Under a Watchful Eye(15)

A glance at the new crop of stinkers revealed the traits of the hater that his books had mostly encountered over the last two years. He’d assumed the sock-puppeteer was an undiscovered writer. User names often changed, but the puppeteer still occasionally littered his reviews with literary terms, as if possessing some expertise, or believing that he did, while attempting to adopt an ordinary voice to disguise a more knowledgeable status.

The earlier reviews had been composed more carefully. There had been some affectation of erudition and attempts at wit. But the author now repeated himself with hyperbole, and with the telltale emphasis of ‘ever’ and the four exclamation marks. The juvenile toilet analogies were repeated as imagination failed and the fatigue from repetition set in. These notices were shorter and shriller.

The puppeteer had roared for two years, but Seb had work to do and readers who waited.

His agent and publisher had complained to the retailers and review sites favoured by the puppeteer, but these days, who had the staff to deal with the great numbers of people who passed through and left their graffiti everywhere? Even bad reviews suffered from discovery hell.

‘What you doing?’ Becky stood in the doorway. She looked ashen and tired and was wearing his gown. Her feet were bare, her hair tousled.

‘My agent called me. My number one fan is back.’

‘Oh,’ she said distractedly. ‘How many this time?’

‘Triple figures.’

‘New book?’

‘Yep, taking the ratings down to one star overall.’

‘Can I make coffee?’ she asked and Seb suffered the impression that Becky was no longer listening.

‘I’ll make it. I’ll get us some breakfast too. I have some rolls. Bacon and eggs.’

She smiled and asked him if he’d slept.

‘Barely.’

‘Snap.’

‘Why? Sexual frustration and hysteria after my floundering yesterday afternoon?’

‘Stop fishing. That was no big deal. I think I just had the worst dream of my entire life.’

Seb had to swallow. ‘Dream?’ He didn’t add me as well, but his surprise at Becky’s admission was tinged with the reckless excitement that precedes a corroboration of the unlikely.

Becky mock-shuddered her shoulders. ‘Really weird. I don’t want to remember the bits that are still fresh. I’m off seafood for a bit, that’s for sure.’

Seb followed her into the living room and took to the kitchen reluctantly. He was desperate to know what had upset her in the night. But he didn’t want to rush her and felt that this wasn’t the time, so they proceeded to eat the toasted rolls, coffee, juice, bacon and eggs when they were ready. He knew she liked the fare as an occasional treat, and only when she was away from home.

The food, a shower, then an hour of being awake in a house bright with sunlight slowly brightened Becky’s mood, but not Seb’s. His own nightmares and the bad reviews were fresh intrusions, and his paranoia was sufficient to attribute the reviews to the same force that had recently pitted itself against him. Though a connection between the two would be hard to prove. The reviews had continued for years, the sightings of Ewan were recent.

As he showered and dressed, Seb became angry. He still had no clear idea whether he was seriously disturbed, or if, by some miracle, Ewan Alexander had mastered the ability to appear and vanish from his sight like an illusionist. But this was his world, the real world, a place of comfort and technology made comprehensible by science. He liked it and refused to let it go. Admitting to himself that he was hiding at home, and cowering behind a female guest too, didn’t come easily, but he’d found a strength during Becky’s visit that had been lacking when alone. He wanted to fight back now, wanted to strike out at whatever it was that had crept in. Going about his business as usual would be a start.

‘I suggest we take a walk through the woods to the cove,’ he said. ‘Then grab a late lunch at the Court. Fancy it?’

‘Absolutely. Love to.’

That settled it. They’d go out as a determined front.

But things can change.

‘Us both having bad dreams?’ he said later as he pulled on his coat in the hall. ‘It seems odd that we both had nightmares last night. No dickie tummies and we both ate different meals.’

Becky grimaced as she came down the stairs, rummaging through her bag. ‘Mmm? It was so strange because I was sure I’d woken up.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yeah. I was in your bedroom. I could see everything clearly, as if the landing light was on and shining inside the room. And there was someone outside the house, crawling or something. It sounded like someone was rubbing themselves against the wall, or dragging themselves down the side of the house. You were asleep and lying with your back to me. You didn’t wake up. And the window was open. I was too scared to get up and close it, you know, before this thing got in.

‘I could hear these voices too. Tiny voices. They were tiny elderly voices. Old people. A crowd of them. They were in the room somewhere, like in a corner that I couldn’t see, or in the air above the bed. It was horrid. Where does this stuff come from? I never remember dreams. It must be you! Your fault, freaking me out about that face at the restaurant window!’

With some difficulty, Seb opened the front door.

He parked at the pub and led Becky to the stile at the edge of the farmland bordering Marriage Wood. This was an area of ‘outstanding natural beauty’ according to UNESCO. The wood would be carpeted with bluebells and Seb thought this area might enchant Becky, and perhaps help make amends for what he’d put her through that weekend.