Return to Rhonan (5 page)

Nathan’s face blanched.  ‘Well it’s the Mariner’s Arms for me then.’ 

Douglas watched him go, anger simmering, what a waste of time, he now had to spend the next few hours chasing non-existent ghosts.  

The priest turned to him his eyes glinting, face solemn.  ‘We should begin with the attics.  Nathan tells me a couple of the workmen left, refusing to return.’

Resigned to the task, Douglas  nodded.  ‘As you wish.’

The attics covered a vast area, divided up into three parts with doors through to each partition.  The air seemed cooler with a sense of dampness. That shouldn’t be, as they had laid damp proofing throughout. Douglas hid his irritation as Father O’Reilly began to pray from the 54
th
Psalm, his voice quivering,

           ‘
O God, by your name save us. By your strength defend our cause.

   
        
O God, hear my prayer. Listen to the words of my mouth...   

            Turn back the evil upon my foes; in your faithfulness, destroy  

            them...’
                  

As he followed the priest’s crooked form, shuffling through the hanging sheets of plastic, stumbling over tools and bags of cement, Douglas ignored the shadows dense and dark against the walls. 

Father O’Reilly stopped, holding up his hand, listening to sounds of scratching and scuttling.  ‘
Hail Mary Mother of Grace...begone oh ye foul spirits...get thee hence
...’

Douglas smiled his lip lifting in a slight sneer
,
as the priest declared the first two attics clear of infestation – the only infestation to his mind was rats.

The door to the last attic was so
low
they had to duck almost double to get through.  The room was small, a mere twelve feet by fifteen feet. Straightening up the priest said, ‘D’you hear that?’

Douglas groaned inwardly – rats again – for God ’s
sake; that's
all it was – rats.  Irritated his eyes lit upon what looked like a regency writing desk with matching chair both wrapped in plastic. Frowning he walked over, unaware of a mist rising from the floor, sneaking around his heels. He must have missed this when they cleared the attics, but how was that possible?  It looked to be a fine piece of antique furniture. 

As he began unwrapping the desk, the priest shouted making him jump back.     

‘Look at the wall man – would ye look at that now.’ 

Douglas raised his head to see a slime the colour of mucous dripping down the wood, the smell of rotting eggs brought bile to his throat.

O’Reilly ripping off the plastic, lifted the lid of the desk, his small eyes widened in horror, as he leapt back shouting, ‘
In the name of the Christ in all his purity, I abjure thee, get thee hence. Leave this place and harm us no more
.’ 

Douglas muttered, ‘For God’s
sake; they're
only maggots.   

O’Reilly whispered, ‘Tis the sign of infestation – the devil.  Some of the haunting is to do with this desk. We must take it out of here, bring it into the light. Come there is more to do.’

‘Yes Father, I’ll see to it tomorrow.’ 

So far, the second and first floors proved to be clear of any more ghostly signs yet the priest insisted on carrying out a purification act and blessing of each room.  Douglas sighed, just a couple of more rooms, and they were done.  He found the whole thing frustrating and banal.  They were living in the twenty-first century for God’s sake, and here he was participating in medieval rites.

As they opened the door to the Mermaid Suite, Douglas
said, ‘Well Father two more rooms to─’ A fierce wind cut off his words, punching him from the room, sleet stinging his face. The priest fought back struggling into the room, croaking, ‘
O Lord deliver us from every tempest, from every lightning.’

Douglas h
is body straining against what seemed to be a force nine gale, pushed his way to the balcony windows battling to shut them.  To his confusion, the night was calm outside the room, the trees
unmoving; the
moon scudding across a cloudless sky.

The priest’s voice grated out the words, ‘
Sancti Spiritus, audi nos – audi nos. ‘Our Father deliver us from evil, let Christ’s angels hover over us...let the archangels
...’  The room quiete
d
as if something was listening.  Father O’Reilly whispered, ‘Can you... smell that?

‘What?’

‘Seaweed  ...

Douglas stopped abruptly as he saw the  priest glance into the corner of the room the candlelight diffused with swirling dust motes sparkling in the moonlight, circling, forming a shape.  He strained his ears to catch something – singing – surely not.  He caught the words, “Bye Baby....”

Lifting the candlestick high the little priest advanced towards it whispering, ‘
Spiritus Sancti... exaudi nos... exaudi nos... Go back, go back. Begone.’ 

Despite himself, Douglas found the skin on his arms crawling, the back of his neck becoming rigid, as he watched O’Reilly lay the consecrated host on the floor before it.

Slowly stepping back, he gestured for Douglas to leave the room as he incanted,   
Vos vostum ut redo hic. Vos es defaeco Deus.  Gentius quod hi icentia is locus tarsus quod plenu of venia. May angelus
rector vos ut lux lucis.  You are purified in the eyes of God. Begone – leave this place clean and full of grace. May the angels guide you to the light.’

As the priest slammed the door behind him, the figure sighed floating back to the bed, but it was not the new magnificent four-poster bed now installed, but a smaller older one, with roses carved around the aged posts. Weeping, the transparent form nursed the tiny baby, ‘Bye Baby Bunting, Daddy’s gone a hunting....’    O’Reilly stopped by the door his eyes wild. He beckoned to Douglas to join him. “Can ye not hear it?  Tis Muriall – to be sure it is her – that song ... a lullaby.’

Douglas  felt his stomach clench.  No it couldn’t be true, couldn’t. ‘It must be the wind Father. It was blowing a gale in there.’

“Well whether ye believe your own ears or not you cannot be putting anyone in there.  Tis not safe.’

‘I thought you said Muriall was not a threat.’

    ‘She isn’t, to be sure she’s only a poor sweet girl lost in limbo. But
,
she’s a portal ye mind, a portal for darker forces.’

CHAPTER
7

Thornton Castle,  Sussex,  England
.

Dinah gazed up at the Thornton castle looming overhead. The castle invited the macabre, with grey stone walls soaring through darkening clouds, the moon racing over turrets jutting black against the twilight sky. It was a medium’s dream, which would suit Jess. Its history went right through to the dark ages, with a record of suicide leaps, bartered brides, walled up monks, and the imprisonment of traitors in the cellars. 

Tickets for the legendary Ghost Tours sold out each weekend.  Luckily, Jessie had already ordered them before leaving America. Climbing the stone steps leading to massive double oak doors, Dinah slipped, her arms flailing only to feel strong arms catch her, holding her tight.  She looked up into slate grey eyes and even white teeth, the freckles over the bridge of his nose complimenting the shock of sandy hair. As he lifted her quite effortlessly to her feet, she found him to be inches taller than her own five feet ten inches, which was gratifying. 

‘Hey there, you okay?’  

She found the accent intriguing, a soft burr so different from the sharper London accent.  ‘Uh, yes, thank you. Just, my ankle
twisted; I
think. ’ 

Dinah’s stomach sank as a young woman ran up to them. Slender with pale blond hair she resembled a pre-Raphaelite nymph coming just up to the guy’s shoulder. Blast, he was attached.  ‘George, everything all right?’ 

‘Yeah, just helping this young lady here.’ Turning to Dinah, he said, ‘Can you stand?’

Very much aware of his hand burning into the flesh of her waist, she said, ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

The young woman exclaimed,
‘Oh; you've
cut your leg, let me have a look.’  Delving into the depths of a bag the size of a haversack, she took out a packet of tissues.  Dabbing at the wound she said, ‘Seems okay, just a surface scratch wound, but I’ll put some TCP on.’  Looking
up,
she grinned, ‘I’m a teacher, so I always carry first aid equipment with me. By the way, I’m Lucy Ames and this gallant rescuer, is my brother George.’

Dinah grinned inwardly, so the gorgeous hunk was unattached, although she winced as Lucy applied the TCP, only to feel George’s hand tighten around her waist, his hand massaging her shoulder.  To her surprise, she found it more than pleasant.  ‘Err I’m Dinah Shibley – I‘m over here with my cousin Jess.’

Lucy smiled. ‘What part of America are you from?’

‘Hum – New York.’ She’d been asked that question a
hundred
times since they hit England a week ago. 

Looking up at her brother, Lucy said, ‘I think you can unhand the lady now George.’

George found himself flushing, ’Huh, oh yes.  Sorry, just making sure you were okay.’

‘Yes thank you – must’ve slipped somehow.’

George looked down at the killer stiletto heels and decided not to comment. Great ankles, like a racehorse. He turned to the sound of a female voice calling out,

‘Hey, Dinah – goodness you okay?’

Dinah gave a wry grin.  ‘No don’t say it – ‘

Jessie sided, ‘I told you to wear flats. But, never mind as long as you’re alright.’ 

‘Huh, let me introduce George and his sister Lucy Ames. Err look; I think the guide is coming. ’     

The guide to Thornton Castle, a tall slender woman with golden hair in braids to her waist, emulated the medieval style of dress complete with wimple, veil and a long trailing dress of deep purple with tapering sleeves.

Waving an elegant hand, she guided them down the stone steps.  ‘This is home to the present Baron of Thornton. It was renovated in the fifteenth century from a ruin dating back to nine hundred and something.  Now if you’ll follow me.’

She swept past gargoyles sprouting from the massive arc over the great oak doors. In the flickering torchlight, the grotesque stone statues appeared to leer with empty socket eyes glinting as the moon bounced off cracks and fissures, their hanging tongues glistening with the mist. 

Entering a cavernous hall the guide smiled. ‘Now Ladies and Gentlemen I don’t want any of you wandering off.  There are numerous corridors, cellars, secret passages and I would hate you to be lost in the dark. As you see only candles light the castle. We do have electricity of course, but the candlelight gives you an appreciation of the atmosphere of medieval living.  You do have your torches should you lose your way.’  A couple of people automatically switched on their pencil torches supplied at the beginning of the tour.  ‘This will give you an idea of how people lived for centuries in this magnificent castle. It will also build up the atmosphere, and right energy should a ghost venture in our path.’

A couple giggled nervously.  She continued, holding up her lamp. ‘Now you see before you   the stuffed heads of various animals hunted by the barons throughout the ages.  Here, we have a giant stag over there you will see a tiger and lion.  The Barons loved to travel far and wide – guests of the   Indian Princes, Sultans and the Prussian Court.  However, let me show you this. She waved towards a glass cabinet in which stood a cadaver in Elizabethan dress. The guide said in hushed tones.  ‘I would warn you that this particular figure is known to haunt the castle so stick together, don’t go wandering off on your own.”

Resuming her lecture she shone her torch into another corner, a few of the group gasped as the grey leathery body of a stuffed crocodile appeared, the eyes ancient with the coldness of death.   ‘The barons were often fearless and this as you see is over fifteen foot long. Besides the animals, the castle has a coterie of ghosts, which we may encounter tonight, so stay close.’

As they made their way through the baronial hall, Dinah whispered to Lucy, ‘Jessie’s a psychic artist. Besides her job, she paints the spirits.’

Lucy shivered visibly. ‘So has she picked up anything yet?’

Dinah shook her head. ‘She’ll let us know if she does.’

They made their way up the main staircase through numerous dark and draughty rooms. The guide talked of various sightings of the inevitable lady in white, the knight clanking his chains, the moaning of the monk walled up, the bedroom of the bartered bride who threw herself from the window, plunging fifty feet to her death.

On the second floor, before they reached the dreaded battlements, the four of them explored one of the small tower rooms. Dinah by now was hobbling on the stilettos. Seeing her wince and rick her ankle, Jess said, ‘Take them off Dinah, you’ll feel better.’

As Dinah kicked off her shoes, Jessie raised her hand, uttering a low warning, ‘Ssh.’