The Griffins of Castle Cary

by Heather Shumaker

Meg walked the last few feet to the old well. She didn’t know what to do next either, but Will was right: The well seemed to be the center of things. Maybe the well would have answers.

  The well entrance was clear now. It was easy to see there was a gaping hole in the grass. The loose dirt had been trampled into a soft mud by the emergency crew when they’d lifted Meg out, and there were paw prints circling too. The rope from the toolshed stretched out nearby like an unruly snake. No question it was frayed. Several strands had snapped. Had she really trusted her life to that?

  Meg looked away from the rope and followed Will’s gaze to the stone wall. Perhaps he was seeing something there. It was frustrating, being dependent on someone else to see for her. Then Meg saw a shape. Just a flash, really, but something was definitely moving along the stone wall.

  She strained to look. It was the glimmer of the child ghost. Gradually, her form became clearer until Meg could see a stained white pinafore flapping slightly over her indigo-blue dress. Her face had a forlorn look. Poor little thing, thought Meg, again. She wants a friend. All those years down in that well.

  The next moment, her sympathetic thoughts vanished. Will called out. Meg was just in time to see a greenish-white wind rushing toward her. It wasn’t the girl ghost; it was much larger.

  The manor ghost.

  Meg screamed. The manor ghost glowed brightly, her body outline gleaming in a halo of greenish white so intense that Meg could clearly see. The manor ghost paused before Meg and hovered there, as if undecided. Then she spun suddenly as if she’d been lassoed and veered sideways to land on top of Ariel.

  Ariel still lay propped by the walnut tree, where Will had left her, her legs and arms sprawled out in an unnatural sleep. As Meg stared, the manor ghost slid down beside the girl, lifted Ariel’s head into her lap, and began to stroke her hair.

  “My darling, my darling,” she crooned. “Come to Mama. Mama’s here now.”

  For an instant, they all stood very still.

  Then Kay Kay glided over and reached for Ariel too. No, no! thought Meg. This is all wrong. The two ghosts were supposed to want each other. How could they be ignoring each other and stealing her sister? Will lunged at Kay Kay, and Meg watched in satisfaction as the ghost girl backed away. He hadn’t pushed her, just spooked her. But it wasn’t enough. Kay Kay retreated to a branch above their heads, but a moment later began drifting down again, drawn like a magnet toward Ariel’s inert form.

  Will lunged at the manor ghost too, but the grown-up ghost was not so easily spooked. She continued to stroke her prize.

  Then Meg knew.

  She’d done it once today, in the well, by mistake. She’d have to do it now on purpose. Meg walked toward the walnut tree where her sister lay. Her sister, who always delayed their trips, spilled things, followed her, and took her time away from Will. Her fabulous, creative, very own sister.

  “What’re you doing?” asked Will.

  Meg walked forward purposefully, each step closer to the manor ghost. She was near now. She felt a well of fear rush up her throat and forced it down. The ghosts were attached to the wrong things. If she and Will wanted to change the ghosts’ minds, they’d have to understand the ghosts’ true desires better. She’d have to get to know them. Know their feelings. What was it Aunt Effie sometimes said? Know thy enemy and know thyself and you shall win a hundred battles. Well, she didn’t need a hundred battles. Just one. She reached out a shaky arm.

  “Meg! No, stop!” yelled Will.

  It came from touch. The ability to merge herself with the ghost’s soul. Before, when she’d been carrying the manor ghost, the ghost’s body was latched onto Ariel, and she’d only absorbed some of the feelings. Now she would invite the full manor ghost into her body. Meg lifted the manor ghost’s cold fingers from Ariel’s head and gently placed them in her own hands.

  Coldness. Surprise. Meg felt herself sucked in as the manor ghost clutched hungrily at her soul and enveloped her. She felt a tug on her heart, a chaotic, wild tug laced with pain and terror. Meg struggled against her instinct to pull back. She willed her hands to stay and clenched them around the ghost’s fingers.

  Then the cold crept up her arms and through her shoulders. She sank into a swirl of inner feelings. She’d done it. She was inside. Trees. A lightning flash. Something silver. A bleeding horse and a blue hair ribbon pressed into the mud. At first she saw a confused blur of images and noise. There were bells, men shouting, an anguished squeal. It seemed to come from the horse. Spirit. The horse named Spirit. Then nothing but the rushing stream, and her voice shouting, “No! No!” above the bells. Gillian. Gillian. Meg probed for more, and the scene repeated. Horse, storm, muddy stream bank, blue hair ribbon. Aching grief and anguish. There must be more. She didn’t know how much time she’d have. How long did it take for a ghost to absorb your soul? The power tugging her heart intensified. She felt a surge of cold energy threading into her muscles. She couldn’t feel her own body clearly, but had the vague notion she wasn’t standing anymore, maybe floating. She wanted to run but couldn’t feel her legs. The scene repeated. Wasn’t there anything more? If the ghost was longing for her dead daughter, it was impossible. They couldn’t bring her back. Horse. Stream. Silver saddle buckle. Of course, not a belt at all. The silver thing they’d found was a saddle buckle. Meg pushed deeper. She thought back to their sprint across the pasture. How much lighter her steps had been when she’d opened up to the ghost’s longing. Meg took a long breath. Then she opened her heart as wide as she could, and gave herself up fully to the manor ghost’s soul.

  And there it was. The scene of the dying horse and wild creek waters lifted. She was deep inside the manor ghost now. She saw. She knew. She knew why the manor ghost had attacked Will and why it wanted Ariel. She knew exactly what the manor ghost was longing for.

  She knew. But she could not tell Will. She could not move or speak.

  Complete coldness crept through her, icy tendrils numbing her mind.

  The manor ghost was taking her soul.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Bells

  Will watched as Meg’s body trembled. First, her arms shook, then her head bowed, then she crumpled to the ground beside Ariel. Meg had touched the ghost willingly. She’d entered the ghost’s spirit willingly. The question was whether she could get out.

  Will clenched his fists and unclenched them. There was nothing he could do this time. No Uncle Ben. No sirens. Not even Shep, who could only limp and was probably blocked by Caesar. He was able to see both Meg’s body and the ghost’s body clearly, but not what was going on inside. Now the manor ghost was clutching Meg. She had her in an embrace, weeping, her tangled black hair pressed against Meg’s neck. Her velvet dress flared violent green. Beside her, Meg looked deathly pale, paler than Ariel had ever been. Will felt he would burst. He hopped from foot to foot, battling a surging wave of fear and frustration. Now both his sisters were lying there. Would he be next? Was Meg all right? Was she ever coming back? The manor ghost had no right to her. He must stop what was happening. In a rush of hot feelings, Will thrust his hands toward Meg and the ghost to pry them apart.

  A jolt shot through Will’s hands the moment he touched Meg. The force knocked him down. Meg and the manor ghost were joined together in some private, intense energy. He was blocked out.

  Will sat rubbing his hands and heavy sobs escaped him, part pain, part fear. Just then, Meg’s body shivered. She seemed to be talking. He crept forward and bent his head low to listen.

  “I know,” mumbled Meg. “She’s here.”

  The ghost glinted. She was whispering in Meg’s ear again.

  “I will. I will,” Meg muttered.

  The words seemed to have an effect on the manor ghost. She turned a shade dimmer. Then, with a shuddering sigh, she released Meg.

  Meg’s eyes fluttered. She heaved a deep breath, as if she were finally coming up for air after being submerged underwater. Will dived in again and yanked at the two bodies—or semibodi
es. They separated easily this time. No jolt of energy. The manor ghost drifted back toward the daffodil garden, and Meg sat up and opened her eyes.

  “Are you all right? What happened? How’d she let you go?” Will’s head was a mass of questions.

  Meg looked dazed and pale, but otherwise unhurt.

  “I made her a promise,” she said slowly.

  “You what?”

  “I listened and told her I’d help her.” Meg rubbed her head and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She sat still for a moment. “She’s sad about Gillian, she’s still grieving her death, but that’s actually not what she’s longing for. She’s longing to be a mother again. To be needed and to care for someone. Plus, she wants to do one last thing for Gillian. I said I’d help.”

  “Right. Okay. So you went inside her soul to find that out.” Will was incredulous. He remembered the sheer terror he’d felt when the manor ghost had entered him. He’d never have the guts to do it on purpose.

  “Now I just have to find out what the little girl wants.” Meg scrambled to her feet.

  “What!”

  “You know, your plan,” said Meg, walking forward. “Get the two ghosts together. Before we get them together, we have to see what they each want.”

  “But you can’t! You nearly died. I was watching; you couldn’t see . . . .” Will’s voice trailed off. “Meg, please.” Will was begging now. He wrapped both hands around her arm. “You can’t. I won’t let you. You just can’t.”

  Meg pushed his hands away and stepped out of his grip. “Don’t be silly. I have to.” She headed purposefully toward the well, where Kay Kay hovered in the walnut branches. Will trailed after her. It was clear Meg could see both ghosts again. The manor ghost was also watching her intently. Meg turned and looked back at Will for a moment.

  “Don’t worry. I know how to do it now.”

  The ghost girl was sitting on a great branch that extended over the well, kicking her legs. She frowned at Meg. A promise is a promise, Meg thought fiercely. Even if I wanted to break it, I couldn’t. The manor ghost would come back for me for sure. Meg walked faster. If she didn’t do it right now, she’d lose her nerve to do it at all. Meg summoned up her best big-sister voice and tried to coax the ghost down from the tree.

  “Kay Kay,” she said. “Come on down, Kay Kay.” For a moment, she felt like her father trying to lure their cat back into the house. Kay Kay wriggled on her branch. Then she dropped down on the trampled grass next to the well and scowled at Meg.

  “You spoiled my party,” said Kay Kay.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. You did it on purpose.”

  The ghost girl sniffed. Meg thought she looked about to cry. Kay Kay hadn’t stepped toward her, but hadn’t moved away, either. This might be the best chance she’d get. She reached out and grabbed each of the girl’s hands with one of hers.

  Kay Kay yelled when Meg grabbed her. Meg ignored the girl’s angry looks, gritted her teeth, and braced herself for the coldness that would come.

  Nothing.

  Meg adjusted her grip and tried again. She felt a whisper of cool where Kay Kay’s fingertips lay cupped in her hands, but nothing more.

  “I can’t get inside,” she whispered to Will. “She’s not letting me.” Will had come up behind her. She could hear him breathing, gulpy, choked-up breathing, but it was comforting to have Will nearby. They were standing about five steps from the old well. Ariel was still only a few feet away, curled up at the base of the walnut tree. Meg wished she could hear her breathing. There was no time for that. Meg focused on the ghost in front of her.

  Kay Kay was wiggling, and the ghost girl’s arms were barely visible to Meg now, just a slight shine. She needed to concentrate. It was hard to hold on to something you couldn’t see. Will could probably see her clearly, but for Meg the picture had started blinking in and out. Like trying to hold on to a dream when you were waking up: wavering and elusive. She focused on her glinting silver eyes. That was the brightest part of Kay Kay. Something was drooping over the ghost’s left eye, partly obscuring it. The bow. Ariel’s. The red-and-pink bow that was forever slipping and sloping into Ariel’s eyes. Meg was always repinning it. For an instant, she saw an image of Ariel gazing up at her, holding out the bow and saying, “Here, Meg. It came off again.” The memory gave Meg a renewed sense of courage. She took a deep breath and plunged in as far as she could go before Kay Kay slipped away.

  The silver eyes flickered. Then they disappeared.

  Meg couldn’t see the ghost any longer.

  Instead, she saw the familiar dank surface of the stone shaft of the well. She knew she was still standing next to Will outside in the muddy grass, but the well engulfed her. Meg trembled as the narrow walls of the well encircled her, conjuring back her recent terrors: the ledge, the frayed rope, Ariel being hoisted away, and Meg left forgotten. Then she gathered her strength. This was good. She was in! She couldn’t feel the grass anymore. All she could feel was the ledge and the tree’s roots rubbing her leg. A stone dropped off the ledge and hurtled into the pit below. She heard it splash. She was inside Kay Kay’s spirit, and Kay Kay’s spirit was in the well.

  Bells and shouting. It was all the noise that had made her trip. Now she’d fallen down in here. Would anyone ever come? In all the commotion, it was plain she’d been forgotten. Everyone was so frantic about the other girl. The manor girl. The whole village had turned out looking for her. Her own family, too. Where was her mother? Cooking at the manor again, or out looking for the rich little girl. The one everyone loved so much. No one paid attention to her, a girl from Cook’s Cottage. No one even knew she was missing. Bells, bells . . . She wanted to put her hands over her ears, but something was wrong and her head hurt. Bells. No company except the bells. She was alone. She needed someone beside her. Someone who would stay with her. Someone who would hold her hand and be with her when the bells rang. Be with her forever. She wanted . . .

  “I don’t want you!”

  The ghost girl spat the words out.

  Meg gasped and fell. The girl ghost had shoved her. Pushed her out of her soul and onto the muddy ground. She’d been on the verge of reaching something vital, something deep inside, when she’d felt a sting, like an angry wasp. Meg lay flat on her back. How close was she to the well? Tentatively, Meg rolled her head to the right. Her nose touched the well’s stone rim. She’d fallen at the brink. One arm hung over the gap. If Kay Kay shoved again now, she’d tip over into the pit.

  Meg knew she should move, but her muscles jammed. She lay where she was, too frightened to stir. A single pebble disengaged from the rim and plunged down the shaft. Meg listened, horrified, and waited to hear it strike the walls or splash.

  Then rough hands were on her again. Tugging on her body.

  Meg screamed.

  She clenched her left hand in the grass and dug in, gouging soil under her fingernails and pressing her heels into the churned-up earth. She swung her right arm out of the pit and grabbed the well’s rim itself, scraping her knuckles and scrabbling for a grip on the unrelenting stone. The rest of her body went rigid. She fought against the hands, trying to make her body a dead weight, and continued to scream.

  “Oh, shut up!”

  It was Will. And Will’s hands. He was saying something too, but she couldn’t understand. His voice was coming out in a high-pitched squeak. He rolled Meg away from the well edge. Meg relaxed in relief, but Will was shaking her shoulders again.

  “Did you get it?” he repeated.

  “Some. She won’t let me.”

  “I won’t let you myself in a minute. Geez! Look at you.” Will’s voice was still squeaking.

  Meg struggled to her feet. Every cell in her body felt drained. Will was right. She couldn’t do that again, especially not so close to the well. Kay Kay stood defiantly in her ragged pinafore, her legs spread wide, balancing impossibly on the empty air over the pit.

  Meg rubbed her forehead. She felt foggy, and the s
harp sting still smarted inside her heart. Will was talking and tugging her sleeve, hopping from foot to foot. He did that when he was agitated and desperate to know something.

  “Well?”

  “There were bells again, and we were in the well . . . ,” she said.

  She shook her head. There was no time to tell him what she’d learned. The ones she had to talk to were the ghosts. The ghost girl was now clear, as vivid as an ordinary person. That was helpful. Was it just Meg’s age that made the view come and go?

  “Kay Kay,” Meg began, taking a step forward.

  Kay Kay turned her back on her.

  Meg hesitated. She tried again. This time Kay Kay spun around and picked up rocks in each hand. Not good. Meg ducked as the rocks came sailing toward her. The ghost girl darted from the well to the walnut, where Ariel sat pressing the doll to her chest, still groggy. The manor ghost had been watching Meg from the daffodil garden, but when the ghost girl moved in she swept back to Ariel, the hem of her green gown swishing, covering Ariel’s head.

  “That’s not your little girl!” Meg cried. “Leave her alone! She has a mother.”

  The two ghosts circled Ariel. Their chins jutted forward, their silver eyes fixed on her. Each step was menacing and deliberate. They looked like two angry wolves defending a kill.

  “They’re not listening!” protested Meg.

  Will was silent. Then he lifted his head and began to sing.

  It was a wordless tune: la de de la da. His song wavered. He swallowed and sang again, but louder this time, with more confidence.

  The bell song.

  Meg realized where she’d heard the notes before: in both the ghosts’ minds. And also from her sister. Ariel had been humming it all week. The bell tune was in both the ghosts’ stories. Their lives and deaths were linked by this.

  Under the spell of Will’s song, the ghosts stopped circling and stood mesmerized. Will’s high-pitched treble voice was nothing like the enormous church bells, but still, they were listening.