She could see it from her kitchen window. It had always been there, all the years that Jessie could remember. From playing in the garden as a small child looking over the fence, to her wedding morning as she posed for photographs with the view in the background. Kinlorrie Island was very small, no one lived there now but the shells of two small cottages were still clearly visible. The only access was from the shore at low tide, when an ancient pathway appeared from beneath the waves. Over the years boulders which lined the way had been tossed and moved by stormy waters, but the way across could still be made out. The story went that many years ago two families lived there. All had all died as a result of a mysterious illness. It was only discovered when the local doctor visited the island to make a routine check on the youngest child. He had found them, all huddled together in front of the fireplace where flames that warmed them had long since died down to powdered black ashes. He had been unable to diagnose what took them. There were no marks or discolouration on the bodies. They were all just grey. Grey and cold like marble, frozen forever in a sleep from which they never woke up. Local gravediggers had prepared two deep graves, side by side, in front of the cottages and the stonemason carved two gravestones, listing all their names. Reverend Johnston read them aloud, one by one, as the two families were laid in the earth. Since that day, no one had returned, for fear of whatever had taken the families might be transferred to them.

Robert Arnold, an American author who read somewhere about the strange story of the families on this tiny Scottish island was curious to see and hear more. When he knocked on her door and introduced himself that morning, Jessie had been unsure at first, but he was polite and well mannered and she warmed to his personality. They shared tea and scones in her garden and she told him everything she knew about the island’s history. He had listened intently, all the while making scribbled notes on a pad of lined paper.

“So, of course, I would very much like to visit the island…”

he had said when Jessie finished her story.

“…do you think that might be possible?”

Visitors who enquired about making the crossing to the island were always discouraged from doing so by local villagers. Hearing the story about the mysterious illness was usually enough to change their minds, but it did not seem to concern this young man.

“…nothing bad happened, you said, to the doctor, the gravediggers, the stonemason and the Reverend Johnston.

I’m feeling ok about going across. A lot of years have now passed. What do you think?”

Jessie was quiet and thought for a moment or two before answering his question.

“It was always said locally that nothing bad happened to them because they were doing what was felt to be God’s work.

Local people fear that anyone else going across might bring something back with them to the mainland, some sort of bad

omen.”

Robert Arnold looked across to the island, deep in thought and stroking his chin with his forefinger.

“What if…” he began, still looking at the view

“What if I go across just for a little while and when I return, get into my car and head straight back up north?

I won’t come to the village at all. Would that be ok?”

Jessie liked his consideration for the village. She smiled and shook his hand as he got up to leave.

“On your own head be it then. If you go now, the tide is on its way out, you have timed it just right.

Don’t linger too long…and you must send me a copy of the story when it’s written.”

Waving from his car window, he set off down the road towards the shore. Jessie watched from the garden as he parked his car and made his way down to the waters edge. Clearing away the tea things she went back inside and got on with her day.

The following month, an article appeared in the local village newspaper.

“Robert Arnold, American author on holiday in Scotland dies in road crash. Found among his belongings were handwritten notes

for a story he appeared to be working on, following a visit to Kinlorrie Island.”