‘You can have this one for free,’ I say. ‘You’ve been staying with us long enough. Consider it a “buy fifty-nine, get one free” type thing.’
He looks puzzled, trying to work out if I’m tricking him. ‘No, it’s fine.’ He throws the money into the bottom of the boat. ‘Don’t want to cheat death.’
‘I thought that was exactly what you were trying to do!’ I call after him as he wanders off. He raises a hand in farewell. ‘See you at six!’ I use an oar to push off the bank, the mist starting to clear from the surface of the water.
Back home, I find Cerberus and together we head to the woodshed, to collect extra dolls. Aunt Libby’s voice floats out from inside the funeral parlour.
‘You see, Mr Henderson, we can offer you any type of coffin you like. Our most sought-after are the walnut and mahogany, though we can also offer bespoke sculpture coffins, and we have these remarkable caskets made out of crushed oyster shells shipped over from Taiwan.’
‘I read online about eco-friendly coffins, do you have any of those?’
‘Oh, Mr Henderson, that’s just a fad and we pay no heed to fashion here. Cheap tat, as I’m sure you agree. Now, let me show you our coffins lined with marble – walk this way …’
We only have one bin-liner full of dolls left. I make a mental note to buy more, pocket a mini toolkit and drag the bag out into the daylight. I tip the dolls onto the soil. Some already have limbs missing, a few with empty eye sockets and balding scalps. I help the others along by fishing out a screwdriver and begin scraping at their plastic skin. Cerberus hunts for frogs while I work.
We started hanging dolls around the island just over a year ago, after Aunt Libby found Isla de las Mu?ecas online. A floating garden, surrounded by canals, just south of Mexico City, covered with thousands and thousands of dolls. They hang from trees and washing lines, fences and signposts. Decapitated heads impaled on sticks, their stuffing tumbling to the ground.
‘They say a young girl died there, Ankaa,’ Aunt Libby told me, her face lit up by the blue computer screen. ‘They say that the dolls are possessed by her spirit. They whisper to people across the water, and lure them in.’
Don Julian Santana Barrera used to be the caretaker of the island. He said he found a girl in the canal who had drowned there and, two weeks later, discovered a floating doll in exactly the same spot. Thinking the doll was a message from the dead girl, he started hanging them all over the island to summon her spirit. To appease her ghost. He said the dolls moved and spoke to him. That they whispered thanks and blessings and magic.
Don Julian collected the dolls for fifty years, and was then discovered drowned, in exactly the same spot that the girl had drowned before him. These days the island is a tourist attraction, and people travel from far and wide to view the ant-infested dolls, leaving figurines of their own.
‘Perhaps dolls will encourage people to visit us, too, Ankaa,’ Aunt Libby said. ‘Best order a hundred or so on eBay, and hang them around the place, like Christmas lights. You can tell visitors they’re your little friends.’
I rip off one of the doll heads and throw it into the lake. Cerberus bounds after it, enthusiastically, and brings it back to me covered in teeth marks.
I spend the afternoon working on our Krasue puppets, Moroaica lights and Seven Whistles tapes. I cup my hands over my mouth and make moaning noises, the occasional shriek. I record the sounds in a cave for maximum echo. It takes a while to get it right, as Cerberus keeps howling in the background, thinking it’s a game he can join in.
At six, I collect Trevor from the mainland, and as the sun begins to set, Aunt Libby brings Mr Henderson out into the graveyard.
‘I’m delighted to say Mr Henderson has picked his coffin, Ankaa, and has decided to register with us, so that we can perform his funeral when the time comes, though of course we hope that won’t be any time soon.’ She pats his shoulder. ‘And, until that time, he’s going to be visiting us once a month, staying for a couple of days at a time, to prepare himself for what’s to come.’
‘Indeed.’ Mr Henderson wraps a tartan scarf around his neck. ‘It’s good to know I’m in safe hands here.’
‘He’d love to have a tour of the island,’ Aunt Libby continues. ‘So, why don’t you show him, while I put dinner on?’
We take the stone path around the side of the hotel, into the trees. Cerberus barks from the kitchen, forbidden to follow.
‘Do we need torches?’ Mr Henderson asks. ‘It’ll be completely dark soon.’
‘Don’t worry, I know my way around.’
He hesitates for a second, before hurrying to catch up.
‘Will Trevor be joining us?’
‘No, he’s done the tour many times before.’
‘Has he been here a long time, then?’
‘A couple of weeks.’ I head purposefully into the undergrowth without waiting for him to follow. ‘Trevor lives in the neighbouring village. He has a chronic fear of dying and his therapist recommended he do something to confront it. That’s why he’s staying here.’
‘Interesting.’ Mr Henderson almost trips over a fallen tree. ‘Ankaa, why are the door frames of the hotel painted black?’
‘Oh, we brush tar on them, to stop the Keres getting in.’
‘What are Keres?’
‘Female death spirits. I’ve spied some in the woods a few times. Descendants of those who escaped Pandora’s Box. Whilst they have their uses, they also have a fetish for infecting the living with disease. So, we like to keep our distance. We certainly don’t want to invite them in for a cup of tea.’
‘No.’ Mr Henderson looks ahead nervously.
‘You’re safe with me, don’t worry. They won’t come close, if I’m by your side.’ I run my fingers along one of the rag dolls on a nearby tree. ‘You see, some say Pandora was the first woman to walk the earth, Mr Henderson. She was hammered into existence by Hephaestus, and given a golden diadem made of animals and sea creatures. Athena gave her a silver dress and Hermes gave her a silver tongue.
‘Pandora was designed by the gods to be a plague on men and, in the house of Epimetheus, she found a gift from those gods. It was a beautiful jar, the same size as herself, and it whispered across the room. Come closer, look inside.
‘And because Pandora had been programmed with greed, and because Aphrodite had given her desire, she reached over and opened the jar. A scream filled the room and darkness fell everywhere. The evils of the world flooded out into the sky. Death, and misery, and every kind of sin.
‘All that was left in the jar was a wisp of white smoke. Pandora slammed the lid back down to try and keep it inside. The smoke fluttered and it spluttered. It moved just like a bird. Hope … it whispered. Hope … Zeus smiled, and Pandora cried.’
Mr Henderson shivers, pulling a hat from his coat pocket.
‘It’s all very … intriguing,’ he says. ‘You certainly know your stuff.’
‘It’s in my genes,’ I shrug. ‘If you look into the distance here, Mr Henderson, you might be able to see the lights of the Moroaica.’