The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  “Won’t you sit and have a spot of tea?” Wanetta said. “Or some oatmeal.” Catherine could smell the valerian. There was no way she needed sedating. Not today.

  “NO.” Then more politely, “I’m not going to be driven out.” Wanetta’s hand went to the several crosses that hung on her neck. “Brainerd? The tools?”

  “In the shed. I’ll take ye.”

  “No need,” Catherine said as she passed them. “I know what I’m after.”

  She marched past them and out the door and was inside the shed, looking over the tools when Brainerd caught up with her.

  “Might ye need help?” he asked. She grabbed a pry bar off a shelf and studied it a moment.

  “I don’t think so.” Then, she grabbed a hatchet and studied the blade. “A bit dull,” she said. “But it should do.” With a smile, she stepped past him and started for the Hall.

  Wanetta stood in front of the locked tower door as Catherine entered.

  “Step aside,” Catherine said. “This has gone on long enough.”

  “You must not,” Wanetta said. “You’ll set loose that devil.” “As you said Wanetta, he’s loose already. I thought you’d noticed. Besides, if the curse is true, it doesn’t want you. It wants me.”

  “I beg you.”

  “Catherine hefted the hatchet. “If you don’t move, you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Wait!” The old woman rushed to the pomanders and hung them by their ribbons around her neck. “It’s the cloves, they’ll protect ye best if ye wear them.” Catherine looked at the old woman with her collection of crosses around her neck. Genuine fear shone out. Brainerd fixed her with a one eyed worried stare. “Don’t do it lass.”

  For the first time in the longest time, Catherine felt connected. She didn’t have time to figure it out. Connected to this Hall? To these old country bumpkins who lived in fear of their lives because she had come home to Highcliff?

  “I’ll be alright. You’ll see. NOW MOVE.”

  Wanetta slipped out of the way as Catherine hit the lock with the hatchet. She managed three hard blows, but the lock didn’t yield. She dropped the hatched and grabbed the pry bar.

  “You’ll ruin the door,” Wanetta said as Catherine wedged the tool beneath the hasp.

  “Better the door than me,” Catherine gasped as she tried to pry the hasp free.

  But the hasp was stubborn and old. Catherine grabbed the hatchet and pounded the bar beneath the hasp. Then, she leaned on the bar with all her weight. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the long nails holding the hasp gave way. She jimmied the bar over and over until, with one hard push, the hasp came loose. It dangled by one side, the padlock still in place. She turned to where Wanetta and Brainerd watched.

  “Do I need a weapon?” Catherine asked.

  “Aye,” Brainerd said.

  “Nae,” countered Wanetta.

  Catherine grabbed the hatchet. “This will do.” She grabbed the ancient ring handle and tugged. Nothing happened. She supposed the hinges had frozen long ago, that it would take lots of oil and strength to move the door. She tried a second time with no success. Then, she stepped back.

  “If you want me,” she called. “You’ll have to help.”

  She grabbed the ring and pulled, and the door opened without so much as a creak. She didn’t know whether to be thankful or terrified. But she couldn’t turn back. She had come this far.

  The small windows of the tower couldn’t clear the gloom that lingered in the corners. Still, there was enough light to see that the ancient table and chairs were dust free, still sturdy and polished, as if a servant had just cleaned them.

  Catherine was surprised. She expected cob webs and dirt, that should have collected over the centuries. Why was it so clean? Even as she looked, rain pattered against the windows.

  Brainerd stepped forward and offered her a torch. “Ye might need this.”

  She took the torch and flicked it on. Hatchet in one hand, torch in the other, she stepped into the keep, the centre of all that was wrong with Highcliff Hall. She paused and turned back to Wanetta.

  “Do you know where it is?” Catherine asked. Wanetta’s eyes were perfectly round balls of fear.

  “The ghost be in the dungeon miss.” Wanetta answered.

  “How will I find it?” Wanetta shrugged and Brainerd looked over at her, sad resigned looks seemed to shrink the already tiny pair.

  Catherine nodded to them and started across what had to be the great room, where people ate and drank and cursed and argued. She could almost hear them, almost.

  The door on the opposite side was closed, but it swung open as freely as the great door. Catherine pushed through before her courage failed. She found herself in what had to be a kitchen.

  The pots and pans and bowls were stacked, clean and unused. It looked as if the cook had stepped outside for a breath of air, but Catherine knew better.

  This was unnatural, the product of some power she hoped she could overcome. When a fire suddenly shot up in the wall hearth, she jumped back. Then, she squared her shoulders. Parlour tricks weren’t going to stop her.

  She looked around. A bolt and wooden cross bar protected one door, and she guessed it led to the outside. The third door in the room had a single bolt.

  She crossed and threw the bolt which moved easily. She opened the door, and a blast of frigid air blew over her. She shivered as she looked into the dark depths of what had to be the passage to the dungeon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Something inside Catherine told her to run, to drop everything and simply flee. Don’t bother with clothes or shoes or even computer. Just run far and fast. Whatever was in the dungeon, whatever created the stench that now enveloped her, whatever that was, it was evil, and its malevolent nature could not be denied. She should go, go now.

  But she couldn’t. Despite the cold, despite the stench, she couldn’t run. She had a chance to change things, and she was going to take it. She would either snatch redemption or earn the fate of her ancestors.

  She pointed the torch down the smooth stone steps and started down. Rain hammered the windows behind her. She heard nothing in front of her.

  “Wait.”

  She turned. Wanetta stood in the kitchen holding a huge, old iron key. “I think this is for the dungeon.”

  “Thank you.” Catherine accepted the key and slid it into the pocket of her jeans.

  Wanetta nodded, kissed the wooden cross around her neck, and hurried away. Catherine turned to the dark.

  A long winding staircase led down, down to the depths of Highcliff Hall eventually ending on a dirt floor. Catherine stepped away from the stairs and played her torch around the room. Stone walls all around except for three short doors across from her. Another blast of cold whipped past her, but she was no longer surprised. She crossed the room quickly and tried the first door. It opened, and she glanced into some sort of medieval torture chamber, complete with rack, manacles, and whips. She could only guess what might have happened in that room.

  The second door opened to a bare room with a single hole in the dirt in one corner. How many people had lived in that dark place? She didn’t know, but she guessed they had left behind the stench that now slipped around her.

  She breathed through her mouth and tried the third door. It didn’t give. Using the key from her pocket, she pushed it in and turned. An almighty scream sounded as she unlocked it. Shuddering she threw it open, and waved the torch.

  He stood against the far wall, manacled in place. Naked from the waist up, shaggy, dirty hair covering his face, his skin bruised and scarred from untold beatings, he looked dead. He looked as if he had succumbed to the horror visited upon him.

  Stepping forward she moved closer until she was within arm’s length. He still had not moved. Up close, she noticed how strong he was, how young. Perhaps twenty but certainly not thirty, he looked to be in his prime. Catherine knew who he was. This was Ian MacDougal, the man who had been betrothed to Mallory. This was
the author of the curse.

  He had sworn vengeance on each and every descendant of Laird Spruce. His thirst for revenge knew no bounds. She could feel black energy coming off him in waves. She had found the source of the terror.

  Reaching out she slowly brushed back the lank, dark hair. He was handsome too, but Catherine had expected that. His chin rose, and she stepped back. His mouth opened in a laugh of pure evil. His eyes opened, and she gasped, for there was nothing there but the sockets.

  Catherine, felt her head spinning faster and faster until everything went black.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rain woke her, pelted her face as she opened her eyes. Blinking, wiping away the water, she realised she was walking. Abruptly she stopped. Her toes stood over the edge of the cliff, waves crashed as tiny white horses below. The sea breeze rising off the rocks hit her face. She seemed to teeter on the edge even as a voice whispered in her head.

  “Jump,” the voice said. “Jump and your troubles will end.”

  She fought the urge to take that final step. She battled the voice.

  “Ye cannot escape,” the voice continued. “If not today, then tomorrow or the next day. Ye know the rocks will welcome ye.”

  The voice was new, deep and old. She looked out, and there floated MacDougal half naked, as if the cold rain had no effect.

  But his face had changed. Blue eyes had replaced the black holes she had witnessed in the dungeon. He looked whole and hale and powerful.

  “You’re Ian MacDougal,” Catherine said. “You were to marry Mallory.”

  “It matters not who I am,” he answered. “Ye seek the rest of the wicked.” Her left foot edged forward, and she found she had little will to stop it.

  The wind whipped his long hair and the dirty kilt that he wore. “Ye line must die out. Ye know that. Ye know the evil of the Laird.”

  Her right foot slid ahead as the rain drenched her.

  “He was evil,” she said. “But you cannot take the innocent along with the wicked.”

  “The sins of the father visit the children.” Her feet moved inches forward. She teetered on the edge. “Pay for ye sins,” he said. “As ye need to.”

  “Miss Catherine!”

  The voice was different, not MacDougal’s. She looked over her shoulder. A few feet away stood Brainerd and Wanetta.

  “Move away from the edge,” Brainerd said.

  “They cannot save ye.” MacDougal’s voice drifted mournfully on the wind.

  She looked back to where the ghost hovered.

  “There’s no one there,” Wanetta yelled. “It’s all in your head. Look again girl, look hard. There’s naught there. It’s a trick.” Catherine fixed her eyes on the ghost.

  “It’s a trick, it’s a trick.” she repeated over and over.

  Ian MacDougal’s eyes burned bluer than the sky. His form wavered in and out, he held her strong with his gaze. “This is the curse, you’ll not evade it.

  When you’re gone I’ll finally have peace. I deserve it for what your ancestor did. Mallory lies in her grave not restin’ for what he cast upon us.” Catherine’s eyes were locked with the ghost.

  “Catherine, hear us.” Brainerd’s voice came in on a far wind. “He’s not real. Come off the edge girl. Come in slow like, the ground is weak.”

  “We dare not come closer,” Wanetta called.

  Catherine felt that the wind was the only thing keeping her from falling. If it should stop… She didn’t complete the thought. With incredible will power, she inched away from the edge, far enough for her to turn around. She faced Brainerd and Wanetta who reached out, their hands so close and yet out of reach.

  “Easy,” Brainerd said. “Slow.” She slid her left foot a few inches forward. She wavered and fell back, catching herself on one foot. Ian MacDougal held her with his eyes. The Hag’s words flashed into her mind as though in a past life. ‘It does not matter. You do not believe.’ Catherine stared at Ian MacDougal.

  “The cloves, the cloves… The pomander around yer neck.” Wanetta’s voice sounded far away, as though a dream.

  “I do believe now Hag.” Catherine yelled. Her hand reached the pomander and she held it to her nose breathing in the deep clove scent.

  Her head began to clear and MacDougal’s form shuddered and shook. “You aren’t real MacDougal, you can’t trick me to jump. I’ll find your bones and cast you off this cliff.” He let forth a violent howl. Catherine rocked slightly on the very brink. She looked over her shoulder.

  “Just a little more,” Wanetta said. Catherine slid her left foot ahead, and she felt the ground under her begin to move. “Grab this.” Wanetta pulled the wooden cross from around her neck and tossed it to Catherine. Brainerd lent his hand to Wanetta’s as they gripped the leather necklace.

  “Now,” Brainerd said. “Jump!”

  She felt the earth sliding away as she lunged forward. For a moment, she thought they were not strong enough to hold her as her body started to fall. But the leather held, and they pulled, and Catherine smacked into them, almost knocking them down. Their arms wrapped around her, and she shuddered as tears ran down her face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You should get out of those wet clothes,” Wanetta said as they entered the Hall. “Oh, my lord,” Wanetta said covering her nose. The stench arrived with the force of a storm.

  “There are things to do first,” Catherine answered. “Wanetta, get some plastic rubbish bags. Wanetta stared a moment before she scurried off.

  “What are ye thinkin’?” Brainerd asked.

  “It’s time to free the ghost.”

  The blast of frigid air hit the three as soon as they entered the tower.

  “It will probably get worse,” Catherine said. “But we dare not stop.”

  Going down the winding staircase to the dungeon was like wading through icy water. Catherine could barely feel her feet, and her torch light seemed to be swallowed by the darkness.

  A HOWL echoed around them as they approached the dungeon door.

  When Catherine opened it, raucous laughter battered their ears. For a moment, she saw Ian in his manacles, grinning evilly at her. But only for a moment. Instead of Ian, the manacles held a skeleton, an old skeleton.

  “We want every bone,” Catherine said.

  “We should not disturb the dead,” Brainerd said.

  “We have to,” Catherine answered. “He will not rest if we leave so much as a finger.”

  They set to gathering the skeleton which fell apart at first touch, bones collapsing to the cold floor. By torch light, they scoured the stones for the bones, filling the rubbish bags with them. It was Catherine who added the skull to the last bag. The stench chased them from the dungeon.

  “Let’s go,” Catherine said.

  “Where?” Wanetta asked.

  “To where he can be united with his love.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was still raining as they approached the cliff edge. Bag after bag was tossed. Every bone to the rocks. At last they were left only with the skull. “You are released,” Catherine told the skull. “You can be with Mallory now. Your curse is ended.”

  She threw the skull out as far as she could, panting from the effort.

  When it was done they didn’t wait to watch the bones wash out to the sea. They simply turned the bags inside out to make sure nothing was left behind.

  “What now?” Wanetta asked. “We make sure that he’s gone.” Catherine answered.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The door to the keep was closed, and this time when Catherine pulled the ring, the door didn’t budge. She tried several times, but the door was stuck. Brainerd and Wanetta helped her, but still the door didn’t move.

  “Oil the hinges,” Catherine said.

  She watched Brainerd thoroughly oil the hinges and attach a rope to the ring in the door.

  It took all three of them to tug open the huge door which screeched in protest. Even then, they moved it only enough to allow Catherine to
slip past.

  What she found was nothing like earlier. Cobwebs festooned the great room. Collapsed chairs dotted the floor. The great table was split down the centre from dry rot. Thick dust covered everything. But she didn’t stop to examine the damage. She pushed ahead and tried the door to the kitchen. It wouldn’t move either.

  With Brainerd’s oil and help, Catherine managed to slip through the crack in the doorway and into the kitchen, pulling it hard from the other side, she let the others through. There, they found the same destruction, that which time and neglect could do. Dust and droppings and webs.

  She ignored that too and went to the dungeon door. She didn’t even try to open that door until the hinges had been thoroughly oiled, until everyone had rested a few minutes.

  “OK,” Catherine said. “It won’t be done until we see the dungeon. Let’s do it.”

  The dungeon door proved as stubborn as the others, but they persevered and, in the end opened it.

  Catherine, panting and sweaty, accepted the torch from Brainerd and started down the worn, cracked stone steps.

  She didn’t bother with the first two doors. She knew what they had once held. The key was still in the lock. She turned it and pulled. While sticky, the door opened enough for her to squeeze through.

  At MacDougal’s hold, she shone the light across to the manacles.

  The manacles were empty.

  Epilogue

  A week had passed since the scene by the cliff. All of MacDougal’s plagues had disappeared. No icy blasts, no stench, no messages on the computer and not a single body jumped off the cliff, it was all gone.

  Brainerd had brought in a small group of locals who went to work trying to put the tower in order. That was a job that would take a while. Wanetta still wore her crosses, but she smiled more than before.

  For Catherine, her novel was taking shape. Progress was what she wanted, and she was progressing. Valerian tea still lulled her to sleep but she was sleeping without a poker.

  When the phone rang, she answered automatically.