The Griffins of Castle Cary

by Heather Shumaker

  “It’s a girl,” said Meg, with sudden realization. “It’s not a woman. It’s a little girl!”

  “What?”

  “Two ghosts! The Griffinage is full of ghosts! Ariel! Arielll!”

  Ariel did not turn. Was she bewitched? As Ariel and the ghost drew closer, the ghost radiated a fierce blue-white light. The ghost leapt off the stone wall and advanced to meet Ariel. Will picked up a rock and hurled it. It fell short. The ghost glanced up and glared but did not stop.

  Meg had a stitch in her side, sharp, under her ribs. She ignored the pain. They were still five car lengths away. Three. They’d never get there in time. She tried to call Ariel’s name again, but her throat was parched from running. She could only croak. Meg willed Ariel to look. Stop! Oh, please stop and turn around. But Ariel walked steadily forward, singing. The ghost girl stood with both hands outstretched. Waiting.

  Ariel took another step. Her red Croc tipped and dangled for a moment.

  Then . . .

  They couldn’t see her anymore.

  Ariel had disappeared.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Walnut

  Deep inside, the walnut tree trembled. Another time, long ago, it had reached out and stopped a child. Then its roots were young. Flexible, but not long enough or strong enough to cushion the child’s fall. Last night the ground shifted. It could flex its ancient roots in this new space. A crack had opened and the tree remembered.

  It stretched its tendrils deep into the earth in all directions. The weight it caught now was heavy, and the tree strained to hold its grip. Soil crumbled away.

  The walnut rustled its upper branches, then sighed into the wind as pain stabbed through its trunk and flowed along the newly ripped gash in its side. Down below, its bare roots stiffened, exposed to the chill air after centuries nestled under cover. Deep in the earth the weight slipped. The tree strained forward to cradle the child. Leaning, bracing the child’s weight, the tree groaned and shifted to rest its roots on the old stone ledge. More soil crumbled. Not much time now, not much time.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Well

  She’s gone!” cried Meg. “She’s just gone!”

  One moment Ariel was walking in front of them. The next second she’d dropped from sight. Vanished. A tuft of grass quivered in the spot.

  The ghost girl left the wall. She flew this time, buzzing in a direct line, and hovered over the exact spot where Ariel had been. The ghost girl crouched, hanging in the air, and peered down intently.

  Then she clapped her hands and, with a swoop, dove into the earth.

  Will choked on a fading hiccup and put out his arm to stop Meg. They’d reached the walnut tree, quite close to the spot where Ariel had disappeared. Meg grabbed his arm and stood panting beside him. “Shh!” said Will.

  They both froze and listened. It was a cry. Small and muffled, as if coming from a great depth.

  “A hole!” cried Will.

  “That’s her! I heard her!” screamed Meg. “Ariel!” She tried to rush forward, but Will grabbed her back. If one sister could disappear, another could too. The land must be highly unstable. They’d have to spread out their weight. Will dropped to his stomach and crawled forward.

  “Hold my legs!” he called. He inched forward and was relieved to feel Meg grip his ankles. Just ahead, soil began to drop and disappear. Will slowed. His belly bounced as he hiccupped again, though he could tell his hiccups were subsiding. They were smaller and spaced farther apart. Then his hands touched something. Solid stone. His fingers had found a hard edge. Past the stone border, there was only air. He was at the brink of the hole.

  He scrabbled at the rim to pull away grass and brush to define the edge. If he knew where the edge was, he couldn’t fall in it. Will waved to Meg and she crept beside him. Together they stared into the pit. Below them yawned a deep, stone-lined shaft that reached into utter darkness. There was no sign of Ariel.

  “Ariel! It’s Meg! Can you hear us?”

  “It’s an old well, or something,” said Will. Where had it come from? He’d never noticed it before out by the walnut tree.

  “She fell down a well?! What if she drowns? Arielll!” Meg yelled.

  Her voice echoed. But no other sound came from the pit.

  This was the area the storm had churned up. The area Aunt Effie had told them to stay away from. The dirt was soft and raw, pushed up as if a giant mole had burrowed underneath and upset the quiet underground world. The pit was about three feet across, dank and earthy smelling.

  Will gripped the stone edge and squinted into the blackness. The darkness seemed complete: stones going down in an endless circle, losing all color, vanishing to black.

  “We need a light,” said Meg. “Any light.”

  “Look.” Will pointed, his arm trembling.

  Down the well shaft, a light was glowing. A shimmery sort of white with tinges of blue that illuminated the walls and slowly cast shadows into the stone crevices.

  “That’s good,” said Meg. “Now we can see.”

  “No, that’s bad,” said Will. “Very bad.”

  The light grew brighter. He knew exactly what it was. The ghost child was down there, and if she was like the manor ghost, getting brighter meant she was touching Ariel.

  “There she is!” Will grabbed Meg’s arm in excitement.

  They could see Ariel. She hadn’t fallen far at all. Her body lay partway down, out of reach, but resting on a ledge of some sort. Or partially. Her torso lay on the ledge. Her right arm dangled off it, and worse, her right leg hung precariously, swaying over the pit’s emptiness. The ghost girl hovered next to her, her glowing fingers interlaced in Ariel’s hair.

  Will couldn’t see anymore. He blinked. He was crying. Okay, he told himself sternly, wiping away tears. We don’t know yet. We don’t know if she’s alive. He took a shaky breath.

  “How deep do you think it is?” asked Meg. She wasn’t crying. Her voice was tight but steady.

  At least someone was still thinking straight. Not like him. How could he have stupidly fallen asleep when he was supposed to be watching Ariel? Whatever happened to Ariel, it would always be his fault. He heard Meg’s voice again.

  “Wells are deep, right?” she said. “Could be a hundred feet. Maybe three hundred.”

  “Deep,” he croaked.

  “Too deep.”

  They both knew what that meant. If Ariel fell off the ledge, she could not survive the next fall. Uncle Pierre in Quebec had fallen off a ladder and died, and that ladder was only sixteen feet high. The thought of his uncle, however, steadied Will and helped push his fear away. Falls were regular things. Not magical. They could get help for a fall.

  “We’ll call 911!” said Will. “This is definitely an emergency. A real one with a well that grown-ups can understand.”

  “911. Yes! That’s it. Oh! No, we can’t,” Meg said. “We’re not home, remember? 911 won’t work. It’s a different country! With a different number.”

  “What number?”

  “I don’t know,” said Meg, miserably. “Ahhh! The ghost’s right on her. We have to do something!”

  As they watched, the ghost child wrapped her body over Ariel and stroked her arms. Or was she tugging on them? Will looked again. Yes, she was definitely pulling now. It was almost as if the ghost child wanted her to fall, though luckily the ghost’s tugs weren’t strong. That’s it. She wanted her to fall because she wanted her . . . dead. Dead like her. The thought shot through Will with a sickening jolt. He scrambled to his feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  Will didn’t answer. He sped to the garden toolshed. He knew there was rope there, and also a ladder. If ladders worked for ice-skating rescues on Minnesotan ponds, they’d work for a well rescue in England.

  Will snatched a coil of rope, slung it over his shoulder, and hoped it was long enough. It would have to be. He gritted his teeth and grabbed the ladder. Meg joined him. They ran with the ladder bonking their knees,
then laid the ladder across the well’s opening like a bridge. It clattered as it hit the stone rim and more dirt fell. The ladder’s clatter echoed down the well. Deep inside the shaft, the light flickered. It seemed to be rising. Will’s stomach clenched. Did that mean the ghost had won and Ariel was a goner, or . . . His stomach dropped. Or was it coming to get him and Meg?

  The ghost was rising toward them. Will veered back as the ghost rose right out of the well. Will threw up his arms to defend himself, and beside him Meg’s body trembled. Will braced himself for a repeat of last night and felt a wash of intense cold pass through his veins and arteries.

  “Will! Open your eyes.”

  He cracked his eyes open, not realizing he’d snapped them shut. The ghost had floated past him and Meg and kept going. His heart surged at this piece of luck. Maybe it wasn’t trying to attack them. Only Ariel. Not exactly lucky, but it made things easier. Ariel was alone now.

  “Ariel!” yelled Meg, sticking her face into the pit.

  A faint moan came from the well.

  “She’s alive!” Now it was Meg close to sobs. “Oh, Will, hurry! The ghost’s gone, and Ariel’s hurt. We have to get her out.”

  Will said nothing. The ghost girl hadn’t gone. She was sitting in plain view. He could see her blue-white glow among the tree branches. Meg must not be able to see her anymore. The girl was kicking her shoes together, or rather one shoe and one stockinged foot. He didn’t have any hiccups. Maybe I don’t hiccup when the ghost is visible, thought Will. She’s not dormant, though. Just nervous. Something spooked her. Maybe the ladder noise. Something spooked the spook.

  He swallowed hard and turned back to the well. Meg was busy with the rope, running it around the walnut’s trunk and tying a bowline on the ladder rail.

  Will stood by helplessly. He was rotten at knots. His knots always came out weak and sloppy and usually slipped. Meg’s knots were good, tight ones. She’d learned from their dad, who said everyone ought to be able to tie a bowline behind their back with their eyes closed. Meg took him seriously and practiced. Will still couldn’t do it with his eyes open. He waited, trying to be patient. At least he could climb down the well pit. He could do that part. He was good at climbing.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  “Don’t be crazy,” retorted Meg. “How do you expect to tie a knot around Ariel when you get down there?” Her voice began to shake. “I’ve got to be the one.”

  Will looked at Meg. She hated dark places. She even hated hiding in the hall closet for hide-and-seek. But now her eyes were hard and her chin jutted with fierce determination. He’d been about to ask, “Are you sure?” but the words dried up in his mouth.

  Meg stared down the dark pit and shuddered. Without the ghost, the well shaft was pitch dark. Of course, she preferred an impenetrably dark well shaft without a ghost to one with a ghost, but still.

  She concentrated on tying the rope. She tried to remember how a harness for the climbing wall worked at the school gym. Under the legs somehow, plus around the waist. She looped and tied the rope around each thigh, then made a waist loop and cinched everything tight. She yanked and tested the knots. They all held. She forced a wan smile in Will’s direction.

  “Ready?” said Will. “I’ll lower you down.”

  He was standing near the well pit with the rope braced around the walnut tree to take off some of the weight. If their plan worked, he’d be able to inch her down by degrees, keeping tension on the rope and paying it out bit by bit. If he dropped it . . . Meg shook the thought out of her head. If he dropped it, the knot on the ladder would just have to hold.

  “Ready,” said Meg. She didn’t feel ready at all. She felt like climbing into bed and putting her head under ten pillows. She forced herself to sit on the edge of the well shaft. Steady, Meg, she told herself. Then she grabbed the ladder with both hands, closed her eyes, and swung out into the darkness.

  The knots around Meg’s waist and legs squeaked as they tightened under the strain. Will had a firm grip on the rope. She kept one hand on the ladder’s rail, groped for the rope with the other hand, then leaned back in a diagonal position until her feet bumped the stones on the shaft’s opposite side.

  “I can reach the wall,” she called up.

  “I’ve got you!” answered Will.

  Here goes. Meg sucked in her breath and let go of the ladder’s safety. Instantly, she dropped. The rope cut into her skin. Her body jerked, and she fell her own body length. Then she jerked again and fell more. The rope tightened around her stomach, then . . . blessedly held.

  She let out her breath. She’d stopped falling. Will must have gained control of the line above. Meg took a tentative breath and looked about.

  She was hanging suspended in blackness. Where was the ledge? How far had she dropped? Up above she could see a starkly bright patch of sky at the top of the shaft. She blinked and looked down again. Looking at the sky would not help her eyes adjust to the dark. She couldn’t do that again. She needed to focus in the well. Gingerly, Meg reached her hand into the inky darkness. Stone walls, slightly moist. There was nothing above her, so the ledge must still be below.

  “Lower me down some more!” Meg called up.

  He did. Slowly, this time, to Meg’s great relief. He must be getting used to the rope’s pull. Her foot touched something solid. She jerked back. She’d have to be careful not to tip Ariel off the ledge. If her foot nudged her the wrong way . . .

  “Stop!”

  Will stopped the rope. Meg swayed gently. She was level with Ariel, she knew it. The pit felt warmer, more alive, definitely different. It even smelled different. The air was earthworm-y and gave off a strong scent of soil, surprisingly mixed with something that made her think of kitchens, the soft scent of butter and jam. Her fingertips explored the ledge, whatever it was Ariel had landed on. There was stone, almost a stone shelf of sorts. That’s what Ariel was lying on. But how had she landed so perfectly? Why hadn’t she cracked her head on its harsh stone? Or missed it altogether? Then Meg’s hand touched something round, rough, and sinewy. Instinctively, she grasped it with a trembling hand. It held steady. Not only steady, but warm and encouraging, as if she had a friend down here in the pit. Meg heaved a sigh and instantly felt better. She was still in the dark, still suspended above a pit, still with an injured sister and a ghost hovering around, but now she had a firm handhold, not just a rope, and that simple fact made a huge difference.

  Meg tightened her grip and wriggled up next to Ariel. As she did so, she knocked against Ariel’s foot. For a moment, she felt the familiar rubbery sole of Ariel’s Croc. Then it wobbled, dropped, and after a short delay she heard a splash. Ariel’s shoe. The other one was already gone. She could feel her bare feet.

  Meg moved more carefully now. The ledge wasn’t big enough for both of them, but she could stand with her body straddling Ariel’s. It was an odd ledge, part flat stone, part twisted and earthy. Wood. What was wood doing down here? Ariel’s weight seemed to be resting on a stone outcropping, but on top of the stone she was cradled in a gnarled nest of wood.

  “I’m at the ledge!” Meg called up the shaft. “I’m standing on a tree root or something!”

  Meg ran her fingers over Ariel’s face. Ariel was breathing. Her forehead felt wet, and her eyes were closed. Meg slid her fingers around the side of her sister’s head and loud-whispered in her ear once she located it. “Ariel!”

  “Oh, it’s you Meg,” said Ariel, in a drifty, dreamy sort of way. Then she stopped talking and Meg couldn’t rouse her.

  Meg took a deep breath. She tried not to think about the drop below them, or the splash the shoe made when it fell. They only had one rope. She would have to untie her own rope in order to put it on Ariel. That was the horrible part. Then she’d have to keep her balance while Will hauled Ariel out. And wait. Alone in the dark well.

  It’s only for a minute, she told herself. I’ll just be alone for a minute. If only there had been more than one rope in the toolshed. Meg
felt in the darkness for something to brace herself with. A sturdy tree root grew along the shaft wall, and she wrapped one arm around it, entwining the root in an awkward embrace. She could still use both hands this way, with her arm wedged behind the root. She hoped the tree was steady. It must be the old walnut up above. It was certainly big, but had looked tippy after the storm. Maybe under the bark it was rotten. Meg pushed that thought from her mind and picked at the knot keeping her safe until the cord around her own waist loosened. Then she slipped it off and fastened the rope around Ariel.

  An ache of deep loneliness suddenly filled Meg’s heart. She tugged on the new knots to tighten them. By now she had Ariel tied in three places—waist, legs, and armpits. Ariel was lighter than she was; the knots would surely hold. But as she thought this, the loneliness and despair grew stronger. It invaded the pit, sweeping forward in a great rush. Meg froze and leaned against the stone wall to steady herself.

  She wasn’t alone. Besides Ariel, there was something else in the pit.

  Meg craned her neck to look up and trembled. The top of the well shaft was brightening to blue. The ghost was back. There was nowhere to hide. She shrank against the ledge, precariously balancing and trying to shield Ariel. The light plunged down toward them.

  The gold Mini passed Hembridge and Huxham Green, and was heading toward the River Brue on the A37, when Uncle Ben threw back his head and howled. He could sense the girl, her mark still lingering on the car seat. The scent drove him into a panic.

  “Now, Ben!” called Aunt Effie from the driver’s seat. “Quiet! Nobody’s in danger. Just behave yourself back there.”

  Uncle Ben barked and lunged at the side of the Mini. The car rocked. He whined, then lunged again, sending the Mini skittering in its lane. Aunt Effie yelped and clutched the steering wheel in both hands, then pulled over to the side of the road in exasperation. She flung open the door.

  “Ben . . .”

  With a blaze of brown fur, Uncle Ben leapt from the back seat and landed with a thud on the road’s shoulder. Behind him he heard Aunt Effie yelling, calling his name. Uncle Ben barked in reply. Then he left the road and struck out across the pastures, running at full tilt.