Hotel Miramar

By Jonathan Dunne

Welcome to Hotel Miramar, where the guests aren't guests.

Journalist Dan Armstrong works for a struggling local newspaper. To save the tabloid from closure, Dan carries out one last assignment - the mysterious evacuation of the islanders from Crab Island, now an off-limits nature reserve.

But Dan and his family soon learn the impromptu evacuation of Crab Island isn't the only mystery on the island. A living, breathing terror lurks on the desolate isle. The Armstrongs don't find a nature reserve, but a freak-of-nature reserve.

Dan's story for the local newspaper goes 'viral' for all the wrong reasons.

We hope you'll enjoy your stay at Hotel Miramar, a once-in-a-lifetime experience...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Dunne
• Release date: Jan 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798227829467

Jonathan Dunne

Admittedly, Jonathan has done things arseways most of his life, from completing a BA in Literature in his thirties to fitting teeth brackets (30's, porcelain). During this general confusion, Jonathan has had various short stories published. Jonathan suffers from photophobia though has a tendency towards fireworks. Originally from Limerick, Ireland, he now lives the reclusive life in Toledo, Spain, as a bearded hermit, with his wife and three daughters. He is known to be found in the local cemetery at the weekend during daylight hours, though for goodness sake, don’t sneak up on him.  

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

HOTEL MIRAMAR

First edition. January 19, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Jonathan Dunne.

ISBN: 979-8227829467

Written by Jonathan Dunne.

Horror novels by Jonathan Dunne:-

The Squatter (2021)

Billy’s Experiment (2022)

Crazy Daisy (2022)

Hotel Miramar (2023)

Rosie (2023)

Dead Ends (2023)

5-Book Box Set (2023)

Drive (2024)

Fireman (Coming 2024)

Keep up to date with Jonathan Dunne on his author page at Goodreads.

Hotel Miramar

By

Jonathan Dunne

Copyright © 2023 Jonathan Dunne

All Rights Reserved.

Hotel Miramar

No part of this work may be stored, transmitted, or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Some locations exist while others don’t. Actual locations that do exist have been altered by the author for the purposes of fiction and not to be construed as anything other than fiction. Any similarities that exist between locations, locales of any description real or fictional, including their time-frames and happenings, are purely coincidental as are any similarities that exist between persons, dead or living.

Any person/persons in the cover image is a model, and is not related to the character in the story.

Table of Contents

Black Spot

N 52° 4’ 53.4, W 10° 34’ 5.88

The Blind Captain

The Strange Crossing

Salty Sally

The Strangers

Lonesome Boatman

Better of Two Evils

X

Hotel Miramar

1805 and Beyond

Hotel Nuthouse

Room Service

A Thousand Hissing Snakes

Snoop the Scoop

Once a Crab, Always a Crab

Dear Liza, Dear Liza

I’m the Spider, You’re the Fly

Skin Deep

Fires and Mirrors

Creeping Flesh

Zippo

Inkblot Faces

Friends Close; Enemies Closer

Three Piles

The Mingling

Mother Ocean

The Head

Bone and Scale

Lick O’ the Flame

Row, Row, Row your Boat

The Nightmare

Freak-of-Nature Reserve

Fear, Dear

Run, Peter

Wagging Tongues

Flambé

The Rainy Day Shack

Now or Never

Epilogue

Dedication

To Chloe. Never change.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here

— William Shakespeare

Hotel Miramar

Black Spot

Dan Armstrong had sat down at his desk when the call came through. It was just before 8am. In another twenty-four hours, Dan and his family would come face to face with the disfigured lonesome boatman who would change their lives forever. For good or bad, the jury was still out on that one.

‘Hi Dan, this is Gail.’

‘Yes, hi Gail.’ Dan wasn’t sure why his boss, editor-in-chief at the Old Castle Times newspaper, Gail Robson, insisted on telling him who was on the other end of the line. She was in the office next door and had been for the last ten years.

‘How do you feel about an impromptu Christmas island getaway?’

Dan absorbed that question. ‘Christmas island? Isn’t that on the other side of the planet somewhere?’

‘No, Dan, you’re getting the wrong end of the stick again. I’m talking about a Christmas getaway on an island.’

‘Okay. But my senses are telling me you’re not talking about the Caribbean, Gail.’ He sensed it in that raised tone of voice of hers. ‘I’ve known you too long. Besides, I doubt our sales figures would allow for a Christmas break in Puerto Rico.’

‘Okay, so forget the Caribbean palm trees for a moment and think more like prickly gorse bushes and dark windswept moors.’

‘Okay, that’s more like it.’

‘Let’s cut to the chase. The newspaper has been battling poor sales. As you’re aware, government funding has dried up. Advertising is getting us through. But what happens when nobody reads a newspaper where companies like to advertise? Those companies will go online where the eyeballs are. I blame the internet for all of this.’

‘You blame the internet for everything. We’ve already spoken about this. The internet can be your best friend or your worst enemy. We need to adapt to the times we live in. We must have an online edition of the newspaper. That’s a must, as my son says.’

‘How is Peter?’ asked Gail.

‘He’s knocking off for the Christmas break today.’

‘Wish him a Merry Christmas from me, please. Is he still winning swimming medals?’

Dan answered proudly, ‘I think he’s getting too used to winning. It’s okay to lose every now and again...keep him humble.’

‘Well, tell him I hope Santa brings him a gift this Christmas that he’ll never forget.’

Dan stalled for a moment to consider that unusual line. ‘Hmm, that sounds expensive.’

‘It doesn’t have to be,’ Gail answered from the office next door. Dan could just about hear her muffled voice coming through his left wall partition. ‘Many of life's best things are free.’

Gail Robson was right; Santa would bring Peter Armstrong an unforgettable gift this Christmas, and it wouldn’t cost him a penny.

‘Now, where was I? Oh yeah, we still possess a strong readership in town.’

‘Gail, with respect, you’re only fooling yourself if you think we have a strong readership in town. You just told me we’re battling poor sales. Our readers are the elderly of Old Castle — the ones who are used to buying their daily newspaper down at the local kiosk. Without wanting to sound callous, who is going to read our newspaper when they pop their clogs?’ Gail was getting on in years and it wouldn’t be long before the editor-in-chief would be a member of the same elderly population in Old Castle that Dan was referring to. The journalist thought about mentioning this, but perhaps it was crossing the line. He wasn’t sure. The journalist felt she was making excuses. ‘Young people don’t open the newspaper anymore. The younger generation doesn’t even realise what one looks like. But if you put that newspaper on the screen in front of them, then we might have a chance.’

‘I don’t care what anyone says. It’s the content of the newspaper, not the format. Do you think males in the eighteen to twenty-five age category would go out and buy the newspaper if it was peppered with semi-naked women? And maybe some local news thrown in between those lusty pics? Some might say I’m being sexist, but Gail says she’s being realist.’

‘You can also include the forty-five to fifty-five age category if that’s your angle,’ quipped Dan.

‘Let’s get back to that island getaway, shall we?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I have an end-of-year assignment for you that just might save the paper and our asses.’

‘Go on.’ Dan found his line of vision creeping to the date in the top right-hand corner of his computer screen. Today was the 22nd of December. Where were they headed on December 22nd, so late in the year?

‘Have you heard about Crab Island?’

The name rang a bell for Dan, but he wasn’t sure why. ‘It sounds familiar.’

‘I want you to go to the island and do an article on the dying way of life there...well, the dead way of life. It’s abandoned now. Strictly off-limits ghost island.’

‘Wow, ghost island?’ Dan repeated. ‘I already have the title of the story. A cliché, but clichés sell.’

‘Don’t you remember what happened there some time ago?’

‘Nope.’

Gail Robson went on, ‘The government made an emergency evacuation during the seventies. All very tight-lipped. To this day, Crab Island is a protected territory with high penalties if caught within sniffing distance of the place. It’s a nature reserve. The island of Crab is home to a unique plant.’

‘Didn’t you mention Puerto Rico?’

‘No, Dan, I think it was you who mentioned Puerto Rico. There was never any explanation given for the evacuation. The government handed the islanders enough money to take early retirement, plus a hefty pension and a beautiful cottage on the mainland. Did I mention a new car? That’s called buying your silence, Dan. I want to know what the government was paying for and why? You’re going to be our eyes and ears in that silence. What was the government covering up? And if they offered so much to the islanders to keep their mouths shut, then what did they offer to the islanders if they opened their mouths...talked, I mean.’

‘Interesting, but I still prefer the Caribbean.’

‘We all prefer the Caribbean, Dan. But we have a state secret right here on our doorstep and I want to know what went on there. To my knowledge, no newspaper has ever written about the place.’

Dan imagined the editor-in-chief flashing air commas. As Gail relayed the story, memories of this strange occurrence filtered into the journalist’s memory.

‘Think about what the story would do for the paper, Dan. Invest in the future of your family.’

‘Gail, I get it. You don’t need to give me the family spiel.’

‘Apologies for being bleak.’ The editor-in-chief paused. ‘I’ve been crunching the numbers. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone, but between yourself and myself, the situation will force the newspaper to close on or around Valentine’s Day, February 14th. That’s my forecast. The future of the newspaper and our livelihoods depends on this story. I bet my life and career on it.’

‘Didn’t you just mention panic words like off-limits and  high penalties?’

‘Rules were meant to be broken, Dan.’

‘Yes, but it will be me breaking them, while you’re sitting here nice n’ cosy.’

‘So, will you do it?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Dan, we always have a choice.’

Having a choice made it worse. By telling him that everyone has a choice, Dan felt he had no choice. He tried to sound enthused as his boss explained what the assignment entailed. The journalist looked through his office window across Old Castle’s roofline. The wind was picking up, antennas wobbled on chimney stacks, crows and rooks flew across the sky at breakneck speeds. That was a cold biting wind out there. If the weather was bad here, then Dan could only imagine what it was like out on an abandoned island where riptides flourished and winds cut deep. And there was the journalist looking forward to a quiet, snug Christmas.

Drinking mulled wine and stuffing your face with Mr Kipling mince pies you can’t really afford... whispered Mr Conscience.

‘Maybe Deirdre or John might like to have a crack at this?’ Dan suggested.

‘I wouldn’t ask any other journalist. You’re the man for the job. They don’t have the experience.’

‘They don’t have families either.’

‘Dan, look at your family as the reason you should do this. Look, if you don’t want to do it, just say so. I’m not obliging you to do this as it involves risk. I wanted to give you the first dibs. Is that the expression? I know it’s a sacrifice with Christmas coming in just a few days.’

‘What if I get caught?’

‘Don’t get caught.’

‘Great. Thanks.’

‘I have organised for someone to take you across to the island. A friend of a friend owes a favour to a friend of a friend. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.’

Dan laughed to himself. ‘That sounds so legit.’

‘People in our business bend the rules a little; purely in the name of freedom of information. Our readers will thank us.’

‘When do you propose I do this?’

‘Today. Now...’

‘But it’s—’

‘Christmas, I know. Hence, impromptu Christmas getaway. Pick your son up from school and surprise him. This might be an educational outing for Peter. He will love the drive along the Wild Atlantic Way.’

‘Wait...’ Somewhere along the way, it had become Dan and his entire family.

‘By the way, to show you my appreciation, I have also booked your good wife and son into a plush hotel in Dingle, a magical and lively port town on the—’

‘Yes, I know where Dingle is. Why book us into a fancy hotel if the newspaper is making a loss?’

‘There has to be a little give and take in life, Dan. If you can pull this off, we’ll make our money back. Never say Aunty Gail didn’t treat you right. I’ll send you all the details, including the accommodation voucher. Did I tell you they have a spa and seaweed baths?’

‘No, you didn’t, Gail,’ Dan answered. ‘Can it not wait until the new year? January 2nd, for example?’

The editor of the newspaper told Dan his assignment would take up two days...starting right now. And that’s how it was. ‘You’ll be home on Christmas Eve. Be kind, Dan. Remember what happened Scrooge?’

‘Scrooge was mean. This is not the same.’

‘Okay, forget I mentioned Scrooge. So, are you in or out?’

Dan Armstrong sighed down the line. It had been so long since he had felt like a proper journalist, covering actual stories, instead of typing up the weekly obituary column in the newspaper. The irony was that each recent death was a nail in the newspaper’s coffin. But according to Gail, it was only a matter of time before he would add the Old Castle Times to its own obituaries. ‘In...I s’pose.’

‘Goody-good-good!’ Gail showed her appreciation in tune. ‘I knew I could count on you, Dan Armstrong. By the way, there’s no phone coverage down there, I’m talking zero. A real black spot for phone coverage.’

‘I love how you add in the succinct points after I commit.’

‘Thank you. Report back to me. I’ve just sent you the coordinates.’ She snorted laughter. ‘That sounds like a spy movie! Isn’t this exciting? The place doesn’t even have an address!’

‘If you’re so excited, why don’t you go?’

‘It wouldn’t be any good for my asthma. Besides, I have to man the ship here. And speaking of ships — I’ll get in contact with my contact who will be taking you across. Apparently, a special branch of the Coast Guard is protecting the island. They trawl that stretch of water many times a day and night. If my contact doesn’t show up, abort the mission. Got it? The Coast Guard can get heavy-handed with people trying to sneak onto the island. My friend of a friend told me to tell you that.’

‘What do you mean special Coast Guard?’

‘A little birdie told me it’s the government themselves controlling the waters around Crab. No trespassers. The island itself is a black spot, not only phone coverage. See? There’s something going on, Dan, and we’re going to be the first to uncover the truth. Very exciting,’ she mused. ‘One more thing.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Nobody knows about this. Just you, me, and the fisherman who will turn a blind eye.’

Dan joked. ‘Does he have a blind eye to turn?’

Gail laughed herself into a wheeze. ‘Seriously, report back to me and me only. We are risking everything on this. If we are hit with a fine for trespassing, that will be the death knell for us. If you decide to take your son along, please don’t reveal the location. You know what kids are like with phones these days.’

‘I still prefer Puerto Rico.’

Dan was about to hang up when Gail called him. ‘Yeah?’

‘There’s something else I would like you to look into...there are unconfirmed reports about people going missing down in that area.’

‘Oh, here we go — another little detail you just decide to drop into the conversation after I say yes. How can they go missing?’

‘Dan, people are going missing every day. It’s a frightening thought.’

‘Lost, you mean?’

‘No, I mean missing. Crab Island is a restricted area and people see the allure of this. Just look at Area 51. People can’t get enough of the place — it’s a military base, but it’s mysterious and off-limits. That’s enough for any inquisitive mind to create many far-fetched scenarios. Crab Island is Ireland’s Area 51.’

Dan laughed. ‘Little green men?’

‘Well, now you’re being racist, Dan Armstrong.’ She chuckled an asthmatic laugh down the line. ‘On a serious note, these people going missing is one thing, but the biggest mystery is how those disappearances are kept under wraps. You won’t see anything about them in the public because the government is making sure of that. When something leaks, government officials are there to bung up that hole. Ghosting the ghosts. Just a little heads up. Officially-unofficially, you’re over there to document the deserted island and the way of life that once was.’

Dan commented, ‘Yes, that was the line you gave me at the start of this conversation.’

‘I know you’re being ironic. But if you notice anything else, then don’t think it would harm your article.’

‘But what about people getting harmed? I mean, if it’s a state secret...’

A lull came from the opposite end of the line. ‘Have you heard of the Freedom of Information Act? As a journalist, I am assuming you are familiar with the act.’

‘But does that extend to state secrets?’ The area was a little hazy, and Dan assumed there would be a small print. But he wasn’t sure how far that extended and didn’t know if he wanted to test the waters of Crab Island, especially with his family tagging along.

‘Now, I’ll say no more. This is a recorded line.’ She scoffed.

Through the thin walls of the office, Dan could hear her laughter continue after she hung up. It wasn’t a recorded line, but as Dan Armstrong placed the receiver in its cradle, the journalist imagined a suited government official in some dark government building basement, listening to the click of the line as Dan hung up on the call that would have repercussions. This curious phone call was the start of something that would show the journalist this world still held unfathomable secrets, much stranger than fiction. That was a comforting thought — depending on what those secrets were.

It was Friday, 22nd of December, 2023. By Christmas Eve, Dan and his wife, Ruth, would be sharing a heartfelt kiss of death.

N 52° 4’ 53.4, W 10° 34’ 5.88

DAN ARMSTRONG SEARCHED his mails for Gail Robson’s email. Checking the time she had sent the mail, he could confirm she had sent the coordinates before their phone conversation, just as he had suspected. She knew him better than he knew himself. The editor-in-chief was well aware the adult Dan was no match for that boy-like sense of wonder cooped up inside him. But the journalist hoped it wouldn’t land him in the hot water that surrounded Crab Island.

He clicked on the mail.

Coordinates — N 52° 4’  53.4, W 10° 34’ 5.88.

Pickup — 7.15am Dunquin pier, Saturday 23rd.

Dan laughed to himself. ‘This is like a treasure hunt.’

And in many aspects, it was a treasure hunt. But the treasure the Armstrongs would find on Crab Island was anything but gold.

An icy draught of apprehension about this unplanned adventure to the wilds of the Atlantic coast bristled along the nape of his neck. There was something about the name: Crab Island — crab...cold hard-shelled sea spiders that took in their surroundings with those periscopic eyes-on-stalks. It unnerved him; Dan had always borne a deep fear of the deeper sea. He shivered in his swivel chair at the thought of it. To steady his nerves, the newspaper man sparked up a cigarette. He hated himself for smoking; his wife and son hated him even more. Ruth told him it would put him in an early grave some day.

When Dan arrived home, he found his wife in the garage. They had converted the space into a workshop for Ruth, who ran a steady business restoring old furniture or reviving as she preferred to call it.

Dan announced, ‘I’ve got some news,’ whilst trying to hold a smile and realising he sounded just like Gail.

‘Good or bad?’

‘Hmm, both. Which do you want first?’ He knew in his heart and soul that Ruth would not be a fan of heading off to some secluded island just a few days before Christmas, at least a rugged, blustery island.

‘Hit me with some good news.’

Dan had been thinking about how to broach the subject on the way home. He considered adopting Gail’s tactics, but that wouldn’t work with Ruth. ‘We’re going to an island.’ This trip was already a done deal; that was the best approach for his wife.

Ruth considered her husband, just to see if he was bluffing. ‘Wow, okay!’ She lit up and Dan could see that sun-drenched, white-sand island in her eyes, with palm trees and cocktails and—

‘So, what’s the bad news?’

‘It’s not Jamaica.’

That light faded from his wife’s face. ‘Oh, okay. I’m getting the picture.’

‘Crab Island.’

‘Oh, really? But isn’t that off-limits or something?’

Ruth’s reaction surprised him for two reasons. He was astonished that she was even entertaining the idea of going to an island with Christmas on their doorstep. Dan was a little taken aback she even knew about the island. ‘Oh, you know it?’

‘Of course I know it. Don’t you remember the hullabaloo when the government evacuated the islanders? That was when, during the nineties?’

‘The seventies, according to Gail.’

‘Are you serious? God, where are the years going, Dan?’

It was true for Ruth. The years were flying by. Now, thinking back, the journalist had done little with his life of late. Dan was considering this island adventure was a wake-up call.

‘The government said it was a nature reserve. That’s the excuse they gave. You don’t just evacuate an island overnight and declare the place a nature reserve because some rare plant is suddenly growing there, c’mon. Do they think we are fools?’

‘Well, that’s exactly what the government did.’

‘It sounds exciting, Dan. Something to look forward to in the new year.’

That explained Ruth’s enthusiasm. ‘Cue the bad news...’

‘Oh, I’d forgotten about the bad news.’

‘We’re going today?’

‘Today? What do you mean today?’

‘Like, now. You know what she’s like.’

‘Gail?’

‘Who else?’ asked Dan.

‘But, Dan, it’s Christmas.’

‘That’s what I said, and it didn’t seem to make any impression on her.’

‘Gail is having a mid-life crisis.’

‘The newspaper is her — our — crisis. She had her mid-life crisis ten years ago. The newspaper is on the rocks, you know that. Gail has got it into her head this article will save the paper.’

‘What article?’

And so Dan told his wife about the story the editor-in-chief wanted him to cover. ‘I suggested we do it early in the New Year, but we’ve run out of time. I didn’t think the newspaper was doing so badly.’ That got him reflecting on the conversation he’d had with Gail regarding their dying readership and how they needed to get with the times and produce a digital version of the newspaper. Everything needed to be on a screen nowadays. ‘You and Peter don’t have to come. But like I said, Gail has already made reservations in some fancy Dingle hotel. It’s her way of saying sorry to be sending you to such a place so late in the year. I checked the hotel website and I have to admit that it is quite a snazzy place.’

‘When are we returning?’

‘Christmas Eve.’

Ruth did the lip-pursing thing she did when she didn’t like an idea. She weighed up the proposal. Little did she know she was weighing up her life as she knew it, not simply a getaway on a lonely island with a murky past. ‘Okay, count us in.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep, it’s something different. We’ve got all the presents and everything is set for Christmas. Peter is off today for the holidays. Why don’t we surprise him?’

Ruth’s gung ho attitude took Dan aback. ‘Okay, so that’s decided.’ They laughed. ‘Let’s go and pack!’

Dan Armstrong hadn’t realised there was no mention of a pickup from Crab Island in Gail Robson’s email, just the pickup to the island, as if this was a one-way ride.

The Blind Captain

At 1pm, Dan and Ruth Armstrong collected their son, Peter, at the gates of Saint Molua’s school. Both of his parents stood at the gate waiting for him with sly smiles on their faces, surprising the 14-year-old Peter. On any other day, Ruth would be the one to collect him as she worked from home, and it was easier for her.

‘Happy holidays!’ Ruth called to her son as he crossed the yard, eyeing them. As he came through the school gates, he asked, ‘Why are you here, Dad?’

‘Not happy to see me, buddy?’

‘Well, yeah, of course I’m happy to see you. I just want to know why?’ Peter questioned everything. The 14-year-old found questions to ask where there were no answers to give.

Peter’s mother and father exchanged a twinkling glance.

‘Can I tell him?’ Ruth asked Dan.

‘Tell me what?’

‘Fancy a little holiday?’

Peter’s eyes widened. ‘What? Yeah! Cool! Where?’

Dan and Ruth had spoken about this in the car on the way to school and had decided that the location would remain a secret, as Gail had requested. The last thing they needed was Peter giving away their location on TikTok or whatever. Peter was a great kid, but he had a big mouth and a tendency for social media like most kids his age. He would give away their real-time location in two seconds flat.

‘It’s a surprise,’ said Dan.

This additional element added even more mystery and intrigue for Peter, who was shaking with excitement. ‘I love surprises!’

‘Me too!’ said Ruth, throwing a glance at her husband that said all of keeping the location of the island a surprise instead of a secret has worked out even better. That’s called good parenting!

Dan added, ‘Me three!’ to a round of laughter.

But in life, as with many things, surprises come in many disguises, both good and evil.

The Armstrongs piled into the family car (a Citroen Picasso with more mileage than Marco Polo) and headed in a south-west direction for an impromptu Christmas holiday.

Once they were on the coast road, the excitement began. As they drove by The Hillside psychiatric facility out on the headland, Ruth shivered, telling her husband and son that there was just something about the place that gave her the heebie-jeebies. Both she and Dan were well aware of the strange stories that had come out of that asylum down through the years. The strangest story happened when their own neighbour, Daisy Devlin, who had worked as a psychologist at the mental hospital, took the lives of her entire family, including herself. The mass-murder was still an ongoing investigation as some areas of the heinous crime didn’t add up. They tore down Number 5, where the Devlin family once lived, and built a happy, shiny kiddies park on the same dark foundations for kids to play in.

In the backseat, Peter laughed to himself, hearing his mother say ‘heebie-jeebies’. He had been swiping through TikTok videos when they passed the imposing grey building with bars on its windows. One glimpse of the place gave the 14-year-old the creeps too. In that moment, he imagined psychiatric patients (braindead drugged-up zombies in Peter’s rich imagination) trawling dark hallways in slippers, not knowing where those corridors started or ended.

They played guessing games on the drive south-west. When the novelty of Guess Who fizzled away, Ruth got out her phone and googled an island whose name she conveniently forgot for all their sakes. She was surprised and not surprised to discover nothing about Crab Island online, except a government-run website dedicated to Ireland’s Protected Nature Reserves. Aloud, she read: ‘There are over 1,100 acres of mountainous terrain on,’ Ruth executed a dramatic ‘Mmm Island.’

‘Wait,’ Peter exploded, ‘we’re going to an island?! My head’s gonna explode!’

‘Shit,’ muttered Ruth, looking sheepishly at Dan.

From the corner of his mouth, Dan lipped, ‘There are lots of islands. Just make sure you don’t mention which one.’

Ruth nodded and continued reading. ‘The island is approximately 6.5 kilometres long by .8 kilometres wide. At its peak, the island had a population of 175 residents, with a very productive woollen mill that supplied Dingle town and the surrounding villages on the mainland. The island is uninhabited. Because of the fragile ecosystem, the island is off-limits and trespassers are liable for heavy prosecution. A five-kilometre nautical mile radius no-go zone has been established around Crab Island, which has been declared a territory of national importance and...oh, shit, I’ve done it again.’

Dan closed his eyes for a second. ‘Oh, shit. Exactly.’

For a brief fraction of time, Dan and Ruth