by Cat Knight
“Well now... I usually live out in Inverness. Me and the crew have been staying down at the hostel in town, for the sake of this job.”
“You could have one of the cottages, if you wanted it.”
Callum scratched at his head and stood to leave.
“Oh... I umm, I dunno... I’ll give it some thought.” He drained his tea. “OK I’d best get back to it.” He pushed back from the table and made his way outdoors. Blair felt a surprise tinge of disappointment and hoped she hadn’t seemed too pushy.
Callum hadn’t jumped at the offer, but of course he wouldn’t. Anyone would need time to mull it over. Especially if a person had to consider the GORSTS. She scoffed inwardly. Surely that wouldn’t stop him… but then again, it was stopping others from taking employment. Sighing out loud Blair gathered the cups and placed them in the sink.
Shrugging it off she went back to her tasks. There was a lot to get done before day’s end. It would work out. It just has to. Blair touched wood for luck.
The next morning felt a bit like Christmas day, with the thrill of butterflies flying around an excited belly. The decorators were coming and finally the lodge would come together. Warm toned rugs and vibrant drapes would lift the austere feel of the hardwood floors and cream coloured rooms. Boutique furniture would bring a comfortable touch to empty corners. Accessories judiciously placed in their allotted positions would create a subtle cared for, lived in feel to the lodge.
The work crew were finishing up the two cottages and the gatehouse, and she and Callum planned to discuss the landscaping today. She rugged up and braced for the wind.
The ground was still damp from yesterday’s storm and she squelched along in her rain-boots enjoying the give of the soil underfoot and the smell of the rain. Callum was taking in the amount of overgrowth in the fields.
“As soon as the ground dries out I’ll whip this area into shape.” He swept his arm wide taking in the surrounds of the lodge. “I’ll have the men dig out for the tiles in the courtyard when they’ve finished with the cottages and we’ll get yer plants in.” Blair was about to ask about the wisdom of planting before spring had properly arrived, but Callum pre-empted her. “Don’t worry – the plants will survive. We’ll mulch them down well to keep the roots from freezing, yer’ll get a head start this way.” He pointed toward the coach house. “There’s an old tractor there, I’ll see if there’s any life in it.”
They walked down together and entered the building. Being in the coach house gave Blair the creeps.
But, she refused to think about it and consciously put the dreams from her mind. Callum pulled a large tarp off the unwieldy shape in the corner running his hands over the old steel machine with its chipped paint work. The tractor must’ve been about forty or fifty years old and had definitely seen better days.
“Hmm. Well it’s not state of the art... but it might still work.”
Blair raised her eyes at the rusty piece of metal, her face in a grimace. Its tyres were flat and it hadn’t had petrol in it for years, the lines would be full of grit, and the oil was probably dried to a hard sludge.
In the unlikely event that Callum got everything else in working order – it might not fire up without a key, and Blair didn’t possess one.
Giving it a bit of a kick, she said. “It’ll be lucky to make it out of the doors, you’ll probably have to tow it and even if you manage to get it started it might be quicker to use horses.”
Callum shot her a wry look.
“Aye it’s a bit worse for wear, but ye never know yer luck. Don’t be so quick to doubt my astounding capabilities. Yer’ve never seen a Scottish farm boy working with tractors, have ye?”
Several hours later and after invoking some powerful threats to the inanimate object, Callum had the engine turning over and sputtering to life. He had coaxed it skilfully, turning the motor with his hands. He and Blair were a mess of grease, petrol, and dirt, but they had won the fight and the battery charging.
He was very confident that once he got it fully mobile he could use it with success.
And happily, the mower cutter and field topper looked in pretty good nick. They walked back to the house crowing over their victory. Callum said,
“I’ve been thinking about the job offer. If the jobs still going – after all the colourful phrases I managed to invent today - I’d like to accept the position. I promise to be on my best behaviour, except in cases of gnarly old machines.”
“Oh, sure it is. Take which-ever of the cottages you prefer. They should be habitable before the end of the week, right? Move in as soon as you’re ready.”
Blair broke into a wide grin and she gave a silent thanks to the heavens.
Chapter Five
Stretching comfortably in her bed and thinking happily about the way the lodge was shaping up she almost nestled back down. But instead threw on her robe and ran downstairs barefoot, taking in the depth of colour, luxury, and life the old lodge had been restored to. In a fit of glee, she jumped on each new rug and happy danced in the middle of the foyer. This venture was going to work, she could feel it, really feel it. Staffing was the main problem now.
Morning had just broken through the murky greyness when Callum's van drove up the drive way and parked out near the tractor. Throwing on some warmer clothes Blair carried out two mugs of tea. Handing him one she sat on the steps chatting as he pumped the tyres and got the motor running.
“Amazing that this old thing still goes.”
Blair rubbed her nose to stop it running in the cold morning air. “We’ll see how well it does. With a bit of luck, I’ll get the job done today.”
He spent the morning cutting down brush and weeds and bringing unkempt areas into order.
This simple act of mowing lent a stunning effect and now the lodge seemed to rest at ease amongst the hills with a sense of belonging rather than abandonment. By the early afternoon Callum had mowed and cleared the front fields and had moved out toward the back. He was waving to her, beckoning her down to the field.
“I almost ran over this – it was covered by the grass. I think it’s a wall.”
A low wall of rock ran possibly a few hundred metres. Blair hopped over the wall and gingerly made her way amongst the grasses. It was rocky underfoot where the wall was crumbling. Her foot kicked against something solid and large, she felt around with her feet and, began pulling away at the grasses. The stone was well worn by the winds and salt air, but there was no doubt it was a grave marker. She traced her fingers along faint weathered lines in the rock.
It was impossible to make out. Callum stepped carefully through the overgrowth and joined Blair.
“Ye might have a grave yard here. It’s what it looks like to me.”
They worked together, Blair finding markers and Callum clearing away the overgrowth with a strimmer.
“This is creepy.”
“No, not creepy, just the way it was back then for large families. Especially in a place as remote as this.”
They searched on.
“Callum look here, this one says Wallace. You’re right, it’s the family cemetery. Not sure if I feel at home or not.”
Callum laughed at her. “Well, what do you think they do with dead bodies – light a pyre for them?”
Next to that head stone was another that faintly read ‘Edith Wallace.’
“Yes, yer’ve come home – they are all here waiting for ye.” Callum teased. “So, ye don’t believe in ghosts, but what about zombies?”
By the end of day Blair’s back ached and she felt worse than exhausted. As soon the workmen left she showered and headed to bed with a book and a cup of tea - a newly acquired taste. The covers were pulled snug around her neck and she rested comfortably against her pillow. Sleep became almost impossible to resist. Her eye lids insisted on falling and eventually closed.
The wind whistled and howled outside, or was it voices? Blair couldn’t tell. Inexplicably she found herself at the window, looking out, vaguely aware t
hat the room had changed. The sills were painted and peeling, the window panes dirty and draped with moth-eaten dusty curtains. Everywhere smelled of damp and must. And she was very, very cold. Blair’s head was spinning in a black fog as she swept long black locks away from her face. Fiona’s hair, Fiona’s face. The fog deepened and Blair descended with it. Leaning her tiny body forward to see clearly through the dirty windows she stood one bare foot on top of another to stave off the freezing floor. Her threadbare nightgown provided no warmth. Hunger and cold caused her little body to shiver violently. Peering through the window she saw nothing. A terrible dread grew in her. Lachlan was in trouble, she had to find him. Running for the door she yanked it, but it did not open though she pulled it hard, rattling against its hinges. The Laird had locked her in. Inconsolably she began to cry.
Ma, why did ye leave us here? Please, come for us Ma. She ran back to the window. The Laird was dragging Lachlan along by his arm, he stopped and slapped at him so hard Lachlan’s head spun to the side. Fiona thumped on the window. “Lach, Lachlan.” The laird didn’t stop and pulled him toward the stables. Flying back to the door she tried again, pulling and screaming. In desperation, she ran at it and threw her tiny weight against the wood and rebounded back against the floor. A large splinter pierced her from the worn boards and she winced and pulled it out. Scrambling up and running to the window she saw that the Laird and Lachlan had disappeared from sight.
The kindle had fallen to the floor and the tea was lukewarm by the time Blair woke. Her face was wet with tears and she looked around the room in a panic. Seeing that the room had returned to its current refurbished state she breathed a deep, grateful sigh. Blair got out of bed and felt for her slippers. There was a groove in the boards, she could see where uneven splinters had been sanded smooth. Her blood ran cold, she bent down and touched the floorboard. I was just here, a splinter pierced me.
Blair forgot her slippers and walked to the window seeking the cold night air to clear her head. Placing her fingers under the edges, she tried to lever it up but the window stuck fast. Fright took a hold of her and she ran over toward the door, turning the handle, but that too refused to open.
A sickening dread churned within her, something very bad was going to happen, and she needed to stop it. Was it Callum? Was something going to happen to him? Or was it Lachlan? Yes. Lachlan. Blair was beside herself.
What’s happening to me, what’s this.... this THING about Lachlan going through my head? She tried the door again yanking with everything in her.
A piercing pain ran through her funny-bone as she hit the ground knocked back by the sudden opening of the door. Wheezing sobs formed and she let them come while she pulled herself up off the floor and ran out. Looking back into the room Blair watched the air shimmering and knew she would not go back in there. Not today. Instead she made her way to the sitting room and lit the fire. Huddled in front of it, wrapped in a throw from the back of the settee, she began to write every-thing down on the back end of her accounting book.
Her ancestors lived in and owned this estate and she was the last of this line.
There were enduring rumours of hauntings here.
She had experienced terrifying dreams about two young children who lived here and were afraid of the Laird with every breath of their bodies.
There was a bunch of graves on the property. Some were Wallace, some were not.
She thought she had seen someone in her bedroom window when she first arrived.
She did not believe in ghosts or imaginary friends.
She drew a line through number five, and after a second put a checkmark against it. If she was going to entertain this idea she might as well include everything.
Blair took her laptop down from the coffee table and searched. ‘Elleric Lodge. Wallace.’ The information was scant. The lodge had been built in the 1700s by the Wallace clan and the lands originally took in over five thousand hectares.
They occupied the estate until about 1820 when the last Wallace, called Alasdair, moved to the lowlands. Much of the land had been sold off in Alasdair’s lifetime and the lodge itself had always remained in the Wallace family. Rumours persisted the lodge was haunted.
Blair sighed, she did not think she had learned anything new at all, but she would try to rest now. The settee in her sitting room looked much more inviting tonight than her bed.
Blair curled up on it covered with the throw. By the light of the fire she rested; thinking until the sun came up. When it did, she could not share its cheery demeanour.
Uneasiness pervaded her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was dreadfully off in this house.
Chapter Six
Blair went downstairs and grabbed some clothes from the dryer rather than go back into her bedroom. As soon as Callum arrived she shot outdoors.
“What’s on our agenda today?”
“Well, if yer’ve not got a better offer, ye can supervise me moving tree trunks.”
He hid an amused smile, but she caught it. The one thing that wasn’t on her agenda was telling him that she had another ‘experience’ lest he think she was mad, or a silly emotional female, or maybe even decide he didn’t fancy the job here after-all. The tree trunks had been felled by a storm. Their roots were up-faced and a gaping hole remained in the ground. They were solid trees.
“It must’ve been a violent one.” Callum remarked.
“So, how often do you think a storm like that occurs?”
Worry crossed Blair’s face and Callum tried to reassure her.
“Keep the heid, there’s no trees near the house, if one comes.”
“Keep the heid? Oh... oh I see.” She tapped her skull and quipped, “I’ll try to hang on to it.”
He gave her a cheeky wink.
“Yer gettin' it. Yer’ll soon be local”.
The drone of the digger was drowning out conversation, but the task was progressing. A large mound of roots was heaped in a pile and now Callum was dumping soil into the cavity while Blair scraped back loose bits from the edges. He pulled up area opposite her and raised the digger ready to tip. Blair stood up from her bending position. Something’s not right. Noise faded out from her consciousness and a horrendous sensation pervaded her. Something horrendous was about to happen, Blair couldn’t explain it, but she knew more surely than anything she had ever known.
Blair screamed and waved at Callum to stop, there was no rationality to it, but she could do nothing else.
He toned the throttle down and looked at her, confusion knotted over his face. She glanced around, thinking hard for something to say, feeling both incredibly foolish yet shaken.
“What is it? Blair?”
Blair shook her head and stared into empty space where the tree trunk once was, wondering what she could say. In the disturbed soil, she noticed the end of what looked to be a fairly good-sized bone. Avoiding its resting place, she jumped down and started to scrape at it, unearthing it a bit at a time, revealing more as she went.
Callum hopped off the tractor and lay flat out on his stomach reaching in, helping to scrape away at the higher side of the soil. The removal of the roots had loosened the surrounding earth and smaller bones were exposed. Blair climbed out and joined Callum, digging with a sharp stick.
A yellowed rounded form protruded through the soil where Callum dug.
“I think we’ve got something here.”
Gently, he and Blair unearthed it. Part of a human skull came to light. Its eye sockets plugged with soil, the bottom of its jaw missing. Blair’s grubby hands flew to her mouth and she cried out in shock.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Callum walked out from the behind the newly stocked bar in the restaurant of the lodge and handed Blair a shot glass full of whiskey which she downed. Her body was still shuddering. The whiskey washed through her body, spreading its warmth, and by the time forensics arrived Blair had collected herself. Walking out to the ‘site’ as they were now calling it, Callum was chatting with DCI David Cow
an, it seemed they already knew each other. Whatever it was they were talking about was lost on Blair.
The pair had slipped easily into Scottish vernacular and their accents were so thick and fast that Blair realised Callum had been slowing his speech down when he spoke with her. The forensic team spread out their coverings, and began carefully digging around, searching for more remains.
“So yer done a flit?” David Cowan cast his eyes toward Blair.
“Excuse me?”
“So ye jest moved here, from across the big pond?”
“Oh, oh yeah, just a few weeks now. I wasn’t expecting this though.”
“But ye’re from here – ye’re bloods from Scotland and ye’re clan Wallace?”
“Aye. That I am.” said Blair in her best terrible Scottish accent.
“Well, we’ll take the bones and try to identify them. Could be one of ye’re relatives.”
Blair nodded, it hadn’t really occurred that it was, but realistically, it could be. Cowan continued.
“We’ll be able to find out the age of the person with fair accuracy, but for positive ID we’re going to need a known relative. We might get lucky and find one, but with the age of these, we probably won’t. Unless it’s yer own ancestor of course.”
“I don’t think it is – the Wallace family burial ground is right over there. How would these bones get here?”
David merely shrugged. Callum said to Blair.
“I’m off into town with David. Would ye like to come? We’ll all have a pint together later – ye might enjoy seeing the town.”
“No, no... I’m good here. An early night’s best for me.” Frankly, she wasn’t looking forward to being in that room again, but she needed to get a grip on things. Tomorrow she would tell Callum about what had happened last night.
After all, he was the one that said there were spooks here, at least he’d said he didn’t not believe it.
Blair read a novel till her mind was lulled and sleep seemed safe. Earlier she had pulled the curtains tight blocking the view of the window not wishing to be reminded.