The Ghost of Kathleen Murphy

by Vickie Carroll

  “Good grief, what a story. So how do we find out more?”

  “If the story is true, Maeve’s body is still buried there on the grounds somewhere, on land now belonging to The Haven and the church. It’s said Kathleen won’t rest until her sister’s body is found and the truth is told. I don’t know how to find out much more or to prove anything.”

  “Do The Haven owners know this story?”

  “Of course, they must know it, they are from around here, but you will never hear them admit it or mention it in any way. Do you blame them?”

  “I can see why they would like to forget it. Setting up a business were abuse, murder, and a cover-up took place will not attract the right kind of publicity. Not to mention the possibility of a body on the land.”

  “My daddy said they are in negotiations with the church to buy the rest of the land so if they make them mad, there goes the deal.”

  “Ah, the plot thickens…sorry, I have always wanted to say that,” Cassie said.

  April leaned in and lowered her voice. “The interesting thing is, the priest left a written confession about all this, or some of it anyway, and it’s why the story is known. It seems Edwin confessed to him, or at least left a letter of confession for the priest. The priest decided to keep it all quiet to protect the school and the church. There was the missing girl and Edwin’s suicide to contend with and they couldn’t add abuse of the girls to the list.”

  “What…something was in writing?”

  “Well, yes, one of the Sisters found the priest’s letter that was read after his death some years later. The priest, Father Dunn, destroyed Edwin’s confession but he was so guilt-ridden he wrote it down as a confession of his own. The Sister who found it took it to the Prioress, who put it away. Then one day, many years later, the lady who cleaned for the then current Prioress found it by accident looking for something else, or while snooping. The cleaner made a copy of the letter and sent it to her brother who lived in Dublin. The brother wanted to use it to blackmail the church, and so he did. The church paid the cleaning lady and her brother to keep quiet, but they didn’t keep quiet entirely. The cleaning lady felt so guilty she kept a copy, and it became a part of her own confession. It was found when the cleaning lady died soon after. Before long the story traveled around Dublin and all over Ireland, and some people wanted to come to the monastery to see if they could see the ghost of Kathleen.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet that went over big with the church!”

  “That is when they closed things up, including the school, and stopped having retreats and visitors. This was in the late 1950s into the early 1960s, I think.”

  Cassie turned the page in her notepad. “The Church was at the height of its power then. There was a lot of money and so many connections. A real force in the world, but especially here in Ireland.”

  “I expect it is why nothing was ever said or investigated. It was the 1980s when they opened the monastery again to outsiders for classes, events, and for special occasions to raise money to keep the building intact.”

  “And here we are today, and it seems Kathleen has never left,” Cassie said.

  “So it seems, and no one knows what happened to the priest’s written confession, or the cleaning lady’s for that matter.”

  “So, April, what do we do now?”

  “Don’t laugh, Cassie, but I think we try to get Kathleen to communicate with us.”

  “And how do we go about doing that? I don’t mind telling you, seeing her sitting on my bed and talking to me in Gaelic freaked me out. I’m not sure I want a repeat performance.”

  “Come on Cassie, where is the famous American can-do spirit and fearless attitude?”

  “I’ve never confronted a ghost before. Can we get some help with this? But good grief, people will think we are well…crazy, won’t they?”

  “Yes, I am afraid they will. Others have seen Kathleen and weren’t believed, I know for a fact.”

  “You mean people staying at the monastery saw her and told others?”

  “Yes, Jacob’s wife, Lydia, for one.”

  “Jacob’s wife?”

  “Yes, Cassie, she died about four years ago. Lydia, Jacob’s wife, committed suicide in her room at the monastery. I was just about to turn fourteen, but I recall it well. It was my first full summer here and everything was strange and new, and so big and filled with history. I was in heaven. They opened the monastery for the summer for some special programs after making some major renovations. They began looking for a buyer, but times were hard and money was scarce. They were doing all kinds of community programs, spiritual retreats, and such. At last I was old enough to have a little freedom, and I loved to explore. I met Lydia in the garden one day. She liked to journal and to paint. I walked up one day and talked to her or at least I tried to, and I complimented her on the painting. It was of a young girl with black hair and blue-green eyes. That is when she told me who it was…it was Kathleen. She told me the story, the entire story but edited for my young ears, of course. But she told me not to tell it, ever, because she told it, and they thought she was crazy. Cassie, maybe I thought she was crazy too then. It all sounded like a story, a fairy tale almost. I thought she was making it up. Her eyes looked wild, Cassie. I think now it was the medication she was on, but at the time, she was scary. I’d only heard the whispers about her.”

  “Why did she kill herself?”

  April frowned and Cassie could see she was not much for gossip. “No one knows for sure. Jacob got her treatment at two different hospitals and she didn’t get much better. Bernadette talked him into sending her there to the monastery for peace and quiet, and of course, spiritual healing. Bernadette was very devout back then and knew all the Sisters from when it was a monastery. She did volunteer work there before she became the current Librarian for The Haven group.”

  “Ah, so instead of getting better there, it made Lydia worse because she saw a ghost there or thought she did.”

  “Right. There she was alone with her fears, poor lady. One night she hung herself in her room. It’s the room across from yours, Cassie.”

  “Good heavens, so many bad things. I think the place is cursed!”

  “It does seem that way sometimes. But Cassie, don’t mention any of this to Jacob. Bernadette said it has taken him a long time to get over Lydia.”

  “Of course, April, I won’t say anything. He can tell me when he is ready. How awful for him.”

  “He seems to be a very nice person. He always visits his aunt and takes care of things for her.”

  “Yes, he does seem to be very kind, and he not hard to look at,” Cassie said.

  April laughed. “Yes, there is that.”

  “Is it just me or does Bernadette seem a bit odd, or off, or something about her is just different, do you agree?”

  April smiled at the waiter when he refilled her tea again. “She lives in her own world sometimes, for sure. But I think she prefers it to the reality of her world here. She told me once she has always felt like an outsider her entire life.”

  “She looked so sad when we first talked, as if she carried a terrible burden.”

  Cassie could see April’s eyes following the waiter. She thought it was time to change the subject.

  “Oh, April he is cute. Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “There is this one boy from school I like but nothing seems to be happening there.”

  “Well, the cute waiter guy sure seemed to appreciate you.” Cassie nodded her head in the direction of the waiter.

  “Maybe there is hope for me yet.”

  “You are fantastic, April, are you kidding? You are a knock-out with that red hair, and those big blue-green eyes, a lot like my own, I might add. Do your eyes turn colors depending on what you wear?”

  April blushed a bright red but Cassie could tell she was pleased. Then she put her hands up. “Oh, the blue-green eyes, just like the ghost-child.”

  All talked out, they were quiet on their trip back to The Haven
, each lost in thought.

  As they climbed the stairs Cassie stopped. “I just don’t know what to do with this story. Did I really see a ghost? It goes against everything I believe, in one way, yet in another, it seems at least close to reasonable.”

  “You mean is it reasonable there could be ghosts and things we can’t see, but are still there anyway, like God, like Angels?”

  “Well yes, I guess that is what I mean. What do you think, April, and be honest?”

  “I believe I have seen the girl. She is in the building or somewhere on the property and will be here until she finds her sister, one way or the other. Also, Shamus seems to knows she is around. Kathleen and Maeve deserve justice, or at least to have their story told and their lives counted as important.”

  “Oh, April, you say it so well. You are wise beyond your years. Now what are we to do? If they find out we are checking out this story, we may both be thrown out on our butts.”

  “I know, Cassie, but it’s important, right?”

  “Yes, let’s think on it a day or two and we’ll figure it out.”

  Later, as they rushed down the staircase to make it to supper on time, they were still quiet, afraid to voice their fears of what might come next. They managed to slide in before the bells stopped ringing, and were met with a few curious glances as they rushed to take their seats. The place was full, and the meal passed without incident. All the summer employees, some of the local workman, including the gardener, all were there for dinner. It was a full room and they were all relaxing one last evening before all the retreats started and their summer settled into routine work.

  Cassie and April were joined by Rose and Emily, and this kept them from any further conversation about the ghost-child. Afterward they went out for a walk so they could talk in private. They walked along the tree line and peered into the forest but neither made a move to go into the woods. It would be dark in an hour and neither wanted to be in there when darkness came. They circled around the old castle wing and to the back side of the building. There were gardens, both flower and vegetables, and a small pond. There were benches and little tables around it, making it a good place to sit and talk on summer evenings. Cassie could appreciate the work done to make it a place anyone on a retreat was free to enjoy. She felt a pang of guilt to think she may be a part of disrupting their lives by doing what she must do. She would follow this story to see where it might lead, and the next step meant snooping in the archives. April told her the church representative was coming for the remainder of their old monastery archives in two weeks. They would start their search there before the records were gone forever.

  Cassie looked at her watch. “I suppose we better get back inside. The group members for our workshop arrive soon. We need to make sure we are there to greet them and have all of our handouts ready.”

  For almost two hours, Cassie and April did not think of ghosts. They greeted the ladies in the writers’ workshop group, shared a few laughs, and a little wine. Cassie was pleased that everyone seemed happy to be there. After the group went to their rooms on the first floor of the new wing, Cassie and April were free. It was almost ten when they started upstairs to their rooms, and April ran ahead to check on Shamus and take him out again.

  Cassie waited for her in the hallway. “Do you want me to come with you to take Shamus out?”

  “No thanks, Cassie, I’m sure he has settled down now.”

  “Goodnight then and I’ll see you early for breakfast. If we meet at seven we will still have time to eat and set up before the class ladies start filtering in.”

  Cassie gave April a hug as she walked her to her bedroom door, and then she climbed the stairs to the next floor to her room. She paused to look across the hall at the closed door of the room Lydia Sullivan lived in, and where she decided to end her life. The thought made her shudder. She couldn’t help but wonder why someone who was married to Jacob, and so young and talented, would kill herself. What was so terrible in her life? Then she remembered her mother, and felt guilty that she was judging Lydia, someone she knew nothing about.

  Cassie went into the room and locked the door. No one could get in without her hearing them—no one human. The thought made her more than a little nervous. She changed into her pajamas and decided to take her mind off everything else by making notes for her book ideas. She knew she must decide on one of the legends before she could go any further. She wrote down a few of interest, but she wanted input from Jacob, and maybe April, to see if there were others even better. Some of the older myths were often the best, and though they could be pretty far out and mystical, they could also hold the gem of a good story idea. So far nothing seemed right. She put a tape in her recorder and put the recorder on her nightstand. This was a useful trick she learned years ago from a seasoned writer when she worked with at Jed’s publishing company. The writer said he’d wake in the middle of the night or in the early hours with the best idea, maybe something from his dream, and if he didn’t get it down fast it was gone. He said he was too groggy to write so he recorded it and was rewarded with two of his best book ideas. At this point she was willing to try anything. Then it hit her—she had not thought of Jed once since she arrived. She smiled and got into bed.

  The sound of tinkling bells worked into Cassie’s dreams. Then it was the sound of rain beating against the windows and balcony doors but she fought against waking. The wind’s howling voice brought her fully awake and she sat up with a start as if someone shook her. But was she awake or dreaming? Her eyes were heavy, her legs and arms like lead as she sat up and tried to focus. It was dark, more than normal. She tried the lamp but nothing happened. Then she realized it was storming outside and the power was out. She stumbled out of the bed and felt her way to her dresser where there was a hurricane lamp with a real candle. She felt around in the top drawer for the matches she thought were there. She managed to get the candle in the lamp lit and was on her way back to bed when the balcony doors flew open and crashed against the wall. Cassie’s scream was drowned out by the wind and rain. She struggled to close the doors, pushing hard against the force of the wind until the door finally clicked into place. She slipped and almost fell on the rain soaked floor as she struggled to see by the weak light of the lamp. She felt her way into the bathroom and grabbed towels to mop up the floor; holding the lamp high, and with the towel around her neck, she made her way back to the bedroom. Cassie began to mop up the rain when the doors flew open again, this time knocking her to the floor. The force of the wind sent the rain streaming into her room and sent the white sheer curtains flying out toward her like a parade of ghosts. The wind gusts whipped around inside the room so violently the candle flickered inside the hurricane lamp. She managed to get up and stood shivering in the semi-darkness as she pushed her body against the doors, and was finally able to secure the latch again. She looked out, but could see nothing but darkness and the rain lashing out at everything.

  Cassie cleaned up the water and pulled one of the chairs over against the doors, wedging it under the handle. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She forced herself to look around the room, in every dark corner. She peeked through the curtains on the balcony doors for one last look outside. She was about to turn and go to bed when she saw her. The girl skipped through the garden, untouched by the wind and rain. Cassie pushed the chair aside and struggled to get the door open. She pulled hard on the door latch and it crashed back against her sending her sprawling backward. She staggered, fighting against the wind, but managed to stay upright and pushed her way onto the balcony. She was rain-soaked in seconds, her gown plastered to her body like a second skin. The water streamed down her head and face, it blurred her vision, and ran down onto her body like a raging river. She shivered violently with the chill of it. But she held onto the balcony railing and watched the girl.

  “Kathleen, is that you?” Cassie yelled out into the night but her voice was lost in the wind, the force of it taking her breath away.

  The g
irl ran on, her black hair flying out behind her, her white gown skimming the tops of the plants.

  “Kathleen, Kathleen.” Cassie called again and again.

  But the girl was gone and Cassie was soaked and freezing. She went back into the room, and with her hurricane lamp as her only comfort, took a quick warm shower. By the time she finished with the room it was daylight.

  Cassie made tea with the little kettle and hot plate in her room. She was still shaking not just from the cold but from what she saw. How can this be? She repeated out loud again and again. But there was no one to answer her. Was she having some sort of breakdown from all the stress of the last few years? How do I control my pounding heart, settle my thoughts? I must remember what the therapist said. I need to breathe, one in, and one out.

  Cassie wrote it all down in her journal on her laptop. She would not forget this; she would not lose one detail. She wrote fast and struggled to capture the girl’s appearance, the feeling in the room, and her fears about what it all meant.

  Chapter 5

  Cassie scrambled through her luggage looking for the shoes she wanted, aware she was running late. April’s knock on the door was another reminder. She grabbed her shoes and went to the door.

  “Morning, Cassie, are you ready for your students?”

  “Oh April, you will never believe what happened last night?”

  “What now?”

  Cassie held onto April’s shoulders as she got into her shoes. “I got up to close the balcony doors. They kept blowing open for some reason, and there she was, running through the garden. I even called to her. She was so real.”

  “Kathleen, you saw her…what happened then?”