by Agatha Frost
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Liz whispered back, her lips twisting into a smile. “So, when does the ghost hunting start?”
“You actually believe the legend?”
“Not in the slightest. Do you?”
Simon considered his answer for a moment as he slurped his beer, the amber liquid wetting his pink lips in a way that made Liz instinctively lick her own.
“I’m not sure,” Simon said, cocking his head to her, his rugged good looks softened in the crackling glow of one of the distant barrel fires. “Mum is convinced that it’s true, but Dad isn’t so sure. There are records that a man lived here with his wife, but their deaths aren’t accounted for.”
“There’s nothing like an unexplained ending to get people’s tongues wagging.”
Simon chuckled as he drank his beer. Liz cast her eye over to the barbecue line. Nancy and Jack were queuing with empty hotdog buns in their hands. Nancy shot up two jolly thumbs over her bun; Liz pretended not to have seen.
“I think you’re the first person I’ve spoken to all week who isn’t definite that the legend is true,” Liz said after another glug from her bag of wine. “I was starting to wonder if I was being too cynical.”
“You must have seen a lot of nasty stuff in the police.”
Liz did not know why, but her mind instantly transported her back to the night her late husband, Lewis, had been shot. She felt the rain on her skin as though she was back there, and not two years in the future. The blood leaked from the gunshot wound and into the water, her hoarse cries drowned out by the pounding raindrops on the road around them.
She blinked hard. It had only been two years, but it felt like it had happened to another woman in another lifetime. His dying words had been ‘be happy, Lizzy, please’, just as the ambulance had screeched to a halt next to them. Scarlet Cove was her life now, and she knew Lewis would have loved it here.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Liz said, suddenly jumping up as her mind snapped back to the present. “Paddy is getting restless.”
“Sure,” Simon said, finishing the last of his beer without questioning her. “Maybe we’ll see some ghosts.”
Liz laughed awkwardly, not wanting to admit that she had just seen a ghost from her own, not too distant, past.
With Paddy separating them, they broke away from the crowd and headed down one of the old stone corridors lining the courtyard. She looked into the crowd as the people of Scarlet Cove ate and drank, no doubt sharing their theories on what really happened here on that night hundreds of years ago.
They turned left, walls appearing on both sides of them. The inside of the castle had also been swathed in red light, unsettling her in a way she did not expect. She put it down to her flashback and not the ghost stories. Even so, she ran her fingers along the rough cold stone of the crumbling castle, sure she could hear the screams of the nobleman’s wife as he brought the axe down on her neck.
“People say they’ve seen the wife up here,” Simon said, a glimmer in his eyes. “Headless and all.”
“How indecent of her.”
“Nancy swears she saw her.”
“I’ve heard that story too. I think Nancy might have had one too many glasses of wine that night.”
“Probably.” Simon laughed deeply, his gruff voice echoing off the walls, which seemed to be narrowing the deeper into the castle they walked.
A patch of the old ceiling vanished above them, forcing Liz to glance up. Milky clouds drifted lazily in front of the bright moon, her icy breath drifting up to join them. A shiver ran down her spine, prompting her to tuck her chin deeper into her tatty old scarf.
“I couldn’t imagine living somewhere this big,” Liz said, casting an eye back at the corridor as the darkness swallowed them up. “I’m more suited to my flat.”
“Where did you live before?” Simon asked, the question rolling off his tongue so quickly that Liz was sure he had been waiting to ask it for weeks. “Before you came to Scarlet Cove?”
“Manchester.”
“I know that much, but where? Did you have a flat up there?”
“Oh,” Liz said, her previous glossy apartment nothing more than a foggy memory. “I had an apartment in one of those city blocks. All stainless steel and glass. No character. You know what it’s like.”
“I don’t, actually,” Simon said with an apologetic shrug. “I’ve lived -”
“In Scarlet Cove your whole life,” Liz finished. “Didn’t you leave to go to university? See some of the country before you settled here?”
“You don’t need a degree to be a farmer.”
“That’s very true,” she agreed. “Nor do you need to leave to know you’ve got a good home here.”
“I have passion,” he said with a soft smile. “That kept me here when everyone else ran off to explore.”
Liz was sure she sensed a shred of resentment in his voice, long since suppressed and buried. She thought about her own time at university in Manchester when she had been a girl studying for her art degree. Those years had shaped her into the woman she was now, even if she had spent fifteen years being someone else entirely in the intermission.
“Look at me,” Liz said, tossing her hand out as she directed Paddy towards a twisting stone staircase. “I ended up here, and I’m not even a native.”
“I’ve spent so much time with you, and I still don’t feel like I know you very much at all, Liz Jones,” Simon said, his voice echoing as he trailed behind her. “I feel like my whole life is laid out to see and yet you’re still a mystery.”
“There’s not much else to know,” Liz said with an uncomfortable laugh, fighting off the sudden urge to spill the intimate details of her loss. “I came here for a quieter life so I could live my dream of being a painter.”
“And the bits in between?”
“Merely filler,” she said, the urge vanishing as suddenly as it had sprung up. “I’m more interested in the here and now. Isn’t that the only way to live?”
“I suppose,” Simon said when they reached the top of the staircase. “Although, I don’t think tonight is the night for living in the present, not when there are ghosts wandering around these corridors.”
A small laugh escaped Liz as an icy breeze whistled down the corridor. They turned another corner and headed up three steps into one of the rooms. A glassless window frame stood grandly on the far side of the room, looking out over the town.
“This was the master bedroom,” Simon said with a wink as he walked towards the window. “The legend says this is the room where the nobleman found his wife with the cook and –”
“Went on a beheading spree?”
“Exactly,” he said with a deep chuckle. “You can see everything from up here. Look, there’s your shop.”
Liz joined Simon by the window and looked out into the dark, the twinkling lights of the town sloping towards the never-ending sea.
“It really is breath-taking up here,” she said, her hot breath turning to condensation in the air. “I need to come up and paint this view during the day.”
“I think you should,” Simon said with a nod, turning to her with an easy smile. “You’re a great painter.”
“Thank you,” she replied, the words catching in her throat as something bubbled up from her chest. “And you’re a great cheese-maker.”
He turned back to the view, his faint brows tensing tightly.
“Why Scarlet Cove?” he asked suddenly.
“Huh?”
“Why did you move to Scarlet Cove?”
“Should I not have done?”
“You know what I’m trying to say,” he said, turning to her suddenly, squinting as though he was trying to look inside her for the answers he craved. “You could have gone anywhere for a new start. There are plenty of places with pretty views to paint. Why this view?”
“Honestly?” Liz replied before clearing her throat, her fingers drifting up to scratch the side of her head. “I was walking past a charity shop one day,
and one of the books in the window caught my attention. I went inside, picked it up, and I couldn’t stop staring at the crystal blue sky and the harbour. I didn’t put any more thought into it. I knew I wanted to leave Manchester, and in that moment, I knew I had found my new home. I didn’t question it because I knew if I had, I would never have taken the leap. That was six months ago, and now here I am.”
“You started your new life based on a book cover?” he asked, more than a little confused. “That’s crazy, Liz!”
“It’s as good a reason as any.”
“What are you running from?” he asked before gulping so hard she would have sworn he was swallowing sawdust. “What happened in Manchester?”
Liz stared deep into Simon’s eyes, wanting so badly to reveal herself to him, but unsure of how to do it. Had she not left that version of Liz behind? She was living in the present, and she could not think of anywhere she wanted to be more than next to the stunning view with the handsome farmer.
“Kiss me, Simon,” she whispered, the words catching in the back of her throat. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Just kiss me.”
Simon nodded, a dumbfounded look spreading across his face. He grabbed the sides of her coat with trembling fingers, pulling her into him. Paddy’s lead slipped from her fingers as she closed her eyes, two months of wondering about to reach a deserved conclusion.
She felt Simon’s hot beer breath hit her nostrils, and it struck her that it was possibly the most masculine scent there was. She wondered what it would taste like to mix the beer and wine, sure she was about to find out.
Simon’s lips brushed against hers, but a loud thud pulled them back just as quickly. Liz opened her eyes and turned to the door; the spell had been broken.
“Paddy,” she muttered.
It seemed to take Simon longer to come to his senses, so she headed for the door, leaving him by the window. It was not until she was running back down the spiral staircase towards the red lights that she heard Simon’s footsteps behind her.
She stubbed her foot against something heavy in the dark, forcing her to stop in her tracks. The weight of it made her assume it was a piece of fallen stone, but it rolled away into the shadows like a football. Heart pounding in her chest, she looked down the corridor towards the red light, relief spreading through her when she heard Paddy’s familiar bark. Leaving the solid ball behind, she set off towards the noise, skidding to a halt when she saw Paddy, and more importantly, saw what he was barking at.
“Oh my God,” escaped her lips before she had time to think.
She scooped up the lead; her eyes transfixed on the scene in front of her. Just like on that night countless centuries ago, a headless body lay motionless on the stone tiles, blood trickling out of the neck into a far-reaching scarlet pool.
“Liz?” Simon’s shaky voice echoed down the corridor. “I think you need to see this.”
Unable to take her eyes away from the headless body, Liz walked backwards, the lead wrapped tightly around her hand as Paddy continued to bark. Gulping hard, she forced herself to turn around, her heart stopping once more when she saw Simon shining his bright phone screen on what she had kicked.
She had not kicked a ball, she had kicked a head, and not just anyone’s, but the one belonging to Polly Spragg’s boyfriend, Nathan.
2
When Halloween rolled into town the next day, Liz was even less in the mood than usual. She had barely slept a wink, thanks to the head she had kicked. As she walked towards Coastline Cabaret to attend the Halloween party Nancy had insisted she go to, she was sure she could pass for a zombie, despite not having bothered with a costume.
She approached the bar on the seafront, an unpleasant wind whipping around her, dragging strands of red hair from the bun she had hastily made before leaving Paddy in the flat above her shop. She looked up at the bar’s logo, its pink neon tubes glitching and fizzing in the dark as music and chatter floated through the closed door. Liz had assumed the Halloween party would have been cancelled, so she had been more than a little surprised when Nancy had called to inform her it was still going ahead as planned. Nancy had insisted nothing was to be gained from sitting at home, especially when none of them really knew Nathan that well. As Nancy had put it, his head would still be detached tomorrow.
Eager to get out of the cold, Liz yanked on the heavy door, the warmth consuming her in seconds. She unbuttoned her coat as she walked into the unfamiliar bar. When she had first arrived in the town, Nancy had said only old folks and tourists came to the bar, so Liz had not found a reason to visit, but it seemed the whole of Scarlet Cove was there to celebrate Halloween tonight. It quickly became apparent that she was one of the only ones not in costume.
The light of the neon sign continued inside, running along the ceiling in LED strips, casting pink shadows down on the padded benches and tables around the edge of the room. The colourful lights reminded her of the expensive cocktail bars back in Manchester, except they had been plucked out and put in a dated and gloomy old men’s working club.
The bar stretched across the left side of the room, the wall behind it exposed redbrick. Wooden cubes of distressed wood jutted out from the brick, displaying the glass alcohol bottles. It did not seem like the most practical way to exhibit the drinks on offer, but it seemed to work because the bar was rammed. It was nothing like the Fish and Anchor, and did not seem to fit Scarlet Cove one bit.
Liz finished unbuttoning her coat and stepped forward, the old carpet sticky underfoot. She looked around at the sea of zombies, witches, and vampires, suddenly feeling exposed in her simple jumper and faded jeans.
“There you are!” Nancy pushed through the crowd, a grin plastered across her painted face. “I’ve been looking for you!”
Nancy had come as the bride of Frankenstein. She was wearing the traditional black beehive wig with silver Mallen streaks bolting up both sides, and a white gown that looked like an old nightie. She had painted her face a ghoulish shade of green, and inked her brows in black. Aside from her glasses, which looked completely out of place, she had not missed a detail.
“Where’s your costume?” Nancy asked as she looked Liz up and down. “I told you it was fancy dress. People take it pretty seriously around here.”
“I’ve been a little distracted,” Liz said with a frown as she shrugged off her coat. “I’m sure people will understand.”
“You poor thing,” Nancy said, reaching out to rub Liz’s arm. “I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling. You could have asked me for help with a costume. I have a whole box of stuff back at my place.”
“Between you and me, I don’t think I’ll be sticking around for very long tonight,” Liz said, looking around the room and noticing that more than a couple of people were suddenly whispering behind their hands now that they had spotted her. “I was giving my statement at the station for most of the night, but I knew if I didn’t come, people would only talk.”
“You have to stay,” Nancy begged, grabbing Liz’s hand in hers. “If only to take your mind off things. After a glass of wine, you’ll be up there doing the ‘Monster Mash’ with the rest of us! I’m sure someone will have some spare fake blood.”
“As long as you keep it away from my neck,” Liz said, her hand drifting up instinctively. “You’re right about the wine, though. I think that’s exactly what I need right now.”
“That’s the spirit!” Nancy exclaimed giddily, squeezing Liz’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go to the bar.”
Liz tried to ignore the silence falling around them as they pushed through the crowd. She tried to tell herself it was not because she had been the one to find Nathan’s beheaded body, but she would be naïve to think they were staring at her so intently because she had forgotten her costume.
“Two glasses of wine please, Patsy,” Nancy asked when they got to the bar. “And a bag of nuts. I could eat a horse.”
“Nice costume,” the bartender replied. “Coming right up.”
Liz watched Pat
sy grab two glasses from under the counter and fill them to the rim with wine, the traditional measures out of the window. Liz would have put her in her late-fifties from looking at her lined, discoloured hands, but the skin on her face looked taut, her brows too arched, and her lips overly plump. Liz guessed she had had a little help from a needle, something she had become accustomed to seeing back in the city. Her wiry hair was bleached blonde, with greying roots and was rolled up at the back, evoking the style of the nineteen-sixties. She dressed younger than her years, but Liz thought she made it work.
A hand closed tightly around Liz’s shoulder, making her jump out of her skin. She grabbed the hand, immediately seizing the pressure points at the side of the wrist, her fingers digging into the hairy flesh.
“Oww!” Jack cried, his voice cracking. “Jesus, Liz!”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, letting go quickly. “Old habit.”
“She’s a little – on edge,” Nancy whispered as she adjusted her heavy wig. “Considering everything, I’d say it’s lucky it was just your hand.”
“Yeah, well, don’t lose your head,” Jack said, rubbing his hand where Liz had squeezed.
Liz arched a brow, wondering if Jack knew what he had just said. When he shook his head, his Frankenstein bolts bobbing up and down on his neck, she inhaled a calming breath before pinching between her brows. She should have stayed at home with Paddy. It was far too soon to be in public pretending she had not kicked a severed head twenty-four hours ago.
“Frankenstein and Mrs. Frankenstein,” Patsy said as she slid the two glasses across the bar. “That’s brilliant.”
Nancy accepted her bag of nuts, a pleased grin stretching from ear to ear. Liz did not need to ask to know it was Nancy who had pulled together their costumes.
“Technically, it’s Frankenstein’s monster,” Jack said, his eyes dancing over the different beer pumps behind the bar. “But everyone makes the same mistake, so I’ll let you off.”
Patsy stared blankly at Jack as she leaned against the bar, her plump lips pursing tightly.
“Beer?” she asked bluntly.