By Veronika Sophia Robinson
©
July 8th, 2013
Chapter One
“Get out of this storm, lassie,” the irate postman yelled as he climbed back into his red van. “It’s not safe to be out. People have died in storms like this.”
Liesel smiled at him to acknowledge the weather, but she was more interested in the sense of déjà vu about this place, if that’s what it was. The weather would have to wait for her, not the other way around.
“I will!” she promised, crossing her fingers at the deliberate lie, but as soon as he was out of sight she tied her chocolate-brown hair up into a pony tail, to secure it from the weather, and then wandered on through the rural village until she was past the school, post office and pub.
She’d been in the highlands of Scotland for just two days, and although it was her first visit, she felt as if she’d been here before. It was to be a short holiday…just a week. The irony was that she hadn’t wanted to come here. No, not at all. Scotland was definitely not her choice of destination. But now she was here, there was something in her bones that told her she wouldn’t leave in a hurry. She laughed it off. It was a stupid thought. She guessed that she’d just been travelling on her own for too long, and was trying to put off the inevitable: going back to her real life. There were decisions to be made, and they weighed heavily on her heart. Why wasn’t life simpler? she wondered.
She thought of Duncan’s last words: “You have to see the loch by Stoneyhill Castle. I’ll meet you there, and we can spend a week together. Don’t argue, Liesel. It’ll do us both good.”
She had tried arguing; had insisted that she wanted to be on her own, but eventually she surrendered.
Rugged up against the bitter winds, she stopped to look at the signs flapping about on the village notice board. Nothing of interest. But…but there was something about the place, though, that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It didn’t make sense. All she knew was that she was meant to be here. She could feel the gravitational pull, but nothing she could see around her identified what the urgent feeling to stay was all about. Where was it coming from? The wind taunted her, carrying the message: You know this place.
A truck splashed water up from the road as it whizzed by, spraying her jeans. The driver stuck his head from the window, unapologetically, and yelled, “Get out of ye storm, gal! It’ll kill you!”
She told herself that she couldn’t understand the thick accent, and waved him off.
Turning sideways, in the hope of feeling some inner strength against the howling gales, she walked into the village shop to take refuge, and asked if there were any tourist places nearby of interest.
“Today? In this weather?” The plump, middle-aged woman raised her unplucked eyebrows in disbelief, and giggled her way through a nervous laugh. “Well, there’s always the haunted castle up the hill, ma wee bonnie lass” she said. “But of course, it’s not open to the public. The residence is strictly private. It’s a shame, though, because the views over the loch are beautiful. Not that you’d see anything today in this storm. Now dear, you best get out of here while you can. It’s going to get a whole lot worse.”
“Why is it haunted?” Liesel asked, her curiosity growing. She shivered at the cold which followed her through the front door. Goosebumps settled on her neck.
“Isaac Heathfield’s wife, the late Marylynn, flung herself down the stairs in a fit of rage, and died instantly.”
Liesel gasped. “How awful! That is tragic. What happened to Isaac? How did he cope?”
