Lost Souls

20

Innes MacBlaine had fallen asleep in his chair. The warm rays of the morning sun had crept up his legs and now warmed his face.

MacBlaine slowly opened his eyes and groaned as his elderly body complained bitterly at the position he'd forced it to sleep in. Gingerly, and moving like a man in his hundred's, he slid his bottom forward until he was sitting on the edge of the chair, rested his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. Every joint in his lower body creaked like a rickety staircase, and it took him nearly a full minute to pull himself up into a standing position.

​Once up, he glanced towards the bottle of whiskey he'd been drinking from the previous night and sighed. "I doubt the good Lord will be overly pleased that one of his followers has drunk nearly half a bottle of scotch in one sitting, now would he?" he asked himself sarcastically.

​Picking up the bottle and the crystal glass, he slowly, at almost a crawl moved into his kitchen. Placing the glass in the sink, he stretched up and put the whiskey bottle on a top shelf and pushed it out of sight, he then popped two slices of brown bread into his toaster, filled a glass full of cold water, and waited for his breakfast to ping.

​Despite the alcohol, MacBlaine had had a good evening mulling over Dovecot Manor and whether he should visit the Rusk family. He'd decided he would, even if it was just to check they were okay. He could ask them outright if anything strange had happened or if they'd seen anything unusual, or he could subtly question the children. Kids he'd always found were no good at keeping secrets, especially huge ones like maybe ghosts!

​The toaster pinged and his breakfast nearly fell to the floor. "Stupid machine," he cursed, as he managed to overt the disaster by grabbing the toast as it flew through the air, heading for the edge of the work surface, and a doomed journey.

​Juggling the hot toast, he dropped it on a plate, and then liberally spread a thick helping of full fat butter on top, watching it melt within seconds. He then finely sliced some cheddar cheese and carefully placed the slices strategically to cover his entire breakfast. Satisfied with his work, he proceeded to demolish it hungrily.

​After clearing up, MacBlaine grabbed his coat and hat, and headed out into the clear and crisp morning air. He climbed onto his bicycle and began to make his way down the country lanes leading from his house to the main road that would bring him in around twenty minutes to Dovecot Manor.

​As he pedalled at a sedate pace, he went over his plan for the visit. He would turn up in his official capacity as the local vicar and discus the church arrangements for services, Sunday school and youth fellowship. He would then ask if Mr. Rusk and Katie had recovered from the shock of their accident, and if the young girl had recovered from her sudden tummy bug. Once the general conversations had ended, and he hoped he'd be in possession of a nice cup of tea and maybe a biscuit or two by then, he would broach the subject of supernatural occurrences by mentioning some of the stories about ghosts in Auchdermuir and Inverness and watch the Rusk families faces to see if they passed any subtle glances between themselves or not. If they did, he was going to jump right in and ask them straight out of they'd seen ghosts in the house.

​By the time he arrived at the main entrance to the Manor, he was covered in a fine layer of sweat and he was breathing heavily. "Getting too old for this," he told himself strongly. "Buy a wee car. It'll be so much easier to get about," he tried to convince his aching thighs as he rubbed some of the lactic acid build up from them.

​The gravel was too thick to cycle on, so he had to climb of the bike, and push it the remaining way to the front door of the house. As he laid it carefully against the stonework, he noticed the shiny plaque at the side of the entrance. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what wording on it had been scratched out, then confidently he announced, "Orphanage for the needy."