What a Ghoul Wants

by Victoria Laurie

  About the time I was going to urge Heath to call Gopher again, a disheveled elderly man, probably in his mid-seventies, appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a blue silk robe, striped pajamas, and leather slippers. Gripping the railing, he made his way steadily down the steps and when at last he took his eyes off the stairs and spotted us, he appeared truly surprised that the front hall had two people in it, and he swiped a shaky hand through his unkempt hair. “Terribly sorry,” he said when he arrived at the landing, and looked around as if expecting to see someone else in attendance. “Have you been waiting here long?”

  “A little while,” I said, thinking he must believe we were waiting for the desk clerk. “I’m M. J. Holliday and this is Heath Whitefeather. We’re guests at the hotel too.”

  The elder man’s brow rose. “Too? Oh, no, miss, you misunderstand. I’m Arthur Crunn, the hotel manager. I’m afraid I assumed you had just arrived and were looking for my clerk, Mr. Brown.”

  “No, sir,” I said. “Mr. Brown checked us in several hours ago. We’re the ones who called the police.”

  Mr. Crunn’s eyes bulged a little and he appeared quite rattled. “Yes, I received a most distressing message from Inspector Lumley.”

  “He’s outside, waiting for you, sir,” I said.

  Crunn ran another shaky hand through his hair and pulled at his robe. He appeared to be in no hurry to go out and meet the inspector. “Are you all right, sir?” Heath asked gently.

  The older gentleman nodded but put two fingers to his lips. It was a moment before he could speak. “The inspector said something about a drowning in the moat. . . .”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” I said. “He told us that his constable discovered the body and called in the inspector. Lumley told us that if we saw you to tell you to go out to meet him on the north side of the moat, where they discovered the poor man.”

  Crunn’s face had now become quite pale and I was afraid he might faint. Moving subtly to his side, I placed my arm under his to steady him and said, “Would you like us to go with you to meet the inspector?”

  At first the older gentleman shook his head, but it wasn’t a very convincing headshake. “That’s very kind of you,” he said hoarsely, “but I believe I’ll manage.”

  Heath put a hand on my back. “I’ll go with him, Em,” he whispered.

  But I didn’t want to be left alone. The old castle was suddenly giving me the creeps. Also, it occurred to me a little belatedly that if the dead man in the moat had drowned, it was quite possible that he hadn’t been able to cross over. If I could locate his spirit nearby, I might be able to quietly assist his journey to the other side. “We’ll all go,” I said, looping my arm through Arthur’s. “Come on, Mr. Crunn. We’ll keep you company. And if it gets to be too much, you just give us the word and we’ll bring you back inside the castle, all right?”

  Crunn gave a pat to my hand. He seemed a kindly elderly man, and I had a soft spot for kindly elderly men. “Thank you, Miss Holliday. You and Mr. Whitefeather are most considerate.”

  We escorted the hotel manager outside into the damp morning and I realized there was a fair amount of fog settling in. Although I hadn’t looked at a clock since being awakened by the inspector, I still estimated that it was somewhere around four thirty or five o’clock in the morning.

  We moved through the mist, making our way nearly soundlessly across the cobblestones. Crunn led us across the inner courtyard to a small wood door set to the left side of the main keep that was cleverly obscured by the surrounding ivy and architecture. If Crunn hadn’t stopped in front of it, I’d never have known it was there. “We can take this across to the north side of the moat,” he said, fishing around in his robe for a set of keys, which he used to unlock the door.

  Once he had the creaky door open and reached for a light switch on the inside wall, Heath and I moved through to enter a low-hanging tunnel. I felt goose bumps immediately line my arms as the cold dampness of the stone walls seeped through my clothing. The tunnel was very poorly lit by only three dim bulbs and I could see that both Heath and Crunn had to bend at the waist so as not to bump their heads on the ceiling.

  After moving a few feet forward, I could see that the floor was actually a bridge with a very low stone wall only about two feet high, and below the bridge the slight gurgling of the moat echoed against the walls. It wasn’t far across, but I was anxious to get over the bridge and back out into the open. The tunnel seriously gave me the creeps and I didn’t like it. By the looks of Heath’s face when I turned back to catch his eye, he didn’t like it one bit either.

  Finally we came to another door; this Crunn unlocked from the inside, and we stepped through it to head up a series of stairs. At the top of the stairs was yet one more door, which Crunn also unlocked, and we were at last back out into the open. The early-morning mist obscured most of the surrounding area, but I guessed that we were at the far end of the castle, very near Lake Byrn y Bach.

  From here Crunn led us over a larger bridge that extended over the rest of the moat, then down a narrow path, which curled to the left to follow the round exterior wall of the castle and the curve of the moat. At last we spotted an array of lights, which led us to a small cluster of people at the edge of the moat.

  As we approached, I could see several cars parked nearby. One looked to be an ambulance, and another was a marked police car. Two more were small compact vehicles that I assumed belonged to the inspector and perhaps to the coroner.

  When we were within about ten yards of the lights, the mist swirled and I was able to pick out the inspector from the other people gathered there. He saw us and waved impatiently to Arthur, who quickened his step, and we did too.

  As we came abreast of the inspector, I kept my focus on Crunn. He was trembling outright now and he’d gone so pale that I was starting to really worry about the possibility of him collapsing. I reached out and took his hand to help steady him, and he cast me a grateful glance before focusing on Lumley. “Jasper,” he said, “is it really true? Has someone fallen into our moat?”

  The inspector waved a hand to an area just behind him, and reflexively I leaned out around Crunn to take a look.

  There on a black tarp looking bloated and blue was the figure of a young man with bright red hair, pouty lips, and eyes wide open. I put a hand to my mouth and had to steel myself. The sight was horrible.

  There was a gasp to my left and I realized that Mr. Crunn was vigorously shaking his head back and forth, as if he was willing the sight away. “It can’t be!” he said in a voice barely audible.

  I felt a nudge on my elbow and looked away from Arthur to see Heath tugging at me. “Merrick!” he mouthed. “The clerk!”

  My eyes widened and I looked back again to the figure on the tarp. We were close enough not to be hampered by the mist, and the body was well lit by the portable lights set up for the police and the coroner. When I took a second look, I realized Heath was right. Disguised by the blue of his skin and the bloating to his body, he was hard at first to identify, but that shock of red hair and the set to his chin were enough to convince me. Well, that and the reaction of poor Mr. Crunn. “That’s my clerk,” Arthur said, pointing feebly at the body. “Merrick Brown. He was supposed to be on duty overnight.”

  “What time did his shift begin?” the inspector asked him, scribbling furiously into his notebook.

  “He was on a twelve-hour shift,” Crunn said. “Six p.m. to six a.m.”

  “That’s quite a long stretch to be on duty,” the inspector said, and I noted the hint of disapproval in his tone.

  “He’s allowed a cot in the hallway behind the clerk station. He can sleep the whole night through if none of the guests require his services. It’s often a very quiet shift, and Merrick prefers it. Er. . . preferred it.” Arthur seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the tarp, and as
the inspector was opening his mouth to ask him another question, the poor old man swayed on his feet, and his hand fell out of mine. In an instant Heath had him under the armpits, holding him up when Crunn’s knees gave out from under him.

  Inspector Lumley stepped in front of me to help Heath ease Arthur to the ground. “Arthur? Are you all right?” Lumley asked as Crunn’s head wobbled on his neck.

  I wanted to yell at him. Of course he wasn’t! I looked around and saw that one of the men standing nearby wore a paramedic’s uniform. “Hey!” I called to him. He looked up from the body and noticed Arthur sitting dully on the ground. He was in motion in an instant.

  I stepped out of the way and so did Heath, and we watched while the paramedic tended to Crunn, who was now hyperventilating and complaining that he felt dizzy.

  Lumley appeared rattled by the fact that Arthur had gotten so upset, and I could see a bit of guilt cross his countenance as he helped the medic tend to the older man.

  After taking Crunn’s vitals, the paramedic said, “He’s having a panic attack, Inspector.”

  Lumley’s frown deepened. “Arthur,” he said as the medic placed an oxygen mask over the old man’s nose and mouth. “I’m sorry for all this distress. Is your sister at the castle?”

  Crunn was taking heaving breaths and holding tight to the oxygen mask. He lifted one hand and it shook violently as he attempted to point to the keep. The inspector seemed to take that for a yes and stood up to call to a round man with droopy eyes and a series of double chins, wearing a constable’s uniform, standing nearby. “Niles,” he said. “Go inside and see if you can rouse Mrs. Farnsworth, Mr. Crunn’s sister.”

  “What room is she in?” Niles said.

  Arthur reached up and grabbed my hand. I bent down and he managed to gasp, “Kit. . . chen.”

  I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to go with the constable to help find your sister?”

  Arthur gave one slow nod.

  I stood and motioned for the constable to come with me. Heath tucked in behind us as we backtracked along the same route we’d come by, moving up the hill again at a faster pace this time. I was terribly worried about that poor old man. I wondered if the sight of his deceased clerk had perhaps been too much of a strain on his heart, and I was also a little furious at the inspector for exposing a fragile elderly gentleman to such a grim and distressing thing.

  We crossed the bridge without a word and I was the first to reach the door. Arthur had left it unlocked, but the moisture was making it stick a little and I struggled with it until Heath’s strong arms wrapped around mine and he helped me. The door gave a tremendous squeak and I looked back at him gratefully.

  I went through first, followed by the constable and then Heath. We descended the stairs and went through the next doorway without incident, then out onto the low bridge that spanned the moat. The bridge was quite narrow and we could travel across it only one at a time. As I took my first several steps onto the stone structure, I could feel my breath quicken.

  It took me a moment to realize that the farther into the tunnel I went, the more distressed I was becoming. I felt as if the low-hanging ceiling was starting to close in on me. At first I tried to tamp the feeling down. Traveling through tunnellike enclosures has never been a pleasant experience for me. I’d nearly met my maker in one or two of them in fact.

  So it was no wonder that I was having this reaction. But the more I tried to calm my nerves, the more apparent it was that the anxiety mounting inside of me may not have been exclusively due to the architecture.

  About five yards onto the bridge, I came to an abrupt halt, which caused the constable to bump into me. “Sorry,” he muttered, and I could feel him waiting impatiently for me to continue.

  “M. J.?” Heath said a bit farther back. “You okay?”

  I nodded out of habit, but the truth was that I wasn’t okay at all. Goose pimples were lining my arms and the air in the tunnel had suddenly become so cold that I could clearly see my breath in the dim light. “Something’s wrong,” I whispered.

  “Eh?” asked the constable. “What’s that?”

  “Em?” Heath called again.

  I backed up, or tried to, but the policeman was still right behind me and we bumped together again. “You all right, miss?” he asked.

  My heart was pounding in my chest and my sixth sense was going haywire. Something was in the tunnel with us. Something bad.

  Behind me I heard Heath’s sharp intake of air. He’d sensed it too. “We need to find another route,” he said softly.

  “What’s the matter with you lot?” the impatient constable snapped. “It’s straight through here to the main keep. Just carry on, miss, and we’ll be there in a moment.”

  “No,” I said, pushing back against him. “We’re not going across this bridge.” All I wanted to do was get out of that damn enclosed space.

  I could feel the constable’s impatience as he resisted my attempts to push him back the way we’d come. “Listen ’ere,” he said, but the moment the words were out of his mouth, there was a sound. . . like a hiss at the other end of the bridge, and I could feel a rippling sensation all along my skin. The atmosphere had just gone from really bad to way worse.

  The sound affected all of us the same way; no one moved or said another word for several seconds. Finally I risked an anxious “Heath?”

  “I’m right here, but we need to get out of here. Now.”

  Behind me I could feel the constable’s weight shift slightly away from me, so either he was inching back or Heath was physically pulling him. And for the briefest moment I actually felt like we were gonna get out of there without the evil spirit noticing, but that was quickly quashed when another rather unearthly sound reached our ears. I’d call it laughter, but it was hardly that. It was the cackling sound of a lunatic and it filled the tunnel from floor to ceiling, echoing and bouncing off the walls and our bodies.

  It grew louder too, and soon it was at such an awful volume that I reached up to cover my ears. “Stop!” I shouted when even that became unbearable, and the most unusual thing happened: The cackling ceased and once again we were plunged into eerie silence save for the quiet lapping of the water beneath the bridge.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” the constable squeaked.

  “Nothing good,” I replied, once again pushing against him as I tried to back up away from the source, which I knew remained ominously in front of us. “Move!” I growled when the constable stood rooted to the spot by his own fear.

  He had taken one step back when all of a sudden a figure appeared just fifteen feet or so from us. I let out a startled squeak, as did the man behind me.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the constable raise his flashlight and illuminate a set of tattered rags, which hung loosely about the gaunt figure of a woman with pale white skin, marred by several long scars, and when the beam of the light shone on the woman’s face, we all gasped anew.

  Wide wild eyes stared at us with an intensity that chilled me to the bone. Her long hair was so matted, tangled, and dirty that it was hard to tell what color it was, and as I stared at her in shock, a wicked smile spread across her evil face, revealing a rotted row of brown teeth and cracked, bleeding lips.

  I backed up into the constable again, but he wouldn’t budge—likely so terrified by the horrible figure in front of us that he’d gone temporarily immobile.

  The hag’s eyes narrowed and she trained her evil stare at me before she strode purposely forward to stop just a few feet from us. I could smell the fetid odor of her breath and I nearly gagged on it. She spoke then, her voice raspy and thick, but I couldn’t understand a single word she said. When I didn’t respond, she lifted a thick black chain that I hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. I stared at it for a few beats before inching my own han
d up to move the beam of the constable’s light along the black metal as it trailed to the floor and away about six or seven feet to attach to a metal collar secured about the neck of a Merrick Brown who looked as frightened as I felt. Maybe even more so.

  I was so stunned to see him standing there that for several seconds my brain couldn’t quite make sense of it. He seemed to be struggling with the circumstance of being there too, because in a desperate tone he asked, “What’s happened to me?”

  At this the haggard woman in front of us whirled around and flew at him; crossing back across the bridge, she charged Merrick, who cowered at her approach but did little else to defend himself as she raised her hand and smacked him with far more force than I could’ve imagined she was able to wield. She then uttered something guttural and spat at him and he shuffled back a few paces. Behind me Heath yelled out, “Hey! Leave him alone!” and the crazed woman merely looked over her shoulder and smiled wickedly before smacking Merrick hard again.

  I wanted to do something to stop the assault, but my brain was finally putting the mystery of Merrick’s appearance into place. “Heath!” I yelled. “Grab the constable and run!”

  I then turned and shoved the constable so hard that he nearly fell backward. Heath reached out at just the right moment to catch him by the shoulder and pull him along, and we moved swiftly toward the stairs. “Go, go, go, go, go!” I shouted, feeling the presence of the hag bearing down on me, and just as Heath made it through the doorway, I felt her grab hold of the collar of my sweater and yank me back so hard that I lost my footing.

  I fell to the stone floor, landing flat on my back, and the impact knocked the wind right out of me. I reached out blindly and tried to call out to Heath, but I had no air. A freezing cold hand latched on to my upper arm and gave a tremendous pull and then the hag’s face filled my vision, her eyes wicked and cruel. I tried to swat at her, but she ducked my hands, squeezing my arm even harder and giving me a swift kick in the ribs to boot.