Ghosts on Tour: Wylie Westerhouse Book 1

by Nathan Roden

  “Well, maybe if you were helping us instead of wringing your dainty little hands—” Arabella said in a mocking voice.

  “Enough!” Dallas shouted. “I have seen the plans for the project with my own eyes. The castle has been sold and is being moved to Misery—in the land of America. And whatever parlor tricks we might pull off will not change that fact.”

  Elizabeth raised her hands, wiggling her fingers.

  “Ooooooo,” she said in her own mock scary voice while she stared at Arabella.

  “She makes the papers float in the air. Somebody saave me.”

  Arabella narrowed her eyes.

  “Wench,” she said.

  Elizabeth balled up her fists.

  “Bit—!”

  “Elizabeth!” Dallas snarled.

  Elizabeth paused.

  “Witch.”

  Nora and Charlotte struggled to keep silent.

  “If you want to make yourselves useful,” Dallas said. “You could be doing as we have, testing the boundaries of our territory.”

  “What are you talking about now?” Arabella said.

  “The boundaries within which we have been confined,” Dallas said. “We do not know if the boundaries will continue to exist once the castle is gone. The only way to know is to try moving beyond them. Three times today have we tried them, without success.”

  “We cannot remain here without the shelter of the castle!” Arabella screamed. “Are we to live like animals, beneath the trees? This is unacceptable. David, you must do something!”

  Prince David let his chin sink to his chest, and sighed.

  “Which boundaries shall we try then, Dallas?” he asked.

  “You can try the southwest corner, toward the river’s edge. Arabella—”

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Arabella said, and turned and stomped away.

  “I can do it, Father,” Charlotte said. “Where shall I go?”

  Dallas knelt in front of Charlotte. “That’s my big girl. Why don’t you try up the hill in front of the pines?

  Charlotte looked to the north, and her lip trembled a little. She nodded. “All right, Father.

  Dallas McIntyre realized his mistake, but too late.

  “Nay, on second thought, Charlotte, why don’t you—”

  “I want to help, Father. I’ll be back in just a little while,” Charlotte said. She kissed her Father’s cheek.

  As dawn peeked over the horizon, the most heavy-duty land crane, largest flatbed trailer rig, and largest stone saw in the United Kingdom surrounded the turret room of the Castle McIntyre. A dozen men placed chains and straps on the upper room and domed roof of the round structure in preparation for the saw’s first cut. Two of Brian McAllen’s men videotaped the event.

  The recordings were of little value during the cut, as there was no abating the huge dust cloud. The cutting was interrupted several times due to the lack of visibility.

  When the cut was complete, Brian McAllen called for a fifteen-minute break before the move of the upper section down to the trailer. This was the most critical part of the procedure and Brian wanted everyone focused and ready.

  The dust from the final cut settled from the air, workers toweled their faces and guzzled water. The din of conversation grew quiet as Brian McAllen made his way toward the platform that gave him line-of-sight communication with the crane operator. He put on a headset that connected him with the crane’s cab.

  “Here we go, men. Stay clear, and cross your fingers,” he said.

  He gave the “up” signal to the operator.

  The crane began to sink as its motor revved. It took on the entirety of weight of the upper section of the turret room. Chains and straps stretched further taut. The section came free with an audible “crack!” Everyone on the site held their breath.

  Brian McAllen gave a thumbs-up to the crane operator and motioned for the operator to begin the move away from the castle and toward the trailer. A low buzz of hushed encouragement came from the work crew. By the time the upper section of the tower was halfway clear of the castle, the buzz grew into a low roar. As the section cleared the castle and began its descent, the workers cheered. They hugged one another and slapped hands.

  Eighteen minutes after the crane began its job, the first section of turret tower came to rest on the enormous trailer bed. Two dozen men scrambled to loosen the tower from its chains and straps before securing the tower to the trailer.

  Brian McAllen placed his hands on the platform railing and slumped forward, exhausted.

  The McIntyre family, Prince David, and Princess Arabella looked on in silence.

  “Let’s make another check of the boundaries,” Dallas said. The others headed off in different directions, their movements slow and sad.

  “The load is secure and ready to go, Brian,” Thomas said.

  “So when is that next trailer getting here?” Brain asked.

  They’re about twenty miles up the road. They said they have to wait until we get this first load past them before they can come in. There’s no way for them to meet along the route. It’s just as well. We have to get this one moving in the next hour because the permit doesn’t cover us after dark.”

  “So, what are we waiting for, then?” Brian asked.

  “Don’t worry, Boss. This is a good problem to have. We’re ahead of schedule, so the escort vehicles haven’t gotten here just yet. They’re on the way,” Thomas said.

  Dallas McIntyre returned to the area behind the castle. He was joined by a dejected Prince David. Dallas didn’t bother asking about the status of the southern boundary. A few minutes later, Nora, and then Elizabeth made their way to the area. They looked up toward the line of Scottish pines.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something to Dallas, but then she changed her mind.

  “Aye, I know, Lizzie,” Dallas said. “I don’t know what I was thinking—if I was thinking at all. Of all the places I could have sent her…”

  Elizabeth stepped beside her husband. She wrapped her arms around his and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “You’re a good man, Dallas McIntyre. And a good father. But sometimes even a man with a good heart opens his front door and steps right into fresh manure.”

  Dallas gave up a light chuckle.

  “That’s why I married you, Lizzie. The words of a poet flow like water from your lips.”

  “The girls know that you love them, Dallas. Charlotte will be just fine.”

  Dallas patted Elizabeth’s hands.

  “I don’t see her anywhere. She should be getting back soon,” he said.

  They agreed that the boundary remained intact. Dallas nodded his head, noting that nothing had changed. Princess Arabella, in the meantime, was trying with all of her might to disrupt the work crews. She made a man’s hard hat fall off of his head over and over, but the man just grew frustrated and threw the hat into the mud of the former moat. The hard hat rested among the turtles.

  Elizabeth looked around.

  “Dallas,” she said, “I’m getting worried about the girls. I sent Nora to look for Charlotte, but they should have been back by now.”

  Dallas bit his lip and scowled, shielding his eyes as he looked toward the line of trees. He saw Nora coming toward them—alone.

  The tandem trucks on the ends of the transport were cranked up. The lead escort vehicle pulled away from the location. The trailer holding the upper section of the turret tower creaked under its immense load as the wheels made their first revolution.

  “I looked everywhere. There’s no sign of her,” Nora said, wringing her hands.

  “Dallas—” Elizabeth pleaded.

  Dallas McIntyre looked at his wife, then at the tree line, then at the trailer. Back at the tree line. Back at the trailer.

  In his mind’s eye, he watched his little daughter ride along the ridge on the back of her beloved little filly. In his mind’s eye, he saw…

  “Stay right here, Lizzie,” Dallas said.

&nbs
p; “Dallas! Where are you going?” Elizabeth walked toward him.

  “I’ll be…I’ll be right back,” Dallas said. He began walking, then trotting, and finally running toward the trailer, which was picking up speed at a snail’s pace. Elizabeth, Nora, and David followed behind Dallas though they had no idea why. This intrigued Arabella enough that she began to follow also, pestering her brother.

  “What are we—where are we going, David?”

  “I don’t know, Arabella. I don’t know,” David said.

  “Well I don’t think—”she said.

  “That is correct, Sister. You don’t think! So, why not think about shutting your mouth?” David said.

  “David! You are never to speak to me in that fashion—”

  “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Someone has to be in charge today, and that person is not going to be you,” David said. He continued to run after Dallas.

  Arabella stomped her feet and crossed her arms in a huff, but then she ran to catch up with her brother.

  Dallas closed in on the trailer. He slowed and ran beside the turret room. He moved to float up and look inside the window. Except…

  He couldn’t get off of the ground. He tried again, to no avail.

  Oh, no. What is happening? Dallas thought. The boundaries are still in place, and now I’m unable to move from the ground?

  “Charlotte!” Dallas yelled up at the window as he continued to run. The transport continued to pick up speed. “Charlotte, are you in there, baby? Charlotte!”

  Charlotte appeared at the window. She was crying. The painting of the mare with her filly was clutched to her chest.

  “They’re taking Honey away, Father. I can’t lose her again!”

  “But it’s only a—” Dallas couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  It’s only a painting.

  “Please, Daddy. There is nothing left here for us. Please don’t let her leave me.”

  Dallas was unable to think. He had no idea how long he had to decide what to do. They would soon reach an outer boundary. The transport was picking up speed and he could not levitate. He turned to Elizabeth, who was catching up with him.

  “Lizzie! Charlotte is inside. Can you leave the ground?”

  He watched her try.

  “Oh, no. Dallas! I can’t…I can’t get off of the ground,” she cried.

  Nora, David, and Arabella heard this exchange, and it was obvious that they were earthbound as well.

  “Listen, everyone,” Dallas shouted, “One at a time, run between me and the trailer. I’ll lift each of you onto it—quickly now.”

  Dallas lifted Elizabeth up onto the low-slung trailer. Elizabeth called to Charlotte and tried to comfort her. Elizabeth was still eight feet or more below the bottom of the window.

  Dallas lifted Nora onto the trailer. The speed of the transport would soon be too much to overcome.

  Dallas turned and looked toward David, halfway hoping that David and Arabella would have other plans. They did not.

  “Dallas,” David said as he ran, “I know we’ve had our differences. But we’re frightened, Dallas—and we’ve nowhere else to go.”

  Dallas said nothing but motioned with his hand for David to run in front of him. He did the same with Arabella. Finally, Dallas hoisted himself up onto the bed of the trailer.

  “Okay, listen up now,” Dallas said, “One at a time, beginning with Elizabeth. I’m going to bend down—the rest of you help her stand on my shoulders and then help me to stand up in front of the window. Lizzie, then David, then Arabella, and then Nora. Got it?”

  Everyone nodded—the increasing wind noise was loud enough to drown out their voices. One at a time, grounded ghosts were pushed and pulled into the turret room.

  Nora proved to be the most difficult maneuver. She and Dallas fell painfully once, there being no one left to help them to balance.

  Dallas stood alone on the bed of the trailer. He looked ahead of the transport. He was in sight of a boundary that had limited his family’s movements since the day that they died.

  What he felt was something else that he had not experienced for those five hundred years—exhaustion. He was unable to float, to fly, to levitate—and now he was subject to other human limitations.

  “Come on, Dallas,” Elizabeth yelled from inside the window.

  Dallas looked up to see Nora reaching down to him. Dallas reached up and Nora took hold of his arms. She pulled with all of her might while being encouraged by Elizabeth. Nora stood on Elizabeth’s shoulders. Dallas tried to use his feet against the wall, but it was no use. He lowered his head from the intensity of the strain on his neck.

  What will happen at the boundary? Dallas thought. What will become of me outside of this wall?

  Dallas’s arms were chafed, sore and numb, yet he felt lighter. He began to rise—higher and higher. He looked up to see—

  Arabella, seated on her brother’s shoulders, was also pulling on Dallas’s arms. Arabella grunted and groaned from the strain.

  They fell inside of the turret room in a heap. Arabella was on the bottom of the pile, a fact for which she had many a stout word.

  The pile of five peeled themselves apart in silence; relieved for the moment. Elizabeth, Nora, and Charlotte sat—their arms around each other. Elizabeth rocked them back and forth and made soothing, shushing sounds. Charlotte continued to weep. The painting of the horses was still clutched to her chest.

  Dallas stood and made his way to the window. A few minutes later he turned and said,

  “Where we are at this moment is beyond where we have been captive for five hundred years.”

  Nine

  Wylie Westerhouse

  Branson, Missouri

  I woke to the alarm clock that I had set for six-thirty. That’s six-thirty P.M. Toby moved a little and then resumed his snoring. We have a tradition in which we both sleep in my bed during our Sunday marathon restoration sessions. After this weekend’s fiasco, I extended the tradition to include Monday—just this once. Probably.

  I stood up and stretched. I looked down at Toby, who was asleep on his back. It must be nice to have no idea what an alarm clock is.

  Branson Music closes at seven, and I haven’t heard from Mr. Plimpton. He has an exceptional memory, especially for his age. He’s also old school enough that when he says he’s going to call you—you get called. I called Johnny B. at the store and he said that Mr. Plimpton had not called all day. I checked my cell phone to see if I had slept through the ringer. I had no missed calls, but I did have a text message from Elvis Rushmore asking me to call him.

  “What’s going on, Elvis?” I said.

  “Hey, there’s my superhero neighbor. Where were you today, man? You going full time with that crime fighting gig, or what?”

  “No, nothing that exciting. It turns out that if you throw punches the way they do it in the movies, it does bad things to your hands. My right hand is so swollen that I might have a hard time with a cash register. I’ll be in in the morning, though, even if I have to use one hand for a while; gotta make a living, ya know.”

  “True that, Dubya Dubya.”

  “Dubya… okay, Wylie Westerhouse. I got you,” I said.

  “I just thought that up this second. You like it?” Elvis asked.

  “Uh, no,” I said.

  “Be that way. More of my talents—wasted.”

  “You have too many talents. A person with my self-esteem issues should not have to work in such close proximity to someone like you. I’ll soon be in need of therapy, and it’s entirely your fault,” I said.

  Elvis laughed.

  “Well imagine this, Wylie. Since the neighborhood is growing so much, maybe we’ll have a psychiatric clinic move in and you can have your sessions at the new Hooters.”

  It was my turn to laugh.

  “So, what did you need, El?” I asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just that this guy came into the shop just after noon—he drives a soda delivery truck. He said that while he was
making a delivery to the country club on the north side, an ambulance showed up. He said that they loaded up an old guy on a stretcher. He said it looked like Old Man Plimpton. Did you hear anything about that? Mr. Plimpton is a good dude, man. I always mess with him and tell him I’m gonna hook him up with a dragon sleeve,” Elvis said.

  “I haven’t heard anything, but he was supposed to call me today,” I said. “I haven’t heard from him. That’s not Mr. Plimpton’s style. I need to check on him. This ain’t good, El. He’s seventy-nine.”

  “Don’t blow a fuse in your gray matter, Chief. Mr. Plimpton is a Highlander. That dude is immortal fit. You know, I bet they use a drop of his blood to make Red Bull. I’ll let you go. Good luck. Hit me back,” Elvis said.

  “Thanks, Elvis. Thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch.”

  I was standing there, staring out into the back yard when my cell rang.

  “Hey, Nate. What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” he said. “Dude, the last time I saw you, you were being shoved into the wrong seat of a police car. You don’t get to ask me what’s up.”

  “I’ve tried to call you three times since Sunday morning, Brah,” I said.

  “Hang on,” he said, “Tooie! Pizza guy’s here. Tip him a fiver, look what he’s driving. Uh, hey, Wylie. Yeah, my bad. I put my phone on vibrate when we went to the movies yesterday. So what happened? You bail yourself out?”

  “Believe it or not, Quentin Lynchburg bailed me out after he saved my life.”

  “That was the guy in the tux? The millionaire dude? I just saw him for a second. He picked up a gun from the ground and ran toward the trees. I don’t think the cops saw him,” Nate said.

  “Yeah, that was him. And no, the cops didn’t see him.”

  “So, is he like Bruce Wayne slash Batman or what? How do you know him?” Nate asked.

  “He’s a regular customer at the store and he’s been coming to some of our shows lately. Lucky for me. I was about to have a bad end to a good night.”