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Dinah stiffened. ‘What is it?’

Jessie whispered. ‘Can’t you smell it, decayed roses and something else – feaces?’

George gasped behind. ‘God it’s foul.’

Lucy grasping hold of George’s arm whispered, ‘I can’t smell anything.’

Jess stood very still.  ‘In the corner – look, the shadows – is that the cadaver – the one in

the cabinet?’

Dinah’s heart now thudded. ‘You’re frightening me Jess.’

‘It can’t harm you.  If you want to leave – just go
quietly,
or if you stay
,
blow out your candles now.’

George looked down at Dinah, who blew out the candles.   The darkness seemed heavy, the odour stronger, cloying, cloaking them in fear, the only relief being a spear of light from one of the arrow slits in the stone wall.  The shadow now became hazy as spirals of soft light rose from the floor forming a figure.  Lucy shrieked running from the room.  George jumped, then stood stock still mesmerized, whilst Dinah caught her breath.  A circle of light wafted over the top of the figure, like the shadows of the moon – a face, old almost scowling.

Jessie felt a tingle of terror creep up her spine.  This was so different from drawing spirit figures in a brightly lit church.  She stepped back, her legs trembling.  As she did so, George turned and grasping Dinah’s arm ran from the small round room.  The figure suddenly glided forward. Jessie’s breath froze in her throat, trying not to scream; she almost sprinted from the menace, then stumbled, regaining her balance. She ran, not even waiting to slam the door behind her.

They sat gasping on the stairs, whilst George gave a strangled laugh.  ‘So what was all that about?  Come on I’ve had enough, let’s go find a drink.’

                                                       ***

George sat back luxuriating in the mellowed light of an old Tudor
pub; the
oak breams above them blackened with centuries of tobacco and open fires.  George lifted his pint of beer in salute.  ‘Here’s to whatever that apparition was.’

Leaning close to him, Dinah clinked glasses. ‘So you think it really was an apparition then?’

George looked appreciatively at the violet shade of her cleavage.  The pub light accentuated the bronze highlights in her dark hair rolling in fat ringlets over her shoulders and down her breasts, contrasting with the pale blue of her cotton top. ‘Well, I’ll leave that to the expert. But, I was terrified, I can tell you.’ 

Jess frowned. ‘I wouldn’t call myself an expert.  I draw sprit figures, but I have never seen one. I think I’d die of fright if I did.’

Lucy sipped at her Spritzer. ‘So where are you staying?’

‘Oh it’s a cute little town along the coast from here, Brighton. ’

George laughed. ‘Little? You should visit Bognor
Regis; that's
where we come from.’

Jess laughed.  ‘I’ve heard of that, King George – when he knew he had to go there to convalesce again he swore didn’t he?’

‘His last words were, ‘Bugger Bognor’.  They won’t let us forget it.’

Lucy said, “We’d ask you to stay, but we’re off to Scotland in three weeks.’ 

Dinah put her drink down.  ‘Scotland?  Whereabouts?’

George answered for Lucy, ’The North-West, Lucy and I have a friend over there – just opening a hotel with his brother.  He taught at the same school as us, but two years ago, he inherited this Manor House and ruined castle along with a few million.”

Lucy said, ‘We’re teaching over there for the summer season – English Literature, and Poetry.  I’m the Eng
Lit'; George
is the poetry.’

George fixed his eyes on Dinah. ‘“Why don’t you come over?  The Highlands are magnificent – towering mountains, lochs, ruined castles, ancient monasteries, convents
– a wealth of history. You’d love it. Meanwhile let us show you around here. There are some historic spots around here.’
Pausing he gazed directly at Dinah, ‘We can get to know each other better.’

Dinah flushed feeling her stomach ripple. He was one gorgeous hunk.

CHAPTER
8

Douglas’s heart thudded.  That was abnormal – paranormal – if that’s what they called it. Striding through corridors, Father O’Reilly’s words rose above the wind groaning against mullioned windows, whistling through holes in aged doors. ‘Every unclean spirit...I abjure thee, depart from this house of God’s servants....’

As they walked down the corridor towards the grand central staircase, the flickering candles cast pools of light on stair and banister.  Douglas saw the mist gathering in pools, swirling up across the landing, climbing up the wainscoting.

When the priest shook oil on the mist, Douglas, as instructed, sprinkled holy water.  To his consternation, he saw a black cat forming as the mist hissed, clearing a path before them. ‘Father can you see it – the cat?’

The priest shook his head, ‘Ignore it – just ignore it. Follow me, keep close.’

Douglas  felt the anger ripple through the priest’s body, his language changing from sombre incantation to anger with a tinge of fear  upon the  rising mist which was becoming denser, the  utter silence  ominous, as they descended the staircase.  Candle flames spluttered when a disembodied face with skin the colour of a skull, loomed from an ancient painting.  Douglas’s face was ashen as he tried to ignore the black cat slinking before them.

He jumped as Father O’Reilly roared, ‘
Spiritus Sanctus – get ye hence – get ye hence.
’  A deep thud from the wainscoting mocked him, followed by another and another.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘Anger.’  O’Reilly splashed a few drops of oil followed by holy water on the
stairs; the
thuds quickened, the oak panels of the staircase bulging outwards.

Then silence, a terrible waiting silence.  

The candles flickered and died.  Douglas could taste the sulphurous mist like rancid meat.  His thin veneer of cynicism cracked.  ‘We’ve got to get out of here. Come on.’  He ran almost falling over the fleshy body of the cat. So, it wasn’t a ghost, but where in hell did it come from?

The priest caught his arm; he could hear the arthritic fingers cracking in the silence. ‘Wait – listen.  It’s
waning; the
strength is waning. We’ve beaten them, for the time being.’     

Douglas’s brain raced.    It could not have happened; it was against everything he believed in. His heart leapt into his throat as the cat yowled, baring fangs drooling, unsheathing its claws, before disappearing into a mist before him.

Speechless, he watched the priest cross the vast hall back to the living area, Disrobing he held gnarled hands over the flames, his shock of white hair wild about his head.  He rubbed the pockmarked nose and
purple-veined 
cheeks, ‘I’ll be telling ye again, ye’ll have to board that room up.’

‘The Mermaid Suite? That’s impossible. A
n
American
woman has booked it for three months, paid thousands for it.

‘Ye have no choice.’

‘I’m running a business here Father.  I’ve only allowed this damn exorcism in order to get staff from the local district. For God’s sake what more can I do? And by the way, what was that?  That cat?’

‘Ah it comes and goes – but it aims to protect –
coming back to the subject ye have to close the Mermaid Suite.’

‘I can’t
Father,
and that’s final – it would ruin us before we start.  Surely there’s something else we can do?’

The priest looked at him, ‘I’ve already told you.’ The priest’s yellowed eyes bloodshot with fatigue gazed at him, ‘As long as you do not trust the word of God then they will haunt you man – I’ve done my best, but I’m not strong enough to clear them all. Aye, there are ghosts here but there is also a darker evil.  Get a trained exorcist and close the bloody Suite.’    

Hearing the front doors burst open Douglas stood to his feet relieved to find it was only Nathan. 

‘Hi there, so how did it go, see any ghosties or wee legged beasties?’

Douglas scowled. “Next time you do it.’

‘Looks like you two need a drink, what’ll it be?’

Father O’Reilly’s eyes lit up ‘Hah now you’re talking – the usual.’

Grinning Nathan went to the
drinks'
cabinet bringing out tumblers and whisky.  Filling a glass, he handed it to the priest ‘So Father?’

‘I might have given ye some time, but it will start up again.  This is beyond a parish priest.  You’ll have to contact the Bishop, or I will.  You need a trained exorcist, One trained by the Jesuits would be best.’

Nathan frowned, ‘Didn’t George say the
a American
woman was a medium? Maybe she could help.’

‘Yeah, the one who’s afraid of ghosts. We daren’t let her know there’s anything going on. She’d cancel in a minute.’ 

‘So did you see or hear anything?’

Douglas sitting down
,
shrugged looking into the flames of the fire. ‘Maggots, seaweed and a bloody black cat. It must have been a feral one that got in.   Now I’m back here thinking it
over; I'm
not sure. When you look at it rationally, the candles, shadows, the rituals, even the host agitated the imagination, exacerbated the whole thing. There’s a lot of building work still going on up there, the maggots are explainable, may be the builders left some food up there, then the warmth, flies.  It’s possible.’

O’Reilly almost choked on his whisky, ‘You fool, you’ll rue the day if you dismiss what went on here tonight. What about the smell, the mist, eh?  What about the Mermaid Suite and the cat?’

‘The cat was
real; I
felt it.’

‘Ghosts can take on flesh. Ye have no idea man, no idea. What about the seaweed, the storm?’

‘ Father with respect it is a damp night, but it’s also warm, just the right conditions for mist.  Maggots do stink, doesn’t mean it has to be a ghost. As for the Mermaid Suite, a freak wind, candlelight creating shadows. It’s an old building full of damp and mildew. What with that and the renovations - paint – turpentine, concrete, it’s bound to create strange smells.’

‘Well ye seemed shocked enough at the time.’

‘Wouldn’t anyone?  What with the incantations, talk of devils and spirits, evil and death?  I admit I got carried away.’

Nathan knelt beside the priest putting his hand on the frail shoulder. ‘Father we’re grateful for what you’ve done tonight.  I for one believe you.  Too many people have seen things here.  Douglas’s just being bull headed as usual.’

O’Reilly nodded as Nathan refilled his glass.  ‘Tis alright talking about it here in the light, but ye should have seen his face in that room. It was Muriall – and he knows it.
’

‘So Father, what’s this about Muriall?’

‘I’m not sure, but tis well known that she and Lord Duncan were in love.  Now no one knows what happened to her, but the young Lord committed suicide in the lake a year later.    

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps it is
Duncan,
who’s doing the haunting?”  

‘No, according to the myths he stays by the lake. But, maybe the soul of Muriall has returned. Maybe something is keeping her prisoner here.’

‘Douglas rose to refill the glasses. ‘Interesting Father but you must admit it’s all folk tales and supposition. 
Anyway,
I’ve got to take Victor for a walk; poor dog’s been shut in the office all evening.’                          

***

That night Douglas paid no heed to the priest’s warning. He was not going to give in to their superstitious nonsense. He’d just spend the night in the Mermaid Suite. 

H
owever much he would not openly admit it to
himself; something
was definitely wrong.  Perhaps that’s why he had Victor sleeping on the bed. As he lay between cool starched sheets, the moon threw shafts of light
shifting upon
the satin brocade walls,
adding
lustre to the gold motifs. The wind moaned softly outside the windows open to the warmth of the night.

Stroking the dog’s head he thought, it was just a silly episode, just a gust of wind and the imaginings of an old priest in his cups.  He had to get some sleep.  He had a full day ahead of him tomorrow with more interviews, instructions to builders and oh yes he must rescue the writing desk and chair from the attic.

As the moon sunk towards dawn, Victor raised his head whimpering whilst his master slept
ignorant
of a transparent figure sitting beside him on the bed, humming the lullaby.

CHAPTER
9