Page 78 of Unalive On Air

Damn.

“But I did risk assess the caves to check that the surfaces weren’t too slippery. The year before, some people had used them as a changing room. Someone had slipped and hurt their back, so we had to make sure no one would get injured again.”

“The caves Stove died in?” I ask, my heartbeat kicking up a notch.

“Yup.”

“So, you looked at the caves. How deep inside them did you go?”

“Oh, all the way. Had to be sure that any area a kid could climb into was sectioned off, because it gets really narrow in some places, and it’d be so easy for one to get stuck there.”

I can’t hide my smile. “This is all great, by the way.” I get to my feet, and to my chagrin, I say, “I need to speak to Stove.”

All the ghosts except Pete have long since left the bar area. He’s staring at a tiny TV suspended on the wall. It plays a twenty-four-hour news station. The volume’s off, and the subtitles appear a few seconds out of sync with the newsreader’s lips.

“They play the local headlines once an hour, but nothing’s been mentioned so far,” he says.

“Is Helga working tonight?” I ask.

Peter’s eyes flick to mine, then out of the window towards a cluster of distant lights in the town. I imagine one or more of those twinkles come from Helga’s little blue house.

“Where are the others?” I say.

“In their rooms.” Peter shrugs. He lifts a pretend glass, “swishes” it around, and knocks it back, smacking his mouth. “Ahhh.”

I side-eye Trystan, who mouths, “Don’t ask.”

Silently, I think not asking Pete anything is a splendid plan, so I grab Trystan’s forearm and march him out of the bar.

“Where are the caves?” I say, when we’re on the other side of Pete’s misery cloud.

“They’re this way.”

The paths around the hotel are all lit with pretty fairy lights and multicoloured tree uplighters, but when we get down to the beach, I realise this plan would’ve been better to attempt in the daytime. It’s so dark near the caves that it’s oppressive. A blanket of midnight. Almost like being suffocated.

The moonlight glinting on the damp rock is the only indication I have of the entrance to Stove’s cave.

I’m dead and there’s nothing to be afraid of. I can’t die again. Right?

“Stove?” I yell, from just outside the mouth. “Knock knock. Are you awake?”

No response, for what seems like forever, but I can hear a sort of animalistic noise. Like a pig snuffling for truffles. I lower my gaze and peer into the void.

“Stove?!”

“Fucking hell!” Stove’s gruff voice carries from somewhere in the midst of the blackness. “What are you doing here? Trying to steal all my treasures?”

“What? No, I ju—”

Suddenly, the darkness parts for him, and he’s there, and . . .

He’s naked.

Well, almost naked. Stove tugs on his jhorts, stumbling forward as he does so.

“What do you want? Stop looking for my sword. Can’t even have a decent tug in peace these days!” he says.

“I . . . I . . .” But what I wanted to ask him has evaporated from my brain. “I didn’t know we could take our clothes off.”