Episode Three: Hands Off

“Cool!” said Carol, reaching for the mask.

“No!” Stan and I shouted together, like twins.

Carol stared at me. Then she stared at Stan.

“Um,” I thought quickly.

Carol’s nose twitched.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The tip of it quivered like it had a stutter. I started to panic. The twitch is a BIG bad sign. It screams super suspicious! I reckon Carol’s half hunt hound. She’s always sniffing out things that aren’t quite right.

“It’s dirty,” I managed to say. “You don’t want to touch it.” I smiled, trying to look caring and chilled all at the same time.

Stan nodded. “Dirty.” He mimed washing his hands.

Carol wasn’t buying it. “I want to look.”

“Food’s getting cold.” I grabbed the mask. “Got to go.” And I stuffed it back into the bag, flashing one of my dazzling smiles. At the door I paused, swinging the take away bag, like I was all casual. “See you tomorrow? Down the square?” I asked.

But I didn’t stick around for an answer. My feet were pounding the pavement long before she could reply. I reached the top of the beach steps and waved, racing down them.

The sand was soft under my feet as I jogged. That had been one weird take away session. And what was up with Stan? After a couple of minutes I slowed to a walk. There was an abandoned deck chair by a sandcastle. Who could resist? I slid backwards on my bottom, into the chair, clutching the bag against my tummy. I stared out at the sea and listened to the waves nibbling at the sand. The heat from the take away warmed my hands.

‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ that’s what my gran used to say. For some reason I could hear her saying that really clearly, like she was stuck on repeat in my head. But I had to look. The mask was way too weird not to. I’m not sure why I felt so nervous as I opened the bag, or why I glanced around the beach feeling a bit scared, but I did.

I lifted the mask out of the bag and cradled it in my lap. I ran my fingers over the inside. It felt odd. The metal was cold and the surface smooth in a wobbly way, like a bit of driftwood. Had water shaped the mask? Had it been moulded over hundreds of years by waves washing over it? Perhaps Stan had found it on the beach and this was his idea of a joke.

At that moment I looked up. Don’t know why. Maybe I felt something change. Behind me, ten pairs of orange eyes stared. I was being watched!

I grinned. It was funny how seagulls always sat in a neat row on the beach railings.

“Hi,” I said.

The gulls edged closer, in a synchronised shuffle.

“Sqwarrr,” they called. Were the sea gulls warning me? Or were they simply after my Chinese?

Suddenly, under my feet, I felt the sand move. My heart somersaulted in alarm. How could the sand be draining away around my trainers? Had someone pulled the plug on the beach?

This was way too weird. I sprang up and leapt over the hole opening up in front of the deck chair. As I flew through the air I remembered too late, the mask! I felt it slide from my tummy.

For a brief moment I was torn between fear of the hole and longing for the mask. As my trainers touched down, I spun round on the balls of my feet, spraying sand up towards the gulls. I felt my balance going and spun my arms, desperately fighting to stay upright. I realised I was still holding the take away bag as I crashed backwards onto the sand.

I stared at the hole. It was impossible. This couldn’t happen on Margate beach.

Adrenalin kicked through my body as fear ripped in. Using the momentum of my fall I rocked backwards. I tucked in my legs and spun into a perfect flip back roll. The world twirled as I spun but I kept my eyes locked on the hole, on that thing.

I scrambled onto my knees and pushed off the sand with my hands, still clutching the bag, my fingers clenched on the handles.

As I ran I heard the gulls shrieking behind me. I risked a backwards glance, just in time.

A bloody hand, poked from the hole, rotten fingers flapping in the air. The twitching fingers gripped the mask. Slowly, they dragged the mask through the sand and into the hole.