The Griffins of Castle Cary

by Heather Shumaker

  Meg cowered on the ledge. The light descended until it shone directly across from her. The glare was blinding after the enveloping darkness.

  The ghost was floating next to the ledge. She could see it: mostly blue light, but also the human shape of a girl. It put out its arm and reached for Ariel’s hand.

  “No!” Meg cried, trying to bat it away.

  The ghost paused. Then it shifted.

  It dropped Ariel’s hand and reached for Meg.

  Meg felt a chill spread across her skin. Fingers, fleshless but firm, gripping her arm. Time suspended when they touched. Meg was swimming in time, swimming in loneliness.

  She couldn’t see the ghost, the well, or her sister anymore. She could only feel. She was lost in deep, unending waves of despair and isolation. She felt the cool touch on her hand spread to her shoulder. She shivered. She wanted her mother. She wanted someone’s arms to wrap around and comfort her.

  What happened next, she couldn’t explain. She was still in the well, but she wasn’t Meg anymore. The bells were sounding. Above, she could hear more shouts. They were all looking, looking, but never looking for her. The lonely feeling deepened. How much longer? How much longer until they found her? Until they realized their little girl was missing? She called out: “Down here! I’m in here! Look down the well!” Only the bells answered. Time passed. Her voice was raw from shouting. She was thirsty. The bells rang. The pain in her head throbbed. She thought of Cook’s Cottage and her bed in the alcove. How good it would feel to be tucked up under the blankets there. The bells sounded again. Something tugged and wanted her to lift away, to glide away and leave the well, but she shrank back. “I don’t want to be alone. Please, come. Someone be with me.” The bells rang back, chanting, mocking: no one is coming, no one is coming, no one cares . . .

  A tug jerked Meg. It was the rope she’d tied around Ariel, which she was still holding in her hands. Meg heard more shouting, but this time it was Will calling from above. The feeling of loneliness lingered, but it wasn’t inside her anymore. Next to her, the ghost girl hung suspended, clear down to the detail of sagging stockings and smudged pinafore.

  “You’re a lonely little girl,” murmured Meg, with sudden understanding. “Just lonely and scared.” Her voice came out soft and soothing. The ghost glowed more brightly, making the stone walls radiate blue, and for an instant Meg thought the loneliness in the pit began to ease. The girl stared at Meg and they locked eyes—Meg’s green-brown ones and the girl’s stark silver ones.

  “You don’t want her,” Meg began. The ghost cocked its head, listening.

  “She won’t make you happy. She doesn’t belong here.”

  The ghost did not stir. If I can only keep her attention away from Ariel, Meg thought.

  “I’m sorry you died. I know it’s awful in here. . . .”

  The ghost’s silver eyes flashed. Ariel let out a ragged breath, and the ghost slid to her side. The tenuous connection Meg shared with the little ghost was broken. Now the ghost flashed cobalt blue and touched Ariel’s hand. Ariel cried out.

  Meg’s own fingers flew fast, tugging the knots in one final test. She shouted for Will to pull up.

  “I don’t care how lonely you are,” she said. “You can’t take my sister.”

  For several eternal minutes, Ariel’s body hung between the ledge and the ladder. Then Will gave a final heave and Ariel’s body bumped against the well’s rim. She was up! Now to get her fully out. He wished he had a second person to help him. It was hard to hold the rope taut and grab Ariel at the same time, but he’d just have to do it. He reached across the ladder, gripped Ariel by the arm, and hauled. She moved, then slipped. Will heaved again, and this time her legs scraped against the stone rim, and she was out. Out of the well. He’d done it.

  Despite the ropes and bumpy ride, Ariel was not awake. She was breathing, though, and amazingly, still had the doll clenched in an iron grip under one arm. How was that possible? He tried to push it out of the way, but it wouldn’t budge. It would have to stay. Will set to work untying Meg’s knots. At least he was good at untying, and knew how to do it: bend the knot back to loosen it. But untying knots took time. He chafed at how slowly his fingers worked. He wished he could check Ariel for broken bones, but that would have to wait. Meg needed the rope. He needed to take care of the knots first.

  The final knot came free. Now for Meg. Will’s neck prickled, causing him to look up. He was just in time to see the ghost girl shoot out of the hole. Will froze.

  She moved in a jerky fashion, and appeared highly agitated. She didn’t rise up to the walnut tree this time. Her unnerving eyes glared at him, shining more brightly than her body, as she advanced to where Will crouched next to Ariel.

  It’s just a girl, he tried to tell himself. So small, so young, so much like Ariel. Could she really mean to harm them? The silver eyes glinted at him and his hands began to shake. His encounter with the manor ghost flooded back. Yes, she could.

  From a muffled distance, Will heard Meg shouting for him. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to run. Instead, he stood up, grabbed the rope, and whirled the end like a lasso toward the ghost. It was all he could think of. The ghost ignored the flying rope. She dodged around it, glided forward, and stretched out her hands. Will backed up and tripped on the rest of the rope jumbled in a pile. He hit the ground and covered his head with his hands. I’m sorry, Meg. I couldn’t do it. We’re all stuck now. She’s coming for me. First me. Then Ariel. Then you. Will pressed his head to the ground and waited for the inevitable cold touch. But none came. The ghost girl bypassed him and moved directly to Ariel. Then the ghost took Ariel’s head in both hands and began to hum.

  La de de la da.

  F, C-sharp,C, high F, C.

  Will sprang up. That was his tune, at least the beginning of it. The ghost was singing the old bell song. The ghost had given him that song. A strange pounding mixed in with the song. The pounding grew louder. It didn’t seem to be coming from the ghost, it was coming from the pastures. Will turned. From McBurney’s fields, a blur of brown fur streaked toward him. The pounding was a giant dog running at full speed.

  Uncle Ben! In a mass of fur, he lunged at the ghost girl. The girl shot off Ariel before he landed, and Uncle Ben, who couldn’t stop in time, rammed into Will.

  They slammed into the ground, dog and boy. Uncle Ben was barking, covered in burrs, his underbelly slathered in mud. Will didn’t care. He flung his arms around the dog’s broad neck and cried “Oh, Ben, Ben.”

  The ghost girl retreated up the walnut tree in a fast float. Will’s relief was so great he didn’t notice at first what Uncle Ben was doing. Ben had crawled off Will and was nosing Ariel’s body.

  Ariel’s face had turned a ghastly white. Her eyes rolled back, open, and now they stared at nothing. Sweat beaded her forehead. She needed help. Medical help. Grown-up help—at once. He’d never seen a face look like that before. He’d have to go for help. Leave Meg. Hope Uncle Ben could keep the ghosts at bay. Meg would have to hold on.

  “Stay!” he ordered Uncle Ben. Will set off at a run.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Officer Targent

  Meg stared up at the top of the hole. She called out again.

  “Will! Will!!”

  She strained to hear his answering shout. Even a cough, or the murmur of Will’s voice comforting Ariel, but Will didn’t answer. Her own voice echoed eerily about the pit.

  Meg squatted on the subterranean tree root. No rope. No cheerful Will voice telling her it would be okay, to just hang on. She’d been so focused on getting Ariel out of the pit and avoiding the ghost that she hadn’t noticed the dark so much. Now she was alone. The darkness collected about her, thick and terrifying.

  Meg’s ankles wobbled as she crouched. She sat down quickly and gripped the tree root with both hands. Steady, steady. Far below she heard a soft splash as more dirt fell. If she slipped, she’d plunge into the waiting, menacing inky water.

  Meg closed her e
yes. It was dark either way, and she preferred blocking out the well. Will wasn’t coming. Not yet, she corrected herself. If Will couldn’t come at all, someone else would find her. They’d have to look down here eventually. When she heard the rescuers, she’d yell and they’d hear her. Of course, that was only sensible. She’d had plenty to eat for lunch. All she had to do was wait. Someone would come.

  Meg shifted her position, careful to stay on the ledge. As she did, her hand touched something. Not wood like the rest. The object was hard and curved. She shrank back. Of course. Many years ago another girl had waited here. Another girl had called and cried and waited for someone to come.

  High above, the church bells began to ring.

  The bells tolled four and stopped. In Meg’s mind, the bells kept playing, bonging mournfully off the stone walls of the well pit, swirling around her. Alone with the bells. Far overhead, the sun-drenched, living world had disappeared. Meg curled into the smallest bundle she could and pressed her eyes tightly closed, trying to shut out both the bells and the darkness.

  A new sound entered the pit. A regular rhythm. Meg sat up. Could it be? Yes, amazingly, it was. A blaring, blasting, honking sound. She clutched the ledge and stared at the circle of light above. Sirens were screeching toward the Griffinage.

  The next minute, two heads poked over the well hole and blocked the sky.

  “There she is! Hello, Meg!” cried the head that was Will’s.

  “All right. No worries, we’ll get you out,” said the new head.

  The new head lowered down a rope and a harness—a real nylon harness with a padded waist belt and clips for carabiners—not a toolshed rope. This was like climbing-wall harnesses she knew from school. Meg wrapped her arm around the sturdy tree root again for balance, automatically stepped into the harness, and adjusted the straps. She tugged on the line to indicate she was ready. Then, marvelously, she was rising. Rising up the shaft, secure and snug and safe at last.

  At the top, Meg stood blinking in the bright afternoon daylight as her eyes adjusted from the dark pit. She could make out a bright yellow-and-green ambulance parked on Aunt Effie’s grass and a police car beside it. Two emergency workers were fussing over something in a stretcher and shifting it on to a wheeled hospital bed. Ariel, thought Meg. The body was still and covered with a sheet. She stumbled toward the ambulance, but a strong arm stopped her.

  “Whoa, girl.” Meg was face-to-face with her rescuer, a man dressed in dark green with embroidered medical patches on his uniform. He gripped her shoulders with both hands.

  “Easy there, slow down, I’ve got you,” said the medic. “Your sister will be all right. Looks as if she has a broken ankle and certainly a bit of a shock. They’ll get her sorted out at the hospital.”

  “She’s alive,” stammered Meg.

  “Yes, she’s very much alive.”

  Meg relaxed in his grip, and the medic eased her down to sit next to a tangle of rope that lay pitched on the grass. She was glad to sit. Her stomach felt queasy. Meg noticed Uncle Ben was there too. If Uncle Ben was home, maybe that meant Aunt Effie was home, but no, that didn’t make sense. If Aunt Effie were here, she’d be darting all over, talking about Roman well construction and fussing over everyone. There was no one darting around except Will, who was dancing from foot to foot trying to talk to Meg.

  “Let me get this straight, young lady,” said the man. “You didn’t fall?”

  “No, I went down on a rope.”

  “This rope.” He held up the toolshed rope. It was grey and thin and noticeably frayed.

  Meg blinked. She hadn’t noticed the rope’s condition when they’d grabbed it from the toolshed. Some strands were newly frayed, maybe from rubbing against the walnut bark.

  “Right. You’re a brave girl, but mostly a very lucky one. Abandoned wells are nothing to play around with. Ever. They’re death traps.” He paused and stared at Meg and Will hard, then gently began examining Meg’s hands, legs, and torso. “Seems you’ve got by with nothing but some slight rope burns. Those will heal up. Lucky, as I said.” He stood up and called to his colleague. “Right, Jack! This one’s checking out fine.” He gave Meg a quick playful salute, then turned to join the other rescue workers.

  Will took his place the moment the medic turned away. He poked her in the ribs.

  “Ouch—don’t. Where is she?”

  “Over there. In the ambulance already.”

  “No, the girl.”

  “Up the walnut tree. I think. Or maybe gone dormant. I can’t see her,” said Will. “Uncle Ben scared her off and now I’m sure the sirens really freaked her. Maybe she’s hiding. I don’t sense any sign of her.”

  “You sure freaked me out too.” Meg’s lip trembled. She felt more like crying now that she was safely out of the well. She couldn’t throw off the ache of darkness and despair when no one answered her calls. Down among the moist stones, lost in the dank pit with nothing but the bells ringing. In those few minutes, she’d glimpsed the ghost girl’s everlasting loneliness.

  She tried to shake off the feeling. She turned, and her eyes landed on the ambulance sitting there on the Griffinage grass, squat and blaze yellow, with checkered green squares painted on the side.

  “The ambulance,” Meg said. “How did it get here?”

  Will smiled his great goofy, Griffin grin. “I phoned. Just dialed 911 and it automatically rerouted the call to the right emergency number. It’s 999, by the way.”

  As they watched, the ambulance back doors slammed shut, showing neon orange stripes. Meg startled into action.

  “They’re leaving!” she yelled, and scrambled up, dashing toward the vehicle. Her rescuer was in the driver’s seat, but Meg ran up beside him. She grabbed his sleeve through the window.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” she cried.

  “South Mendip Community Hospital,” said the man. “Don’t worry, the constable will take care of you.” He pointed to the police car, where a tall, overly freckled policeman stood. Then the siren pierced the air and the yellow ambulance drove off.

  “Whew. I’m sure glad Ariel’s getting far away from the well,” said Will, as they walked over to the police officer. “I think that’s where the ghost is strongest. It’s like her power center or something. I’ve never seen a ghost so bright.”

  “And how many ghosts have you seen?” countered Meg.

  “Two.”

  After the storm, the manor ghost had holed up in her tower. The tower had been her home for so long. It usually brought comfort, but now she was restless. The pull was too strong. She’d have to return to the peasant cottage. She glided out the West Tower window, slid down the tower’s curved stone, then sidled through the trees near Mendip Brook, finally drifting over the fields toward Cook’s Cottage. She could already see its thatched roof.

  Then she stopped midfloat. Something was different. It wasn’t there. The powerful tug came from another location now, farther away, and moving fast. She changed direction and sped up.

  “Can you take us to the hospital? We’ve got to stay right with our sister when she wakes up!”

  The police officer bent down and smiled, spreading out his freckles.

  “You’re the boy who called. Will Griffin, am I right? I’m PC Targent. And you must be another Griffin,” he said, turning to Meg. “I can always spot a Griffin. Look just like your aunt.” Meg didn’t flinch at the reference to her hair.

  “I’m Meg,” she said simply.

  “Will you take us?” persisted Will. “It’s very important.”

  “Jump in the back. I’ve already called your aunt. Might as well have you all together in one spot when she comes to get you.”

  “Thanks!” said Will. He immediately crawled in the back seat. The police car looked different than the ones at home. This one was white with giant yellow and blue squares decorating the sides like a checkerboard. Up top, the lights were bright blue, not red.

  Meg didn’t follow. “Will!” she whispered. “We’ve got t
o bring Uncle Ben! We don’t know what might happen.”

  Will swallowed hard. The excitement of riding in a real police car had temporarily made him forget about the ghosts. Of course, Meg was right. Even in the hospital, Ariel could still be in danger.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” said Officer Targent, seeing them bring Ben over. “No room for muddy dogs.”

  Meg burst into tears. “He’s just got to come, Officer! Oh, you’ve just got to let Uncle Ben come,” she sobbed.

  It was false crying, Will could tell at once. A real blubbering, whining show. But Officer Targent didn’t seem to notice. He blinked his eyes and shuffled his feet. He probably didn’t have kids, Will decided.

  Meg kept blubbing: “I’ve never been so scared in my life, and he’s part of the family—oh, please!”

  The policeman’s face softened. Meg shot Will a conspiratorial look through her tears. Will hissed, “Come on, boy,” under his breath, and Uncle Ben leapt into the cruiser.

  “Oi! Got me clean seats all muddy. And the windows!” Officer Targent protested. He flicked ineffectively at the mud prints with a paper napkin. Uncle Ben wagged his tail and spattered more mud as he turned around, then dropped a long strand of dog slobber that fell on the policeman’s neck. Officer Targent crumpled up the napkin, mopped his neck, and stared at his unwanted back seat passenger.

  “You’ve made your mess now,” he said. “Might as well stay for the ride.” He paused and his face crinkled into a smile. “To tell the truth, I always liked dogs. Would love to be a handler on the dog unit,” said Officer Targent, swinging his shoulders back to the steering wheel. “We’ll put the siren on, shall we?”

  Will grinned in delight. Wait until he told his friends back home about riding in a cop car. With the sirens on.