by Rachel Secor
Lady Edythe’s grave, unlike the others, was in a clearing. Neatly trimmed rose bushes encircled the plot of well-cared for ground. The polished tablet embedded in the base of stone read:
ONLY THOSE WHO REMAIN FAITHFUL SHALL ABIDE WITH ME.
EDYTHE, WIFE OF ROBERT CRAIG, MOTHER OF GARTH WILLIAM,
BORN 1811 DIED 1841
“What an odd verse,” Katherine said, shivering, against the chill in the air or the cemetery’s atmosphere, she wasn’t sure. “And it doesn’t say anything about a baby girl.”
“I wonder who has taken such good care of her resting place. Charles?”
“Probably,” Katherine replied. “He’s the only one left who might care.”
A shadow suddenly shot over the ground beside them, then quickly disappeared. An eerie silence filled the cemetery, even the persistent birds seemed to have dispersed.
“I tell you someone is here!” May-Jewel whispered, moving closer to Katherine.
“Maybe you’re right.” She took her sister’s hand and pulled her to hide behind the nearby bushes. From there they could see the entire area without themselves being seen. They waited several minutes, but no one appeared.
Katherine sighed. “See how nervous we are. All because of Molly’s warnings. There’s no one here but us. It was probably only bickering birds fighting over berries in the bushes.”
“That shadow wasn’t made by a flock, and I don’t hear any birds.” May-Jewel insisted, unable to halt the quiver in her voice. “There’s something spooky about cemeteries. I’m returning to the carriage, and I hope it’s still where we left it. Are you coming?” Her eyes swept apprehensively past Katherine as she spoke. “I’d rather be sitting in front of the house of the living than here with the dead.”
“I’ll be along shortly. I just want to find the family vault.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?” May-Jewel asked as she glanced again around her, her eyes fearfully darting into the shadows nearby as if to see a specter or a ghoul.
“I want to see where Garth is buried.”
“Garth? And then what?” May-Jewel frowned. “Will you open his coffin to see if it’s occupied?”
“Of course not! Come on, then I promise we’ll go.” She took her sister’s hand.
“No, thank you.” May-Jewel pulled free. “I’ll wait for you in the carriage.”
“Suit yourself.” Katherine walked with May-Jewel toward the gate, then taking a different path away from her, she headed toward the largest crypt in the cemetery, what certainly had to be the Craig tomb. From there she could still see the carriage top’s black bonnet glistening in the sun. How simple of May-Jewel to be frightened by a shadow and some noisy birds. I bet she was fun to spook during All Hallow’s Eve. But as much as Katherine tried to bolster her own courage by poking fun of her sister, she couldn’t get rid of the eerie feeling of being watched.
Even in the sunlight, the burial chamber appeared dark and dismal. As she neared the large imposing structure, Katherine hesitated. Her task now became a daunting one. Taking a deep breath to gain courage, she climbed the few steps of the mausoleum. The bolt on the iron door slid easily from its sleeve. It should, she reasoned, it was just opened a short time ago for the placement of Sir Robert’s remains. She pulled on its handle. For such a heavy door, it opened with ease. A sigh escaped the airless vault. She looked into the darkness and, afraid of getting locked in should the wind blow the door closed, she sought and found a good size rock which she used in front of the door.
Inside, the stone beams that supported the low ceiling were covered with deeply chiseled runic characters. Katherine reached up as if to run her hands over them as she moved past to the back of the burial chamber. But they were too far above her. Marble sarcophagi lined the walls, each marked with a name plate. Reading each one, she finally found the one marked ‘Garth William Craig 1831-1857’, and she stood before it for a moment. She felt a sudden stirring of sadness within and realized that she didn’t want him to be dead.
“Though there’s a coffin for him, it doesn’t prove that there’s a body inside,” she whispered as she ran her fingers over the lettering of his name.
A loud screeching squeak caused Katherine to spin around, and she watched in horror as the door to the crypt suddenly slammed shut. Her heart pushed hard against her ribs as she now stood in total darkness. Blindly retracing her steps, she groped for the door and pushed against it with all her strength. But her meager attempts did nothing to budge it.
She tried to recall the image of the vault, but fear made all but darkness flee her mind. Taking several deep breaths, she finally calmed down enough to remember what the layout looked like and despair grew, for she knew that there wasn’t any other way out. She recalled seeing the candles that stood in the sconces on each side of the door, but there wasn’t any way with which to light them.
How could I have been so stupid? She berated herself. She had consistently ignored the evil she had felt since her arrival at there. Her heart’s desire of finally being at Wistmere spoke stronger than the cautious whispers that tried, in vain, to be heard. Now she knew that she would suffocate before anyone could find her.
Imaginary fingers crept into her mind strangling all rational thought. She clutched the bar on the door and tried to calm the hysteria that was choking her. Tears blurred her vision. Fear clawed at her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. Although there was plenty of air within, her fear of suffocating made her hyperventilate, and, becoming lightheaded, she began to envision ghostly images, seeing forms that really weren’t there.
Then from the back of the vault there came a rumbling that shook the ground beneath Katherine, knocking her to her knees. She stared in disbelief as the sconces suddenly flared up to life, filling the crypt with an eerie light. Her eyes traveled from the lights to the source of the deafening sound… all the lids of the sarcophagi began to move as if their occupants were awaking. She knew that this wasn’t really happening, yet fear was in control. She covered her ears to block the deafening sounds of the coffins opening. She knew then that the dead were rising and watched as they crawled from their crypts, each hideously decayed and worm eaten. Their ghoulish eyes sought her out. Shrill sounding words reached her ears.
“Here, at last, is the one whose curses have bridged the land of the living to shake our rest!”
Katherine trembled, her teeth chattering with terror as the spectral Craigs each stretched out their skeletal hands to grasp her, to tear at her, to pull the life from her.
A strange odor invaded her senses as the rank smell of death leaked from their decayed breaths. Frantically beating on the door, she screamed. Her shrill cry echoed throughout the chamber until she thought her head would burst. An acidic bile formed in her throat, and she gasped for air. Then the phantom clan drifted aside as they made way for their Chieftain, who advanced swinging his claymore, the double-edged blade moving ever closer to her.
* * *
The warmth of the sun teamed with total silence soon had May-Jewel nodding asleep. She had no idea how long she had been alone in the carriage when a voice suddenly awakened her.
“Why Mistress Belwood! What a surprise. Are you waiting for someone?”
It took a moment for May-Jewel to realize that it was the vicar who was speaking to her and to register his words. “I’m waiting for Katherine,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “She wanted to see the Craig family vault.”
David frowned. “But why didn’t she come first to the manse? We have papers and diagrams that we could have shown her to save her the trip to that dank and inhospitable place.”
May-Jewel shrugged, for she couldn’t explain her sister’s bold decision to go unescorted to the vault.
“Come then, we shouldn’t leave her there alone.” He aided May-Jewel down from the carriage and hastily led the way into the cemetery.
* * *
Garth spotted the carriage at the cemetery gates. No one was about. An uneasiness filled him
as he approached the manse. He spoke abruptly to the old wizened minister, Earnan Macailean, who slowly answered his knock.
“I’m Garth Craig. I was led to believe that my sisters were here.” He was surprised how easily the word ‘sisters’ came out. “I see their carriage is at the cemetery gate.”
“I n’er seen anyone this day,” Earnan replied. “But have a look. People coom this way now an’ again, some ta pray an’ some ta search their kin.” He stood staring up at the stranger. “Ye be Garth Craig, ye say. I dunna recognize ye. Tis the truth that the Master be dead.” The old man squinted in the sun and walked out of the manse. He saw the anxiousness in the young man’s eyes and added, “No matter. Coom have a look, if ye will.”
The old man led the way through the church and, finding it empty, continued on into the grave yard.
“There be lasses here, ye say?”
“Yes.” Garth grew uncomfortable with the old vicar’s gaze upon him. He wished now that he hadn’t gone seeking Katherine, that he had simply waited for her to return to the manor.
“Oh,” Vicar Macailean replied, his eyes still on the younger man. “I guess I need na’ show ye the way to the vault.”
“No,” Garth answered gruffly, perturbed at the old man’s challenging tone.
The vicar nodded and followed Garth as they started their search of the cemetery grounds. As they neared the grave of Lady Edythe, Garth stopped and bowed his head briefly to pray. He then plucked a flower from a nearby rosebush and placed it on her grave. He stood for a moment longer, this time not to pray but to curse his father. How useless, Mother, a ‘dead’ man cursing a dead man. He looked up to see the vicar’s eyes upon him, so he didn’t linger any longer.
Walking around a row of bushes, the old vicar and Garth almost ran into David and May-Jewel.
“Oh, am I glad to see you,” May-Jewel said as Garth came into view. “We’ve been searching for Katherine. She said she was going to the family vault, but she hasn’t returned.”
Concern for Katherine grew. So, not waiting for introductions, Vicar Hawes rushed on ahead to the vault. He was surprised to see the door closed. If Katherine had indeed entered, wouldn’t she have left the door ajar?
“The door is closed. Perhaps we missed her, and she’s still in the cemetery,” he said as the others drew near.
“No,” May-Jewel insisted, “she said she was coming here and intended to go in.”
“But the door is closed,” Garth repeated.
Everyone became silent, each trying to discern what might have happened to Katherine.
“I don’t like this. Can we go in anyhow just to be sure?” May-Jewel pleaded.
David nodded and then tried to move the bolt, but it wouldn’t budge. “The door’s not sitting right. It seems to be crooked, and I can’t move the thing!”
“If the door be askew when shut,” Earnan offered, “’twill be a chore ta open her now.”
David scowled. “You’re right. We’ll need a lever!”
“Aye!” The old vicar hurried away and quickly returned with an iron rod gotten from the gardener’s shed. He handed it to David, who slid it into the crack under the door and pushed down hard. But the door didn’t move.
Without hesitation, Garth added his weight to the lever. Both men worked, trying to slip the door back into its slot. The grating sound that accompanied this action caused May-Jewel to cover her ears.
* * *
Fear pushed Katherine to the brink of unconsciousness, and she slid to the stone floor. With a pendulous movement, the Chieftain’s sword came closer and closer until the steel cut the very air in front of her.
“Death ta the one that curses the clan Mac na Creige!” The specter lunged as his sword hit just above her head.
The ring of steel against stone vibrated through the darkness.
Finally yielding the hate held long in her heart, Katherine screamed, “I am a Craig! I refuse to die!”
But no one there had the power to hear her or free her from her own specters. Only she could do that.
* * *
The scraping of steel against stone reverberated through the cemetery. Once the door was positioned right, the bolt slid easily back, and the door cracked opened.
Gasping for air, Katherine fell out into David’s arms. The group gathered around her, all questioning her at once.
“Are you okay?” her sister asked.
“Mistress how did ye coom to be locked in there?” The old vicar inquired.
“What in God’s good name made you go in there anyhow? What were you thinking?” Garth chided, standing behind the young vicar, and catching sight of her pale face and wild eyes.
Vicar Hawes held her tenderly for a moment and said, “What a horrible experience. What happened?”
Desperately sucking air into her lungs, Katherine’s reply came in broken words. “I… I… someone locked me in!”
She then caught sight of her sister. “What… what took you so long to find me?” she gasped.
May-Jewel’s mouth opened and closed, embarrassed over the truth. “I got hot sitting in the carriage and must have dozed off. It’s a good thing Vicar Hawes came along. I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes on the young vicar, Katherine declared, “I owe you my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”
His concerned expression softened. “That’s not necessary. Are you sure you’re all right now? Can you stand?”
Katherine nodded. She glanced up at Garth. It seemed to her the arrogance that he showed when they first met was now replaced by a look of sincere concern. He and David helped her to her feet. But as she rose, she felt faint and fell back against Garth. His arms came around her instantly.
“Steady now.” David said, also reaching for her. His words were to Katherine but his eyes were upon the strange man who seemed to know the sisters. He wondered who this was and what he was doing there. “You’ve had a shock,” he added. Then boldly taking Katherine’s arm, he freed her from the man and guided her away from the vault saying, “Come, perhaps you should rest awhile in the manse. A cup of tea might do you good, I’m sure. Then we can sort out what happened here.”
Nodding, Katherine let herself be led away as the others followed. May-Jewel watched her sister move ahead of her and wondered in bewilderment how something like this could have happened. Garth, too, looked at Katherine, but in aggravation over her stupidity in going to the vault alone in the first place. He was also irritated at the young vicar’s arrogance in taking over the situation.
They didn’t have far to walk before arriving at the manse. But the musty smell of the hallway nauseated Katherine. It was like the odor in the vault. At first she backed out of the doorway to get away from it, but dizziness threatened to claim her again, and she allowed herself to be taken inside. The parlor was decorated in oppressive reds and golds. Vases of drooping lilacs and wilted roses filled the center of each small wooden table that was placed throughout the room.
David emptied a chair of papers for her and, sitting, she leaned back, breathing deeply to calm herself. He then placed a small soft pillow behind her head.
“What a horrible experience,” May-Jewel exclaimed. “If I had been with you, it might not have happened. I could have held the door open or something…” her remarks trailed off in a helpless attempt to make herself feel better about what had happened to her sister.
“There be a low spot afore the crypt.” The older vicar informed them as he entered with the tea cart. “An’ the wind cooms strong, like the rush of sea water. Everythin’ bends ta it. Could be the wind was the cause.”
“No wind closed that door,” Katherine replied as calmly as she could. “I placed a large stone there to keep it from closing.”
Gently taking her hand, David said kindly, “You don’t have to tell us about it just now. Have some tea first. Good strong English tea,” he encouraged, handing her a cup.
“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened to me,” she gr
oaned defensively.
Frowning at her, Garth, who had been standing in the background, inquired further, saying, “Oh? What other things have happened to you?”
But Katherine’s hand trembled as she raised the cup to her lips to sip on the hot substance, and she didn’t answer his question.
“What were you doing in there anyhow?” David asked.
Glancing over his shoulder to Garth, she tried to steady her voice, saying, “Why I was there isn’t really important. What is important is who locked the vault door, closing me inside.”
Garth’s smoky eyes captured hers and, like the mist that covered the moor, infiltrated the very fiber of her being. She dared not think of her reason for being there for fear that he would know of her inquisition into his life… and his death. She looked away from him.
Earnan Macailean stroked the back of a black and white cat which rubbed back and forth against his thin leg as he sat in the chair across from her. Then he finally bent over and, picking up the fluffy creature, cradled it in his arms. As his thinly veined hands worked through its fur, he stared at Garth.
“Could the lassie bein’ there have anythin’ ta do with ye coomin’ ta home?” He raised his eyebrows as a sly smile creased his dry lips. “Someone else came t’other day. I caught a glimpse of him goin’ around the kirk. He were big like ye.”
“You’re mistaken,” Garth replied, cutting the old man off. “I arrived just this morning.”
Upon hearing Earnan’s description of the stranger, Katherine’s mind flashed back to the incident in the cottage.
A strand of white hair fell over the old vicar’s forehead as if to make a rebuttal. “But they had ye funeral, if ye werena dead, then why dinna ye tell anyone? It has been almost six years.”
May-Jewel, who had been unusually quiet until now, boldly asked, “Then you recognize him, Vicar? You know this man to be Robert Craig’s son?” She grew uneasy as Garth’s intense stare was suddenly upon her. But growing bolder in the company of the others, she pushed on, asking, “Yes, where have you been for those six years? Robbie dies and all of a sudden here you are claiming to be his son.”