by Tammy Swoish
“They already called the tour company and booked the tour for the four of us.” She wouldn't make eye contact.
“Fiona,” I sighed.
She shrugged. “I already told them yes.”
“Fiona,” I growled. “So, I can't say no.”
“I din-nae think ye'll want to miss it,” she said. “The
underground ghost tour is supposed to be the best in all Scotland. Well, not including the one in Edinburgh.”
I knew it'd be fun. But . . . “My cheek,” I said.
Fiona smiled. “I have an idea to cover it, but I din
nae think Adan will mind. He's always liked history, and yer face is part of a historical scientific experiment.”
“Ha, funny.” I moaned. “What's your idea? Makeup won't cover it. I already tried.”
“A scarf,” she said, sounding confident.
“Scarf? I'm not wearing a scarf around my head.”
“Then just tell the truth,” she said.
Yeah, Adan, hope you like yellow. At least I can cover my arms with a long-sleeved shirt.
“We'll have fun,” Fiona said.
“What's it like?” I tried to forget about my face.
She shrugged. “From what I've heard, a guide walks us through the tunnels under the town telling us scary stories.”
“Interesting.”
“Aye, most villages, towns, and cities in Scotland have underground vaults and tunnels.”
“I'm not communicating with spirits, Fiona. When we're in the tunnels, don't mention anything about me talking to ghosts,” I said.
She smiled.
“Wouldn't dream of it,” she said. “But ye can, Sami.”
Underground-Tunnel Ghost Tour
Molly was thrilled we were going on the tour; a “perilous crusade,” she called it. She said she'd gone once with Fiona's dad when they first started dating and had never forgotten it, maybe because it was the first time he'd kissed her.
Mom said that was romantic. Fiona blushed, and I knew she was thinking of Shane because she was cracking her right pinky. She has the hots for him. Majorly.
I didn't think it was romantic or adventurous. I was worried. I cracked my left pinky finger so many times that afternoon, I'm lucky it didn't fall off.
What if ghosts really did want to talk to me? Samuel Logan freaked me out enough. Imagine an entire underground city full of Samuels all clamoring to communicate with me. That'd suck.
Holy crap.
By the time we met the guys in town, I was a worked-up, anxious nutcase. The stain on my cheek was pushed so far back in my terror-stricken mind that I'd actually forgotten it was there until Adan saw it, leaned in to kiss me, and said, “Fiona told me about the wool-dyeing. 'Tis beautiful.”
The compliment helped me relax, but my complexion wasn't at the top of my things-to-worry-about-right-now list. Adan grabbed my hand, and my heart raced even faster.
I'd walk with him into a pit full of Scottish spirits.
He stood next to me. “I won't leave your side, Sami,” he said.
I nodded. Why was I such a baby? I felt stupid but couldn't stop my fear. Something wasn't right about this tunnel. Something in my gut was shouting, Don't go in there, Sami.
Adan gently moved me forward. I breathed deeply and swallowed. The tour guide, a man in his fifties dressed as a medieval Scottish warrior, complete with claymore, met us at a big wooden door. His voice was deep and slow. “Gaun-to-doo,” he said, turning to push open the door.
I looked at Fiona. “Death's door,” she translated.
Figures. The guide walked ahead of us, holding a dim lantern above his head. Fiona and Shane went first. I followed Shane, and Adan brought up the rear.
Small fire sconces lit our way through the dark. Despite the width of the passage, I felt the walls closing in around me. The place smelled like burning candles and moss.
The guide was talking but I couldn't focus on his words. His eyes would look wild when he'd stop, turn, point to something, and tell us about some tragic or violent death. When he talked about the spirits that wandered the tunnels, his eyes would get wide and dart back and forth, back and forth.
Adan leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “He's good.”
I nodded. I was trying not to process the guide's words. I knew if I did, I'd run for it.
At a crucial point in a story, the guide made a small lunge toward Fiona. She jumped and then started laughing. Shane joined her.
What was wrong with them? Didn't they know we were at death's door, for crying out loud? That was no laughing matter.
The tour continued: on and on, around a corner to the right, then back to the left; into a large cavern, through a tight passage, right, left.
Luckily, I'd worn my hiking boots. We must have walked about five miles. The underground city was larger than the entire village of Beauly. The guide stopped in a large cavern, where we sat on rocks that had been set up to look like bleachers.
He told us we'd been in the tunnels for two hours, and that it was now time for him to leave. He'd return at two a.m. to finish the tour.
“What?” I asked. “You're leaving us here? Fiona?”
She shrugged and cracked her right pinky.
I snapped my left one.
“We have a map,” Adan said. He opened his pack and took out two water bottles. “Water and snacks,” he said as he continued to pull things out. “Two flashlights. If ye get too frightened, we can find an exit.”
I looked around. The guide had disappeared with his lantern. Our guiding light. I hoped Adan had new batteries in his flashlights.
“Let's go sit in the first chamber,” Shane said.
“Aye,” Adan and Fiona said at the same time.
“This isn't a tour . . . it's a tomb,” I mumbled.
Can You Die from Fear?
I thought I was going to have a heart attack. My headstone would say something like “She died on a ghost tour. Sorry, no refunds.”
Poltergeist or Shadow?
From my extensive experience watching shows about ghosts and reading Fiona's research, I know that poltergeist activity involves objects being thrown or otherwise moved.
I heard a small pebble bounce across the stone floor, and it hit my boot. Adan said he'd accidentally kicked it, but I couldn't see his face, so I figured he'd said that so I wouldn‘t pee my pants.
Fiona said she saw something move across the path in front of her and Shane, but Shane insisted it was just the shadow cast from his flashlight.
I'm breaking out in a cold sweat. I have goose bumps. I'm going to croak.
Small Chamber
The small chamber had been at the beginning of the tour. We backtracked, following Shane's guiding light. The guide and map both said the ghost of a grouchy old man haunts this tiny room.
“The guide said he pushes people,” Adan said. He punched Shane in the arm.
“And steals women's jewelry.” Shane laughed.
The four of us sat waiting in that creepy room for at least an hour, but nothing happened. Thank goodness. I took deep breaths. At least the air was cooler in here.
We studied the map of the tunnels and read the explanations of spirit activity and where it occurred. After a while the quietness of the room, the comforting closeness of the others—two of them hot, strong guys—relaxed me.
By the time we had a new plan of attack, I had found my inner fount of ghost-hunting courage.
What did I have to be frightened of, anyway? Even if there were ghosts, they couldn't hurt me. Ghosts are just flimsy mists. Right?
The Hunt
We decided to continue our exploring in the northern tunnels. The guys, rather heroically, let us walk in front of them. I was fine with their machismo, since I didn't want to push the limits of my newfound confidence.
In his backpack, Adan had snuck in the cameras and video recorders. Fiona and I armed ourselves with the digital cameras, while the guys took the voice recorders.
Our goal was
to collect evidence of paranormal activity.
“Maybe we'll get our own TV show,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “You know, we'd be a new angle: teen ghost hunters.”
“Why would we do that?” Fiona asked.
“It'd be cool.”
Fiona laughed. “Sami, you are so funny.”
“I was being serious.”
“Fine, but I dinnae think you'd make a good ghost hunter.”
I wasn't offended; she was right. “But I don't have to be good. I'd be the one who's always all freaked out and stuff. It'd be great.”
I was so wrapped up in the conversation with Fiona that I kind of forgot the guys were behind us. I heard the gravel crunch and felt a tiny vibration of movement coming from the ground and straight through my right heel.
Ghost. “Crap, crap, crap!” I pushed Fiona to the side and ran past her. I had no clue where I was headed. I just ran.
“Sami!” Fiona yelled.
“Not stopping!” I shouted back over my shoulder.
She followed me. For all the farm work she did, Fiona didn't have much stamina. I, on the other hand, with a ghost chasing me, could go for miles at a sprint.
Lights flashed behind me, making me feel like I was in a stone disco. I don't know how, but Fiona was taking pictures while she ran.
I slowed. Wait . . . was the ghost in front of us? “Crap. Crap.” Gravel slid under my feet, I'd braked so fast.
Fiona plowed into my back. “Sami, for the love of all that is good,” she said.
She jerked again as Adan ran into her, and then one more time when Shane hit them. “What are ye doing?” asked Adan.
“What am I doing?” I said, feeling stupid. “There was a ghost back there.”
“Really?” Shane asked. “Cool.”
Adan moved to stand beside me. “Are ye sure, Sami?”
“Yes.” Well, technically I wasn't. I was losing my mind. The tunnels were getting to me.
“Did you get any pictures, Fiona?” Shane asked.
I bent over, resting my hands on my knees. “Of what?” I asked.
Fiona laughed. “I dinnae. I just turned, snapped a few shots, and tried to catch something on film.”
I straightened. “Do you have anything?”
“Nope,” Shane said, looking at the LCD monitor over Fiona's shoulder.
“Not even a wee bit of a thing?” I asked, trying my Scottish accent.
Fiona laughed so hard she snorted. If she'd had a drink of milk, it would have come out her nose. “Ye'd”—she gulped—“make a fine host of a ghost hunt.”
Adan and Shane both laughed. “Wee bit,” Adan said, hugging me. “You're a funny lass, Sami.”
Hate Ghost Hunting
Nothing's happening. Not that I really want anything to happen ghost-wise, but a picture or recorded sound would be cool.
We heard what we thought were ghosts a couple of times, but nothing would record. It sounded like laughing coming from the other side of the tunnel system.
Ghost-Whisperer
Adan and I sat on a rock outside the tunnel exit. Between the stuffy air and the stress of listening for ghosts, I had a splitting headache. Adan had volunteered to sit with me while Shane and Fiona did one final sweep of the tunnels with the cameras and recorders.
Adan put his right arm around my shoulder and began to gently rub the base of my neck. I relaxed as he worked out the tension. My head lolled forward so my chin rested on my chest. My body went limp.
Not one ghost had talked to me the entire time. I was fine with my lack of spiritual communication skills. “The dead don't talk to me,” I said.
“Aye,” Adan said. “Not tonight.”
About half an hour later, Fiona and Shane walked out of the tunnels, followed by the guide. Fiona sat beside me. “Nothing,” she said.
“Not so much as a groan,” Shane said.
“No light anomalies . . . nothing.” Fiona lifted her arms and let her hands flop onto her knees in a sign of surrender.
“I don't understand,” said Adan. “Spirits walk the tunnels. Everyone knows it.”
“Aye,” Shane and Fiona said.
Adan stood up. “A waste of time,” he said, shrugging.
Shane stretched out his hand to help Fiona up. “Not entirely,” he said, pulling her to her feet and kissing her on the cheek.
I heard Fiona sigh, a true sign that she was head over heels for Shane. Awesome.
Adan took my left hand. The streetlights created an eerie fluorescent glow. Our footsteps echoed in the silence of the early morning, bouncing back and forth between the stone walls of the buildings. A light fog covered the ground.
A small alley veered off the village's one street and to the right. I heard the clip-clopping sounds of horses' hooves on stone. I'd never heard horses' hooves on stone, but I registered the sound the way I'd recognize the sound of water dripping from a faucet. Instinct made me turn to the right, toward the dark alley, toward the sound.
Every nerve, every cell in my body froze. My stopping brought Adan to a standstill. “What?” he whispered. “What do you see, Sami?”
I forced myself to take a breath. “Don't you see it?”
Fiona and Shane stopped and stood next to us. “What is it?” said Fiona.
I shook my head. My brain saw the ghost, but forming words was not possible. I knew I was looking at a ghost. He sat on a Highland pony like Adan's. His white shirt was torn and hung at his waist, and blood trickled from the base of his neck in a stream down his chest. His left arm was raised, and in his hand he held a monster sword. He nodded.
My eyes locked with his. I felt the war inside me. The logical part of my brain knew I should be running, but I couldn't help staring. The spirit glowed. I smiled.
I blinked, and he was gone.
“I think I got a picture,” Shane said.
Day 25
Chores
Bessie the cow and I are getting along better. We have our tag-team milking system down. While I'm milking, I talk to her like she's a friend. I tell jokes, and she moo-laughs and stands still.
This morning I talked to her about how everyone keeps saying I can see ghosts and how they claim to have photographic evidence. Bessie is on my side; she mooed, confirming that they didn't. The one picture Shane snapped looked like nothing more than a double exposure.
After a few hours of sleep, I've convinced myself that the ghost on the horse was probably a product of my overtired imagination.
The cheese stain on my cheek is gone!
And I'm not imagining that!
Fair
The annual fair will be in the village on Saturday. Mom, Molly, Fiona, and I are going. Molly has rented a booth, where she's going to begin her advertising venture for her living medieval farm.
I'm still not sure who she thinks will visit the manor. Fiona is as delusional as her mom about it. Even my mom has bought into it.
They're all nuts. But since the fair is full of people from the Society for Creative Anachronism, all those nutso people will fit in.
Day 28
Medieval Fair
It's quite a show of peasant proportions.
Help! I'm stuck in a world of people who think it's cool to live in cold castles, wear hundreds of pounds of armor, and have no electricity or flushing toilets.
Wool Stockings
Not only do I have to go to this fair, I have to dress like a medieval commoner.
What will Adan think?
He'll be dressed in his I'm-a-Scottish-knight-onholiday outfit, and I'll be walking around wearing a dress that looks like a potato sack.
Apparently, Molly sewed the outfits herself. I look like a fat cow in it. I could be Bessie's sister. I told Mom that, and she told me to grow up.
How can I grow up if I have to go out in public dressed like I just walked out of some low-budget Halloween costume store?
This will be the worst-dressed moment of my life.
I didn't think it could be any w
orse than the cheese stain, but I was wrong.
At least I'm not wearing the tall wool socks. Mom said she didn't want to hear me whine about the rash I'd get from the wool, so now I have to wear my tennis shoes.
I'm going to look so dumb.
At least Mom, Molly, and Fiona all have similar potato-sack dresses. I'll fit in with the losers.
Knights and Ladies
Everyone was dressed in costume. I've got to admit that being in the village dressed like all the weirdos was kind of fun. Although it took me a while to get past my jealousy—some girls had on awesome dresses. I'd have given my blow-dryer to wear some of them.
Mom said, “Everyone likes to play dress-up, but most of the people here would never even have seen material that expensive if they'd really lived during medieval times.”
Molly laughed. “We all can't be the queen.”
It took us an hour to set up the booth. We'd just hung the last clump of dried lavender when the first person arrived. By lunchtime, Molly had two pages of e-mail and snail-mail addresses from people requesting information. They weren't just being polite, either.
For lunch, Fiona and I ate potato soup out of a bread bowl and sat listening to the catchy tunes people sang as they strolled past our booth. My foot tapped to the sounds, and by early afternoon I was whistling some pub tune about a lady and her secret boyfriend. The out-of-place feeling I'd started the morning with was completely gone.
Even with my white tennis shoes sticking out of the bottom of my peasant dress, I was born for medieval fairs.
Flowers
Adan brought me a bouquet of flowers that he'd picked up at one of the booths because he said they'd made him think of me.
He's smooth, and I bought it. In my lifetime, how many Scottish nobles dressed in traditional Highland clothing will give me flowers?
I'm pretty sure the answer is only one—Adan.
Molly braided the smaller buds into my hair.
Scots Are Sooo Hot
Although I'm still not crazy about history and romance novels, I now understand why Mom sets so many of her stories in medieval Scotland. The guys here—Adan mostly, in his medieval noble clothing—are so hot. Like steaming hot, as in I'd let them sweep me off my size nine peasant feet and drag me to their castle to make out with me.