As Innes MacBlaine sat in his small study, his large hands totally engulfed the Edinburgh crystal glass he was holding. Sipping occasionally on the fine malt whiskey contained in it, he savoured the warmth as it made its way down his throat and into his stomach.
A log fire burned fiercely before him, and he was mesmerised by the dancing shadows that the flames cast on the surrounding walls.
Since the visit of Mr. Rusk and his daughter Katie, the vicar had been spending a lot of his time thinking about them, and wondering if they'd be safe staying at Dovecot Manor. He didn't have any cast iron proof that the building was haunted, nor did he know for certain if the deaths of the children all those years ago happened under suspicious circumstances, but something was eating away at his insides, and he was guessing it was apprehension. After all, he'd seen and heard the ghosts.
Taking a larger sip of the whiskey than he usually did, he settled back into the reclining leather armchair his daughter Annabelle had bought him the previous Christmas, and allowed his eyes to close.
As the rolodex containing his memories flicked through to his entries concerning the Manor House, MacBlaine tried to gain a picture of the Rusk family inside the house. What was happening to them now? Were they in any danger? Should he perhaps take a drive up in the morning and talk to them in his official capacity? Maybe he should tell them the rumours surrounding the place? What he'd seen?
His eyes opened sharply as he remembered his first visit to Dovecot Manor. It was during the late sixties after a potential buyer of the house had complained to locals that she'd heard strange noises and doors slamming the whole time she'd been walking through the premises, trying to decide whether to buy it or not. Needless to say, she'd declined any offers to accept a lower price, as she'd told everyone who'd listen that the place was haunted.
Innes MacBlaine had newly arrived as the village vicar, and was shocked to be asked to visit the Manor House and exorcise any ghosts present. He wasn't really trained to do such a task, but having just been appointed and wanting to set off on the right foot with the people of Auchdermuir, he'd agreed to spend a day and night if necessary examining every nook and cranny of the building.
In his study, the vicar drained his glass and refilled it to such an extent some of the light brown liquid splashed onto his coffee table. Carefully, he used his index finger to wipe up the spillage, and then he licked it clean. Good whisky wasn't to be wasted under any circumstances. He took another good sized mouthful and settled back once more.
When he'd arrived at the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary apart from the size of the place. Quickly he'd realised it would take more than a day and night to search it properly. Despite this he used the key he'd been given to open the huge front door and made his way inside.
Immediately, the cold air had hit him. It was at least five degrees colder inside the building than outside, and he'd pulled his collar up tightly around his neck as he'd made his way into the kitchen. Luckily, a kettle had been left and he'd turned the tap on to fill it. Nothing had happened at first, but then a dirty brown mud like substance, with the consistency of treacle had started to drop slowly through. MacBlaine had cursed his misfortune, and knowing that he wouldn't get a hot drink now, he'd turned the tap off, and started his inspection of the many rooms in the house shivering slightly underneath his clothing.
Most rooms still had furniture in them, left behind by Douglas Galbraith, when he'd left the property for the last time. Dust sheets had been placed over everything to protect them from damage, and for a fleeting moment, MacBlaine had thought of an army of ghosts gathering to decide his fate.
Dismissing this as sheer folly, he'd climbed the stairs, and found himself in the hallway leading to the bedrooms and furthest away bathroom. Entering this, he'd suddenly felt even colder and had started to shiver violently. A wind brushed against his legs, and as he'd looked down he could have sworn he saw two hand like shapes contained in the strong breeze trying to lift up his trouser legs.
MacBlaine had hurriedly left the bathroom, and gone into the nearest bedroom. It was there he'd seen the little girl playing on the floor with a small pram and a china doll that had only one leg, and as he approached he could see that both the dolls eyes were missing. The little girl was wearing a dirty yellow summer dress, and despite the cold she appeared to be unaware of it.
The vicar had approached the girl slowly as her back was turned towards him. He was wary that he might scare her. At no point did he wonder why she was there on her own. This on retrospect had been foolish.
As MacBlaine reached the little girl, and stretched out a hand to touch her gently on the shoulder, she spoke.
"I know you're there mister," she said in a faint voice without turning around.
"What do you want?"
MacBlaine had taken a moment to catch his breath, and allow his nerves to settle a little before he'd answered her. "I want to see if you're alright," he'd said soothingly.
In his study, Innes MacBlaine shuddered and polished off his second whiskey of the night. He closed his eyes and returned to his past...
The little girl had finally turned around. MacBlaine had screamed when he saw that just like the china doll, the little girl had lost both her eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Lost Souls
Fiksi UmumA family move into an old Mansion in the Highlands of Scotland unaware of the buildings terrible secrets. One of the children is particularly aware something is vastly wrong with the families new home.
