my arms and hugged her so tight she gasped; “Ribs,”
That just set us of laughing again. Suddenly Isla broke of her laugh and screamed;
“I’m going to pee my pants!” She jumped up and dashed for the bog. I sat there and waited for her to return from the toilet. When she returned she was no longer laughing but had a huge grin on her face. She pulled me up off of the floor and we sat down on her bed.
“I can come for tea tonight”
Her whole face lit up as she sang “Great!”
“Would you like to go to the beach with me, Isla?”
She studied me for a second then asked “You won’t push me in, right?”
I put my fist to my heart and said “Scouts honour.”
She rolled her eyes at me; “Let me get my wellies, then.”
I watched her run out of the room then heard the thud, thud, thud of her running around the flat. Roughly five minutes later, she returned wearing purple wellies covered in bumble bees. She grabbed me by the hand, saying; “Come on then, mop.”
I’d been called a lot of things by Isla but never that one before
“What?” she giggled and said;
“Your hair. It looks like a mop.”
I stuck my tongue out at her then ran down the stairs.


Chapter 2


My eyes opened to bright sunlight streaming through my window. Joyful memories of the previous day came flooding back to me.
My pa yelled upstairs “Son! Get ready, we’re goin fishing in an hour.” I leapt out of bed and flung open the wardrobe doors. I grabbed a long-sleeved t-shirt, a fleece jumper, some jogging bottoms and a waterproof coat. I hurried to the bathroom and scrubbed my teeth as hard as I could. I splashed some water at my face, blinking as the droplets stung my eyes. I ran downstairs to find no toast on the table.
“Maw! There’s no toast left.”
“Your pa must have eaten it all!” She yelled back. I quickly put four slices of bread in the toaster and stood there waiting impatiently, constantly checking my watch. I boiled the kettle and made me self a cuppa. As soon as the now toast popped up I buttered them and ate them as quickly as possible. I drank my cuppa tea and ran to the closet and got my wellies. I ran around the house until I found me pa. “Pa, have you got the rods and bait?” “
Yep it’s all packed in the car.” I put on my wellies, flung open the front door and got into the car. Soon after, Pa sat down behind the wheel and started the car
.

As the car turned a corner and the white beach drifted into view, Pa leant over and whispered; “Had a nice time with your girlfriend last night?”
“Pa, she’s not my girlfriend. How many times do I have to tell you?”
Pa chuckled; “Oh yea, and you came back from your ‘friend’s’ house with a huge, lovelorn grin smacked across your face.”
“Even if she was, which she isn’t, it would be none of your business.”
“Oh, now we’re getting somewhere…”
“Pa!”
Pa patted me on the shoulder, “I’m just messing with you, son. But still, look at yourself; you’re eighteen; a man of the household. One day I’m not going to be around anymore and you’re going to have to take care of your old Maw.”
“Pa, your thirty-eight, for heavens’ sake, you’re going to be around for a lot longer.”
Pa’s face had gone from joker to concerned; “You’re not a kid anymore. You’re going to have to settle down sometime soon. And that starts with finding a nice girl.”
The car pulled into the dock, beside a row of colourful beach houses. Some metres away, our white yacht was moored on the sand, surrounded by scattered shipwreck debris that had been coughed up by the waves. As I got out of the car, I rubbed me hand through me windswept hair and realized Isla was right about calling it a mop. Pa was already heaving the fishing gear towards the boat. Suddenly, a clattering sound echoed from the other side of the yacht. Pa carefully put the tackle down and looked at me worriedly, as if to say ‘what was that?’ I shrugged in reply. Then, a small, shiny object rolled out from under the boat. A hand appeared behind it, half cloaked in a long sleeve. I opened my mouth to speak but Pa silenced me with a wave of his arm. The hand fumbled around on the sand for a second before resting on the object. Quickly, it disappeared back under the boat. I blinked, wondering if I had imagined it. Yet, from his reaction, I guessed Pa had seen it as well. Equally stunned, Pa turned his head to me and put a finger to his lips. Slowly, trying not to make a noise, Pa picked up a piece of metal piping lodged in the sand and wielded it like a club, creeping ever closer to the yacht.
“Pa; no.” I whispered.
Pa ignored me, so I followed him silently. Reaching the yacht, Pa raised the makeshift weapon above his head. Fearful that whoever it was could be armed, I clasped the pipe and yanked it from his grasp. Taken by surprise, Pa scowled at me furiously. I mouthed at him to stay where he was, then, cautiously, I peered around the corner. A cloaked figure knelt beside the whitewashed wood, scraping away at it with the shiny object which turned out to be a penknife. The small blade glinted in the sunlight like Isla’s eyes when she laughs. A took another step forward, unfortunately onto some crinkled seaweed. It crunched loudly beneath my foot. Immediately, the figure responded to the intrusion by glancing around madly. I lunged for them. The figure let out an air-strangled gasp as I landed on them, pinning them to the sand. However, I howled in pain and rolled onto my back as I was kicked in the stomach. With the agility of a deer escaping a lion, the figure scrambled to their feet and ran away. I sprinted after them. Reaching the beach houses, they slipped round behind the pastel-painted walls. By the time I had reached it, the figure had vanished. Gasping for air, I sighed in defeat and returned to the yacht, where Pa was inspecting the damage.
“Nothing bad; really.” He mumbled, “Most likely we scared them off before they could do any real damage. She’s okay to sail. Shame we didn’t say who it was.”
Breathless, I nodded; then assisted him in getting the boat launched in the water.

Loch Morar was coated in a thick, almost unnerving mist. The boat steadily drifted across the crystal-like water, rocking up and down with every wave it came into collision with. At one point the water crashed over the side of the boat and I was thrown backwards against the mast.
“Hold on tight, lad.” Pa shouted from behind the wheel, “The further from Seinneadair we get, the more fish we’re likely to catch.”
A fountain of spray rained down on us.
“Mind you,” He continued nervously, “The weather wasn’t supposed to be this bad today.”
I nodded through the brown veil that was my wet hair; clinging to my face like limpets to a rock. The boat hit an unusually large wave, sending the stern up into the air before crashing down again. Normally, my stomach could take any voyage, but the constant sway meant a sickly feeling surge up my throat and I leant over the side. Then, as I wearily gazed at the transparent swell, a flourishing school of rainbow trout swan into view, their gaudy scales glistening like diamonds. I turned to Pa.
“Pa, I can see fish!”
“What?!” Pa shouted in reply,
“I can see trout!”
“Well get the rod over the side, but be careful not to let go!”
Almost drunkenly, I staggered across the wooden deck, grabbed one of the rods and hurled the string overboard, its heavy, metal hook plunging into the deep, jade depths. The rod strained against the weight and I gripped it so hard my knuckles turned white.
“Pa, I’ve got it!” I cried joyously. No praise came from the bow.
“Pa? Pa?!” I turned my head slowly. Pa was gazing absent-mindedly at the fog, a half-smile on his lips, his eyes transfixed on the invisible source of his silent, impulsive delight. A faint voice echoed across the Loch, yet too distant to clearly interpret.
“Pa? Pa?” I waved a hand in front of his eyes, yet they did not blink. The voice grew louder, washing over me like a wave. As the boat drifted slowly closer, the words of a song started to form…

“I lost my fair lover to the sea,
Now I wait alone on the shore,
These ugly tears, shame my beauty,
O how I cry and yearn evermore.

Come hither, strange traveller so,
Come answer a sweet maiden’s moan,
To the island amongst the water flow,
For the island is where I call home.”

The melody was beautiful. Poetic. Hypnotic even. As if surrounded by an unearthly magnetic force, I felt drawn to it; desperate to seek out the unfortunate creator of this strange poetry. I felt the rod slide through my slippery hands and heard its splash on the Loch’s surface. Neither of us complained at the loss; we were too mesmerised by the song. Through the mist, an island began to take shape; rugged cliff faces showed where centuries of weathering had battered them, crowned with a forest of tall pines, bowing gracefully in the wind. And on a solitary rock stranded off the shore, three figures shrouded in shadow tipped their heads back in song. In perfect harmony, their voices grew so powerful they