by Cindy Miles
“Oh, dear, you’re delusional,” he answers, and tugs on my elbow. “Come, lass. You need to get warm.” I stand, and Jonas guides me out of the freezer. “However did you trap yourself in here?”
My body is reacting to the change in temperature, and my shivering increases so much I can barely speak. “I — I — I d-d-didn’t,” I stutter. “S-s-someone p-p-pushed me.”
“Come again?” Jonas asks, and he leads me straight to the hearth in the sitting room off the kitchen, where a nice fire is blazing. Jonas drapes a plaid woolen blanket over my shoulders and I sit down, rubbing my arms. Slowly, I start to warm.
“I felt someone shove me,” I say again, and look at Jonas. “And then slam and lock the door behind me.”
Puzzlement glazes over Jonas’s face. He frowns. “The freezer wasn’t locked at all, miss. ’Twas unlocked.”
I shake my head. “No. I tried the door. It was locked.”
Concern etches into Jonas’s features. “Yes, miss. I shall look into it. But for now, you stay here and warm yourself by the fire.”
I nod, immensely grateful. “And, Jonas? There’s no need to tell my mom and Niall about this,” I say. “They’ll just freak out. I don’t know what happened, but I don’t want to worry them. Okay?”
Jonas stares at me for several moments. “If I even notice one single sniffle from you, I’ll tell them both. I’ll not have you coming down with pneumonia, miss.”
I nod. “Deal. And thanks, Jonas.”
“Of course, young lady. Now let me fix you some tea.” He bustles off into the kitchen.
I turn my gaze to the fire, and as I stare at the orange flames, I try to come up with a logical explanation for what’s been going on. If I rule out Elizabeth, I can only think of one other thing that could be plaguing me with such malevolence, and I won’t lie — it scares me.
It must be a ghost.
The thought is absolutely absurd. But considering what Emma and the twins said at school …
If it’s not a person who’s out to get me, it has to be something supernatural.
I think of the handsome boy I saw in the kitchen moments before. Why was he scowling at me? And why did he disappear as quickly as he’d appeared?
Was he the one who had pushed me?
After two cups of Jonas’s steaming tea, I warm up enough to make my way upstairs. I promptly change into my comfy University of South Carolina sweatshirt and pull my hair into a high ponytail. Then I curl up next to the fire but I can’t concentrate on homework just yet. I decide to text Emma.
It’s cool if you want to come this weekend, but something just happened that might make you change your mind.
It’s less than ten seconds before Emma texts me back.
What???
In as few words as possible, I text Emma about my ordeal in the freezer.
Are you freckin’ kidding me? she writes back. Are you OK?
I text her back, Yeah, I’m fine. Just freaked out. Then I tell her my ghost theory.
That’s what I’d guess it is, she texts back. Well, I’m still coming this weekend. Keep me posted. And just in case, keep a weapon on you at all times.
I want to laugh. Like what? I don’t have any weapons!
I’ve Googled it. If you’re dealing with an evil spirit, you need something made of iron. Like a fire poker. That old castle probably has tons of them. Salt works, too. Pinch both and keep them with you.
Pinch?
LOL. You know. Take. Steal. Acquire. Whatever.
OK. Gotcha. Will do.
Good. Now be safe.
I already feel better. Just being able to share the creepy happenings with another person who doesn’t think I’m losing my noodles, helps. I even manage to do a little homework before I hear Mom calling me down to supper.
I stay in my sweatshirt, daring Elizabeth to challenge me. I head downstairs, and as I make my way toward the dining room, I stop in front of the gigantic fireplace in the great hall. Glancing over at the hearth, I notice a stand. Just like Emma says, it contains an iron poker, broom, and pan. I grab the poker, weigh it. Not too heavy, but it is long. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, I take a couple of practice swings. It’ll do. I race it quickly back up to my room, set it down by my bed, and tear downstairs, certain Elizabeth will scold me for showing up late to dinner.
But luckily she’s not there. Niall says she was feeling poorly so will be taking supper in her room. Phew. Mom seems tired, but she tells me about her and Niall’s drive to the coast and asks me more questions about school. I feel a little guilty not telling her about the freezer incident, but I know she and Niall would think I was going crazy — especially if I told them I suspected a cruel ghost was to blame.
When supper is over, I go back upstairs. My poker is still beside my bed, and I feel safer with it there. I get my violin and bow, and despite the cold, crack open the window, nestle into the plush cushion on the seat, and play. I continue the haunting melody I started my first day here. The brine of the sea mixes with the fresh scent of the Highlands as I throw myself into my music, and I’m able to forget, even for just a moment, that a spirit of some sort is trying to scare me out of Glenmorrag Castle. Being here, in this strange new place, has awakened an inspiration inside of me that is stronger than ever before. I compose and play until my fingers are stiff and my eyes become too heavy to hold open.
I fall asleep there by the window, my head resting against the stone wall, and my violin in my lap.
All at once, I startle awake. A heartbreaking melody — played by a flute — reaches my ears. It’s very distant, almost a whisper, and I cock my head to determine where it might be coming from. Someone’s stereo? A TV? I have to remind myself that I’m the only person staying on the third floor.
The digital clock on my bedside table reads two A.M. The faint sound of the flute continues, and without much thought at all, I grab my poker and leave the room in search of it. I creep down to the first floor. Once I enter the great hall, I stop and listen. It’s dark, and cold. Perhaps one of the staff left music on in the kitchen?
But as soon as I enter the kitchen, the music stops.
I stand for several minutes, frustrated, looking around. One light burns at the double stove. I trail my hand along the long butcher-block counter in the center of the room. I think about waking Jonas but I decide to leave him alone. I’ve given him enough of a scare today.
I blow on a long wisp of pink hair that has eluded my ponytail. If I’m here, I might as well have a snack. I set my poker on the counter, and open the fridge. I grab the milk. I smile, knowing Elizabeth would croak if she saw me. I unscrew the lid, lift it to my mouth, and take several long swallows.
All at once, the hairs rise on the back of my neck and my skin tingles. I turn completely around.
My breath catches in my throat, which sends me into a coughing fit. I almost drop the whole container. But my eyes will not leave the vision before me. I can do nothing but helplessly stare.
It — he — can’t be real.
The boy that I saw standing in the kitchen earlier is here. Before me. He looks to be about seventeen or eighteen, with rich, dark brown hair. He has the oddest mercury-colored eyes. He wears a white shirt with billowy long sleeves and dark-colored pants, laced in the front and tucked into knee-high worn leather boots. He seems a bit smoky and wavy — almost see-through but not quite.
He is just as attractive as before … but he must be who’s been talking to me. And who shoved me into the freezer.
He’s the ghost.
I can’t speak — my mouth won’t even move — so I do nothing more than gape. Fright grips my throat, forces adrenaline to thump through me. I glance over at my iron poker. I need to get it. I shouldn’t have let it out of my grasp.
“That thing willna hurt me, foolish girl,” he laughs wickedly. “I warned you before to leave,” he adds, his brows furrowed. “You and your mother are no’ welcome here.” He suddenly moves, closing the gap be
tween us. “You must leave, before one or both o’ you get hurt!” His intense gaze meets my frightened one, and for a moment, he simply searches my face. I can’t speak, and it takes every effort on my part to continue breathing. Then he brings his mouth close to my ear. Close, but not touching.
“Leave Glenmorrag Castle whilst you still can,” he warns. “It is no’ safe here. Especially for you.”
A shiver runs through my body.
Then he draws back, and as I stand staring into his mesmerizing eyes, he simply vanishes. Straight into thin air. Gone.
I stand perfectly still for a long time before I pull in a large breath. Finally, my voice returns.
“Hello?” I whisper. I step forward and wave my hand through the area the boy just stood in. There’s not one scrap of evidence that proves what just happened really truly had happened. No sound, no flute, no voice, no boy.
I hastily put the milk back in the fridge, grab my poker, and run back upstairs, skidding in my oversized socks. I hurl myself into my room, throw the latch, and bolt the lock. I run to my window seat spot, tuck the poker beside me, and pull my knees up. Leaning my head against the stone, I wrap my arms around myself and stare out into the night.
It’s clear that I need to alter my thinking. Ghosts do exist. And they aren’t weightless apparitions that drift around looking like white sheets with little holes cut out for eyes. They aren’t orbs of light that may or may not be a dust ball when captured on a digital camera. They’re as they had been in life, only their bodies aren’t solid anymore. At least, I think.
I want — no, need — to figure out who this ghost is, and why he’s haunting me. Maybe someone at Glenmorrag knows something about him — his name, or who he is. Who he was.
But I’m most determined to figure out why he wants me gone.
I spend the remainder of the night curled up on the window seat, and even manage to get a little sleep before morning. The moment my eyes open, my thoughts are on the ghost boy I saw in the kitchen.
I know what I need to do. I hurry through a shower and throw on my uniform. I’m not the least bit hungry for breakfast, but I know if I skip it, Mom will chide me about the “most important meal of the day.” So I hasten to the dining room and eat a bowl of porridge — thin oatmeal that really is tasty after I dump a load of butter, sugar, and cream into it.
“Why the rush today, Ivy?” asks Mom. I glance across the table. Elizabeth is watching me with her icy eyes, and again, I’m pretty sure I see them shift a little in size. So freaky.
I quickly return my attention to Mom. “There’s just something I need to do before Niall drives me to school,” I answer. “Can you please tell him I’ll meet him outside the castle doors in about fifteen minutes?” Before she or Elizabeth can protest, I slide out of my chair and scamper into the kitchen.
I can’t believe I was here last night, face-to-face with the handsome ghost who spoke to me. Thankfully, there is no sign of him this morning, and Jonas is there, examining the shelves and making inventory notes.
I lean against the counter. “I have a question, Jonas.” He looks at me, waiting. “Do you know of any ghosts at Glenmorrag?”
One corner of his mouth lifts and he answers after a minute.
“I do say, Miss Ivy, I was wondering when you’d be inquiring about such. Especially since you nearly caught him yesterday after what happened in the freezer.” He shakes his head. “Still haven’t deciphered that one yet.”
My heart stops. “So you know about him!” I exclaim. “What haven’t you deciphered about the freezer? He’s the one who pushed me in, right?”
“Nay,” Jonas says with confidence. “He’s the one who found me and hurried me to help you.”
This shocks me. I don’t know if I believe that.
“You should find Ian Murray — the gardener — and speak to him,” Jonas adds. “He’ll be in the hedge maze, I reckon. He knows the boy better than I.” He leans closer. “I daresay if the lad has shown himself to you, ’tis an interest you spark in him.”
“A terrible interest,” I answer. “He’s been trying to scare me away from Glenmorrag.”
Jonas studies me. “All the same, speak to Ian. He can tell you what you need to know.”
I thank Jonas, then head outside, tossing on my coat and hat. I’m on a mission. I find Ian in the back, trimming the ancient hedge maze. Or rather, I hear him, the blades of the shears zinging together as they clip. I’m hopeful that he’ll give me some real information.
I enter the head-high dark green maze, the frosty wind biting my cheeks and nose. It feels like a different world in here, surrounded by the tall bushes. The sky above is dramatic in a way that I’m realizing is uniquely Scottish: gray and white, with a streak of clear blue and another of bold pink.
I follow the sound of the shears until I see Ian’s head above the next hedge over, and I clear my throat and call out. The last thing I want to do is startle a six-foot gardener with a pair of sharp hedge shears.
“Mr. Murray?” I say, trying not to let my anxiety show. “Mr. Murray — it’s Ivy.”
Suddenly, the shears stop, and for a few seconds, there’s silence. “Take the next left, lass,” he says, his voice gravelly and heavily accented. I do as he says, and find myself next to him. He looks down at me, his face expressionless. A cigarette dangles from his lips. “Aye?”
I shift my weight, draw a deep breath, and try to look sane. “This is going to sound crazy,” I begin, giving a nervous laugh. “Jonas told me to talk to you about the — the ghost here at Glenmorrag?” I eye him. “The boy?”
Ian Murray stares at me for a long time. His expression is unreadable as he pulls long on his cigarette. Finally, I can take no more. I have to get to school.
“Never mind,” I say, and start to walk away. I take about five steps.
“He’s shown himself to you, then?”
I stop and turn, seeing a hint of amusement in his gaze. That’s when I decide I like Ian Murray. I sigh a quiet breath of relief. “Yes. He has.”
Ian Murray throws his cigarette down and crushes it with his boot. “Och, but that didna take long,” he mutters, chuckling. “He must fancy you.”
Fancy me? That would mean that the ghost likes me, which doesn’t seem to be the case.
“Well, he’s got a funny way of showing it,” I respond, my heart racing. “He keeps trying to scare me away, and he’s doing a good job of it. Do you know his name?” I ask.
Ian grins, then hooks the shears by the handles over one forearm. “Logan Munro.”
“Logan,” I mutter. I can hardly believe I’m saying the name of a ghost, who I’ve actually met in person. Sort of, anyway.
I look at Ian. “So he’s … real?”
Ian nods. “Been here at Glenmorrag for as long as I can recall.” He cocks his head and scratches beneath the brim of his cap. “One can often hear him playing his flute. He was a musician in life, I believe.” Ian pauses. “So he spoke to you, lass? Tried to scare you off?”
Logan’s angry, beautiful face comes to mind, and I nod. “Yes, and he was … super mad.”
Ian thinks a moment. “Do you wish to speak to him again?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I do.”
“Right. Then all you have to do is call his name. If he wants to visit with you, he’ll appear. If no’, then, well” — he gives a half-cocked grin — “he simply won’t. A mind of his own, that lad.”
I search Ian’s face. “Am I going insane?”
Ian barks out a laugh. “Nay, young miss. ’Twould be natural to think you are seeing things. But the lad can only show himself to those who actually believe in spirits. And, you’re in the Highlands now, gell.” It takes me a second to realize gell — with a hard g — means girl. Ian looks at me a minute before adding, “ ’Tis a mystical place filled with enchantment.”
I peek down at the space between my feet, a little embarrassed. “Do … you know anything more about him? Like why he
might want me gone?” I glance up, chewing on my lip and waiting for an answer.
Ian lets out a long sigh. “Well, that I dunna know. Logan is a somewhat mysterious lad. I’d guess he lived here about two hundred years ago, but he doesna remember why or when he came to the castle. I myself suspect he may have been murdered, the poor soul. That’s why his spirit cannot rest, why he roams the castle grounds. Legend has it that if a ghost’s murder is solved, he can then finally rest in peace.” Ian looks sad and thoughtful. “Mayhap the lad will tell you more himself. That is, if he fancies to.”
The talk of murder has me trembling a little. This castle has so many secrets. I glance over my shoulder, knowing Niall must be waiting for me.
“Do the MacAllisters, uh, have they seen him?” I ask.
Ian Murray slowly shakes his head. “Nay. The laird knew of him when he was a wee lad, but at some point” — Ian shrugs again — “he grew up and stopped believing.”
I think that’s pretty sad. “What about Elizabeth MacAllister?” I whisper.
A stony expression crosses Ian’s face. “I’m no’ sure, but I suspect that even if she did believe, young Logan wouldna show himself to her.”
I bob my head in understanding. I probably wouldn’t show myself to her, either, if I could help it. “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Murray.”
“Ian,” he says with a kind smile.
I smile back. “Ian.”
He continues his hedge trimming, and I turn and make my way out of the maze.
As Niall drives me to school, I think about what Ian had said, about Logan showing himself only to those who believe in ghosts. When did I begin believing in ghosts? It must be a new development.
I look over at Niall, thinking about him growing up at the castle. Seeing Logan as a child, but not believing in spirits anymore. How would he forget something like seeing a ghost? I wonder what Mom would think. I’m not going to worry her with it now, though. But I will tell Emma everything. Maybe she’ll be able to help me figure out why Logan Munro is haunting me, and how I can either get him to stop, or send him back to … wherever he came from.