The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  Wanetta was silent for just a moment before she spoke in a matter of fact tone. Her voice, normally flat and even, had an even more measured tone to it.

  “Are you sure there was a person there? Some say those who sleep in the master bedroom sees what isn’t there.”

  Catherine had opened her mouth ready to continue the cat and mouse game with the obstructive Wanetta, but she shut it again. An unbidden twitch started up in her neck. Whatever Wanetta was telling her was not what she wanted to hear. She would get to the heart of what this irritating woman was hinting at and stop this cat and mouse.

  “What are you saying, a ghost?’

  “Aye, old places often have ghosts, ma’am.”

  Ahh there it is! Her and Brainerd both. Catherine stopped jabbing her oatmeal, she scooped up a spoonful, it was delicious, and the fruit added just the right taste. She would try to tease out what was going on here.

  “Have you seen a ghost?” her voice was careful, more careful than it had been since she arrived.

  Wanetta shook her head and poured some tea. “No, ma’am.”

  “Why would you say such a thing – about ghosts then?” Wanetta shrugged and walked to the sink, banging pots loudly around.

  Catherine sipped at the steaming cup. She thought Wanetta was lying, but that made no sense. Why would Wanetta lie? Silently finishing her oatmeal, and drinking her tea down, Catherine forced logic on herself. Wanetta was trying to scare her. Probably felt intruded upon. After all, she’d been taking care of this place longer than anyone. And she usually lived here … maybe she felt like it was hers... Both her and Brainerd maybe felt that way. A surprising flurry of compassion rose in her and she put her anger to the side for the moment. She would talk with them later and see what the issue was. After all, she hadn’t asked them to move out.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Catherine met Brainerd at the shed where he showed her an old bicycle, complete with rusting rims and wrinkled seat.

  “She’s not new, but she’ll get ye to the village and back,” he said.

  Catherine studied the bike. She wasn’t at all sure it would make the trip, but she didn’t have much choice.

  “Does it have brakes?” she asked.

  “Aye, like any bike. But don’t get to going too fast down the hill. The curves are not forgivin’.”

  With a smile, Catherine mounted the bike and rode off. While she hadn’t ridden a bike in years, she found that the skill had not left her. And Brainerd was right about the curves. A tight-knuckled lean through the first one convinced her that less speed meant more safety. As she coasted into the village, she felt proud of herself. Despite a ruined hairdo, she was exhilarated.

  The dark-haired man behind the counter of the electronics shop smiled as she entered.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Holland. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m new here,” she said. “I have a telephone line, and I need internet connectivity. What can you do for me?”

  “If it’s our local provider, all you need is a modem. Want connectivity everywhere in the house?”

  “I’m writing a book, so I would like to write whenever and wherever the muse strikes.”

  “In that case, you also need a router. Pretty common set up.” He pulled out an order pad. “I suppose you’re looking for installation?”

  “Correct. I just moved into Highcliff Hall.”

  “Ah! Did you?” His smile faded.

  “That makes a difference?”

  “No, yes, well, I’ve never done any work up there.”

  “I assure you, it’s no different than any other house.”

  He forced a smile. “Of course not. It’s just…”

  “The rumours. Yes, I know what you’re talking about. And I guarantee that the ghosts come out only at night. So, if you come during the day, you’ll be perfectly safe.”

  His face reddened. “I hear, I hear. OK, I’ll be out this afternoon—if you’re going to be home.”

  She started for the door. “I’ll see you then.”

  Before trying the ride back to Highcliff, Catherine stopped at the grocery. While the store didn’t provide the choices of London, it did have what she was looking for. As she left the store, she was happy her bike actually had a basket in front of the handlebars. Loading her goods into the basket, she looked up at the Highcliff Hall and its tower. Her lips set in a line and she promised herself that while she might not get inside the tower this day, she would explore it soon.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Catherine had to walk her bike three times; the steepest parts proved too much for her. It seemed far steeper going up than going down. She also realized that she didn’t possess the energy she thought she had. However, she knew that she would be in much better shape before she finished her third chapter. Up and down by bike was precisely what she needed.

  She saw the girl as she rode into the stone drive.

  It was the same girl Catherine had seen the day before, but this time she wasn’t looking out the tower window. This time, she was running across the grass, directly for the cliff.

  She wore a white dress, and her white blonde hair streamed out behind her, and she ran as if her life depended on it.

  Catherine stopped and watched a moment.

  “Hey!” Catherine called, “Stop!”

  But the girl didn’t stop. She raced away.

  Catherine dropped her bike and started after the girl. As Catherine ran, she called out, but nothing she said made any difference. The girl raced, her dress riding up her legs, her destination clearly the cliff.

  Trying to head off the girl, Catherine sprinted, but she soon realized she couldn’t catch her. A scream rose from her throat and sounded through the air as the girl leaped off the cliff and disappeared below the lip. “No… STOP.”

  Catherine slid to a stop a good yard from the cliff edge. The wind whipped her hair as she dropped to her knees. The ocean stretched out before her, twinkling in the late morning sun. Laying herself flat she inched her way to the lip and looked over. And saw nothing. The cliff leaned out at a narrow angle. A few large rocks jutted out here and there.

  She had expected to see the bloody, sprawled body of the girl, but all she saw were the waves lapping at the black rocks.

  Catherine’s throat went dry. What the hell? Where was the girl? How could she leap over the edge and disappear?

  Catherine stayed there for a full minute, somehow certain the girl’s body would appear and vindicate her vision. The girl had to be there, her body had to be there. Catherine had seen her.

  Catherine’s eyes burned with the sting of tears. She had been out of her depth many times, but always she had known she would find a way to control it. But things at Highcliff seemed to slip through her fingers, along with her sense of power.

  “Careful now,” Brainerd said.

  Catherine rolled over and looked back to where Brainerd stood.

  “The edge isn’t stable,” he added.

  Inching backwards her face furrowed in a frown, Catherine tried to keep panic from her voice.

  “Did you see her?”

  “See who?”

  “The girl, the blonde girl from the tower.”

  “No one lives in the tower.”

  Brainerd stepped forward and helped Catherine to her feet.

  “She ran from the tower to the cliff and jumped, but she’s not on the rocks.’ Catherine realised as the words tumbled out, how mad it sounded.

  “Ye be seein’ things.”

  “It’s the middle of the day, and the sun is shining. I know what I saw.” Catherine spat the words out through clenched teeth.

  “Folks sometimes think they see what isn’t there. It’s Highcliff’s way.”

  Brainerd limped away and picked up the bike. Catherine joined him as he wheeled it around the tower to the kitchen door. “Brainerd, wait! You’ve seen the girl too, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “There is no girl. If I said otherwise, I’d be lyin
’.”

  Catherine knew she wasn’t going to get Brainerd to admit anything, so she grabbed her things and went inside. Wanetta placed a bowl of soup on the table, it’s enticing smell wafted up from the dish.

  “Lunch,” Wanetta announced. Frustration boiled in her and she grabbed her spoon.

  “I saw the girl from the tower,” Catherine said.

  “No one lives in the tower,” Wanetta said.

  “Don’t go all Brainerd on me Wanetta.”

  Wanetta remained silent. Capitulating, Catherine tried again.

  “Look, how can you be sure? I’ve seen her in there, and today she was out on the cliff. Only she disappeared. There must be tracks leading from rocks to the water. Hidden trails. Maybe she somehow snuck into Highcliff after you moved out.”

  “You’ve seen the cliff, there be no tracks. And nobody’s living in your tower miss. There are only two ways in and out and they both have been sealed for a century or more.”

  The soup was delicious, and Catherine stopped a moment, enjoying its warmth as it slid down her throat. But still she wanted more from Wanetta. “Other people have seen the girl, haven’t they? Did my grand aunt see her?”

  “I wouldn’t know. People conjure up all manner of things in their head.”

  “Surely she would have told you?”

  “She was the quiet type. If she saw someone she never said.”

  Catherine bit into some crusty white bread, and chewed thoughtfully, she was certain she had not “conjured up” the girl.

  How could she? Catherine was also certain Brainerd and Wanetta weren’t going to admit to anything. Something wasn’t sitting right. But she would think about it later, she needed to relax. Get her mind on other things, at least for a while.

  After lunch, Catherine started her novel. She pulled up the outline on her computer, the outline she had been crafting for more years than she cared to remember. The outline had been her anchor during all her stints as a journalist. When there was time, and that was rare, she would refine it. Unlike her articles, the novel provided a wide vista for a story. No deadline, no maximum words, it was relief from her day job. But now, she had no day job. Now, the novel was her job. She read the first few points on her outline and set her fingers to the keys.

  Something about writing had always captivated Catherine. She had never distilled the essence that drew her like a moth to a flame, but she knew it was there. And as her fingers discovered that familiar rhythm, a smile filled her face. The cursor danced across the screen. She was at peace. Until she bumped into the first snag.

  There were always snags in writing, always forks in the road, always places to pause and examine.

  She looked out the window at the sea and let her mind review what she had written. What had to happen next?

  Her mind wandered around the problem. She stood and walked around the parlour, not really seeing anything, focusing on the story, on that next sentence. Nothing would come.

  After years of writing, she knew when to take a break, when to walk away and allow the mind to pull a solution from the subconscious. She grabbed her empty cup and headed for the kitchen. Tea was part of the solution, hot tea.

  The kitchen was empty, but the water was still hot. Scooping leaves from the square tin container to the teapot, she let them steep and she soon had a generous cup. As soon as her lips touched the brew, the solution flitted through her head. She knew exactly which fork to take, how to lead her readers along the proper path.

  With a smile, Catherine returned to the parlour and her chair. As she set down her cup, she looked at the screen and froze.

  NAE WILL SAVE YE!

  Chapter Five

  The message filled the screen in huge, red letters. It was as if someone had written the words in blood. A chill ran along Catherine’s spine. She spun and looked over her shoulder. She was alone in the room, alone with a message that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

  She ran out in a mild panic until fury boiled over in her. If Wanetta was worried about her job security and her usual place of residence, getting rid of Catherine wouldn’t help her. She found Wanetta in the master bedroom, dusting the furniture.

  “Why did you do it?’

  Wanetta looked over. “Do what, ma’am?”

  “Write the message on my computer.”

  Wanetta’s face showed absolutely no knowledge of what Catherine was talking about. Catherine grabbed the old woman’s arm, and tugged her out of the room.

  “Brainerd is outside, and there is no one else in the house, so the only person who could leave the message was you.” Catherine pulled Wanetta down the stairs and into the parlour.

  “I surely know nothing about a message,” Wanetta answered.

  Catherine stopped in front of the computer and pointed at the screen. “You did that.” Wanetta frowned at the screen.

  “I see only a bunch of words.”

  Catherine looked at the screen, and her eyes opened wide. The blood red message was gone. There was nothing on the screen but her novel, little words and long paragraphs. Where had the message gone? She dropped into the chair and scrolled up and down the document, but the ominous message was no longer there.

  “It was here a minute ago,” Catherine said. “I saw it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wanetta said.

  “Don’t patronize me. I know what I saw. Like the girl from the tower and now the message. I know.”

  She spun back to Wanetta whose face betrayed nothing. “I don’t know how you and Brainerd did it, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Is that all?” Wanetta asked, her head high and jaw set hard.

  “Yes, yes, that’s all, go, go.” Catherine sniffed the watery fluid in her nose. She watched Wanetta shuffle away, the smell of cloves filling her senses as the folds in the old woman’s garments moved.

  There had to be an explanation, and that explanation had to involve Wanetta and Brainerd. They had to be working together to drive Catherine away from Highcliff. But why?

  She stormed through the kitchen through the pantry and out the door, slamming it behind her.

  Speed walking around the perimeter to blow off steam, eventually she noticed a small bunch of dried something, under every sill at the bottom level. Looking up she could see underneath the sill of the master bedroom a decidedly large bunch hung there. That took some skill. She could not imagine whoever could have done it, except Wanetta or Brainerd. And they were not really in the shape to lean out the window and under the sill.

  Brainerd must’ve done it with a ladder. Walking over to the closest bunch under the kitchen window, she yanked at it but it was fixed tight. Breaking some stems off she walked back toward the garden and sat on a large stone. Something about it smelled familiar.

  Vestiges of herbs spilled out from old oak barrels. She grabbed at one that was the same as in her hand and stuck it on her tongue. In a moment, she had it. It tasted like the tea, like something in the tea. She placed the sprigs in her pocket. If that turns out to be anything dangerous…. and what’s it doing all around the house. If they were trying to chase her off, it would take more than this.

  There was only one thing Brainerd and Wanetta stood to gain – they were protecting their cosy life before Catherine arrived — It had to be it. To her mind, it was the most plausible reason. She marched back inside slamming the door behind her again, when someone rapped at the front entrance.

  As she passed through, beating Wanetta to the door the scent of clove hit her senses again.

  Wanetta had added more pomanders. She glared at her, as she pulled the door open. Wanetta wandered away. For a moment, she half expected to find no one on the stoop.

  That would be another Brainerd trick, like the girl, something to make Catherine doubt her senses. She jerked open the door.

  “Hello,” Holland said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Oh, hi,” she answered.

  He stepped past her with several boxes under his arm. “I t
hink I have the solution to your problem. Which way?”

  She pointed down the hall as she closed the door. As he started off, she noticed Wanetta standing in a shadow.

  “I’ve got this.” Catherine said and watched Wanetta turn away.

  Holland found the parlour and slipped in, Catherine right behind him. She was half afraid he would find the red message on the screen, but it wasn’t there. Relief flooded her as he set down the boxes and went to work.

  “I’m going to keep this simple,” Holland said. “Split telephone line to modem, and modem to router. The router is especially powerful because of the stone walls. Do you want a password for your connection?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about someone stealing data off your network.”

  “Just the ghosts.”

  He looked up, and his eyes seemed startled. “You know about the ghosts?”

  She shook her head. “I was joking.”

  “Well, it seems every old keep in Scotland has its share of ghosts.”

  “Keep?”

  “Castle, keep, where the laird of the manor lived. It was always the strongest building around.”

  “And Highcliff has ghosts?”

  “If you believe the local lore.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “I’m not the person you should talk to. My knowledge comes from the pub where whiskey loosens tongues late at night. To hear some people, you’d think this place was the doorstep to hell itself.”

  “So, who should I ask?”

  “The old man and woman won’t talk?”

  “If they know anything, they’re keeping it secret.”

  “Well, then, I would try the library. The librarian, Beatrice, seems to know everything about everything.”

  “She knows about you too?”

  Holland laughed. “I’m an open book, so of course, I’m of no interest to her.” She watched as he sat at her laptop to finish the installation.

  She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked, how fit.

  “Where do you exercise?” she asked.

  “I don’t much,” he answered. “I guess the rowing keeps me in shape.”