“Luca?” says Mum. “Come out from where?” she asks.
“He’s round the corner. Look.”
My mum comes and sticks her head out the gate.
“What are you doing? And why are you still in your shinty strip?”
“Well…” I begin, walking into the courtyard.
“Apologies, Mrs Grant,” interrupts Adil, and runs away in a panic. It’s all too much for him.
“Sorry, Mum. I heard him telling Kim he was my uncle.”
“He is. This is your Uncle Alistair.”
He looks a bit like Doctor Who, tweed suit, bow tie and all, except he’s blond. And very loud.
“You’ve got something on your shoulder,” I say, and his eyes widen. He looks at me like he can truly see me now. My mum looks at me too, then him, then me again.
“Luca, go get yourself something to eat. We’ll come in a minute.”
“What is he seeing?” I hear her saying as I step inside.
Their voices fade as I walk into my mum’s treatment room. It’s such a nice place. It makes you feel all relaxed and peaceful, just being in it. Every day there’s a different oil burning and a different scent in the air: today, it’s vanilla. There’s a soft glow from the candles and the oil burners, and a table lamp with an orange cloth on it to give the room a sunshiny sort of light. On the wall opposite the entrance there’s a painting of an American Indian woman and a wolf above a waterfall, topped with a little rainbow. For some reason my Aunt Shuna calls it “Morag and her poodle”. Shuna teaches art at Eilean High School, so she knows a thing or two about painting.
I breathe in the vanilla for a bit, deeply. Then I open the door into our house and… I trip over something and nearly fall flat on my face. The something says, “Hey!”
My sister Valentina is sitting cross-legged in front of the door, with her rabbit, Petsnake, in her arms. Yes, you read right, Petsnake. You see, she really, really wants a pet snake, but my mum and dad keep saying no. She hasn’t stopped trying, though. She even asked her teacher to tell my parents that a pet snake would greatly help her emotional development, but for some reason, the teacher refused.
“Ouch! What are you DOING?”
“I was just hanging out with Petsnake and then I heard shouting. What’s going on?”
“Our uncle is here.”
“We don’t have an uncle!”
“We do now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shhhhhh!!!!” I can hear voices rising again. “I better go see what’s going on. Who’s looking after you?”
“I’m looking after myself!” she says, indignantly.
I know I should say my sister’s annoying and she’s a pest and all the things boys usually say about their little sisters, but the truth is, Valentina’s a laugh. She’s a bit spacey and eccentric. She loves walking barefoot; she has long blonde hair, which she refuses to tie back; and big brown eyes. She’s also very, very sharp.
She has a passion for animals. But not ponies and kittens and puppies like most little girls. No, Valentina’s into weird and scary creatures. My dad got her a subscription to Reptiles of the Americas (I suspect it has three subscribers: Valentina, the editor and the editor’s mum), which she reads avidly and cuts up to make scrapbooks. She’s into cryptozoology. You probably don’t know what it is – I didn’t either. It’s about animals nobody knows about, like the Loch Ness monster, the Yeti, unicorns and stuff like that. She has a magazine for that too. I flicked through an issue of it once; it was all about strange armadillo-things that live in the lava of a Peruvian volcano…
“Your sister’s looking after herself and me!” My Aunt Shuna comes into the hallway, her sunny smile bringing out her dimples, her green eyes full of fun. She doesn’t look like my dad at all, though she’s his sister – apart from the blonde straight hair, which I’ve inherited.
“Come and have a snack. You’re still in your shinty gear? Go and get changed then…” She stops suddenly. She’s heard his voice. My uncle’s.
“Alistair?”
He comes through the door. Aunt Shuna looks like she’s just seen Medusa – you know, that creature from Greek mythology with snakes on her head – the one who petrifies you if you look into her eyes.
She stands still for a second. And then they hug really tight, for ages.
My mum is smiling, and Valentina is staring at this stranger who looks a lot like her dad.
“You must be Valentina.”
“Yes.”
“I’m your Uncle Alistair.”
“Ok.” She looks at him for a wee while, then she tips her head to one side and says, “You’ve got something on your shoulder.”
Uncle Alistair gives her the same look he gave me. Like he’s truly seen her.
“They can both See…” he says. His eyes are shining.
“What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. DOING!”
A Dad-shaped iceberg has walked down the stairs. His voice has frozen everyone.
“Duncan, I was going to tell you…” Mum begins.
“I want you out.”
“He’s got nowhere else to go…”
“What? He’s got a perfectly good house in London! He knows I don’t want him near my children, ever!”
My dad can be scary. He’s very tall, unlike me (I take after my mum where height is concerned) and he has a nose like a Roman statue – you know, big and straight. He hardly ever speaks to us, so when he does, we listen: we’ve either done something really, really amazing or we are in big trouble.
“Not in front of the children!” says Mum. I’m not sure why she says that, because Valentina is a tough cookie and I’m not really a child, I’m twelve.
“No. You’re right, Isabella. Let’s go up to the study,” says Alistair, unfazed. I can see where Valentina inherits her cool. Mum and I get all emotional about things, while Valentina is unflappable. My dad is something else entirely – he normally doesn’t notice what’s going on or, if he does, he ignores it in case it interferes with his writing.
“We’re not going anywhere. I want you on your way back to London as soon as you can find a boat.”
“Duncan!” and “Dad!” shout four indignant voices.
“I’m not listening. I want…”
“I don’t care what you want!” says a voice that is so used to being sweet that when it’s not it sounds all funny. Like a bird barking. It’s my sunny mellow Aunt Shuna. We all stare at her. “We haven’t spoken to our brother for twelve years, Duncan. He hasn’t had it easy since… you know what.” She looks away.
“How do you know?” asks Dad. His voice is icy. Visions of penguins, igloos, polar bears come into my head.
“What do you mean?”
“How do you know he hasn’t had it easy, if you haven’t spoken for twelve years?”
Icicles, Eskimos, sleighs. Not the cheery Christmas ones.
“We have spoken, sometimes,” says Alistair. He and Shuna look at each other, an incredible warmth in their eyes. The ice in my head melts away.
“I want you to stay in Eilean, Alistair. And if you can’t stay here, you and I will find somewhere else in the village to live,” says my aunt.
“NO!” Mum, Valentina and I shout in unison.
“I have no choice. Alistair, come on. Children, you can come and see us… whenever… you…” Her voice breaks.
Oh no, tears. I HATE to see people crying.
“If she goes, Duncan, I’ll go too!” cries Mum.
“And me! And Luca too!” Valentina adds, holding on to my sleeve just to make sure.
I’m quiet. I don’t actually want to leave my dad. He looks a bit taken aback. I don’t think he was expecting this total mutiny.
“At least listen to Alistair,” pleads Mum.
“It seems I have no choice.”
He turns, as cold as a loch in winter, and walks solemnly up the stairs. Uncle Alistair follows, and the little shadow follows him. It’s not on his shoulder now, it’s walking by it
self, and it looks a lot like…
Wait. A little girl? Seriously? I try to take a better look, but she blurs, and she’s gone. I must have been dreaming. I blink again. Nothing.
I can’t go and listen at the door, they’ll know. So I can’t tell you what they said to each other. But I can tell you what we say, my mum, Aunt Shuna, Valentina and I.
“Come to the kitchen, for a snack and a chat. Mum’s standard answer to emergencies is to give us food.
Valentina is still looking towards the stairs. She does that sometimes, staring into a corner even though there’s nothing there. A bit like cats do.
“Come on, darling,” says Mum, and Valentina reluctantly walks into the kitchen with us.
We all sit around the table with the red polka-dot oilcloth on it. Valentina and I have Nutella on toast; Mum and Shuna have a cup of tea.
“When we’re finished, can I go and play with the wee girl?” says Valentina all of a sudden.
“Who?”
“The wee girl that came with Uncle Alistair. The one without shoes.”
3. DISAPPEARING ACTS
Alistair Grant’s Scottish Paranormal Database
Entry Number 351: Donald Campbell
Type: Post-mortem manifestation
Location: Inverawe House
Date: 1756–the present
Details: Donald Campbell has been sighted in Inverawe House many times over the years. He was murdered in 1756. His brother Duncan had inadvertently given the Campbell word that Donald’s killer would not be punished. Donald appeared to Duncan three times, asking him to break his word and hand in the killer, but Duncan refused. In revenge, Donald told his brother where and when he would die.
Shuna and Mum look at each other.
“What are you talking about?”
“The wee girl with the white dress and no shoes. I don’t know her name,” Valentina says insistently. “You saw her, Luca, didn’t you?”
I shake my head slowly. My instinct says it’s better to keep quiet. I’d like to give Valentina a sign that yes, I’ve seen her too, that we can talk about it later – but I don’t dare. Mum would pick up on it. Instead I give Valentina a tiny wee nudge under the table. She freezes.
“Is that your new imaginary friend?” asks Aunt Shuna hopefully. It’s not easy to keep up with my sister’s unstoppable mind.
“Yes! Yes, she is. The wee girl with no shoes. My imaginary friend!” Valentina says brightly.
“Yes, she told me about her too!” I chip in.
They decide to buy it. Phew.
“Anyway. You want to know about your Uncle Alistair,” Shuna begins. “Twelve years ago, the year before you were born, Luca, your Granny and Papa disappeared. Vanished. It was the night of your dad’s graduation – there was a big celebration for him here. We have to assume that your grandparents died. Your dad insists that it was your uncle’s fault. He hasn’t wanted anything to do with him ever since.”
“What happened?” I ask. There’s always been a big mystery around Dad’s mum and dad. About the only thing I know about them is that they had a band: the Grants of Eilean Ceilidh Band. There’s a picture of them on the mantelpiece: my Granny Beth is playing the piano, and my Papa William is playing the fiddle; it was taken at the ceilidh dance here that night, after my dad’s graduation. There are people all around them, and they look happy.
My mum always puts fresh flowers from our garden in front of their photograph. She says that’s what they do where she comes from, in Italy. They put pictures of their dead relatives in a nice display, and little vases of flowers in front of them. I like having my grandparents remembered this way.
“Nobody knows, Luca. They simply disappeared.”
“And why was it Uncle Alistair’s fault?” pipes up Valentina.
“Well. It’s hard to explain…”
“Did Uncle Alistair say sorry?”
“Yes, Valentina,” said Shuna. “Many times. I have forgiven him, but your dad hasn’t.”
“There’s no point for all this to go on, Shuna,” says Mum, waving her hands in the air. When she’s upset, her Italian accent gets stronger and sometimes her words get jumbled up. “I know he’s made a mistake, a huge mistake, but Duncan has to forgive him, like you did.”
“I know. Hopefully this time… What brought him here anyway? Why now? He hasn’t phoned or emailed me in ages…”
Mum makes one of her “just between ourselves” faces at Shuna and starts talking in a funny voice, a bit like a ventriloquist. “He says his house is… imhested. You know, a ost.” She mouths the words she doesn’t want us to understand, but it’s easy enough to work out the word “infested”. I can’t quite make out the second word, though. Ost? Host?
“Seriously? That’s why he’s come?”
“Yes. Another one of his daft stories!” says Mum, rolling her eyes. “If he wants to come home to Eilean he only has to say. He doesn’t need to make up stuff!”
“Better not mention this ost thing to Duncan, anyway,” whispers Shuna.
Honestly – do they think we’re so engrossed in our Nutella that we can’t hear what they’re saying!
“Infested by what?” asks Valentina brightly, her face all lit up, hoping for some weird creatures.
Mum says, “Rats!” and my aunt says, “Ants!” both at the same time.
They look at each other.
“Rats or ants?”
“Both.”
“Cockroaches?”
“Those too.”
They’re lying. I look from one to the other. They’ve both got that shifty expression adults get sometimes. There’s definitely something else going on, something they don’t want us to know about.
“Luca, Valentina, listen to me carefully now,” says Mum, covering our hands with hers. “Alistair is a good man. A bit strange, I suppose, with all his crazy stories, but a good man. I’ve always been fond of him. You know now that your dad is still very angry with him. We need to help them. They’re brothers. We must help them to get close again.”
“Yes. Everybody deserves a second chance,” says Aunt Shuna.
Valentina and I nod. There’s no arguing with that.
The crystals hanging on the back door rattle and chime.
“That will be Linda for her aromatherapy.” Gary’s mum. Ugh. Mum goes off to her sanctuary, leaving behind a waft of vanilla.
Aunt Shuna stands up.
“Goodness, I hope everything’s ok up there.” She shoots a worried look in the direction of the ceiling.
As if on cue, we hear footsteps on the stairs.
There are my dad and my uncle, stony faced.
Dad takes a deep breath. He’s like a king about to issue a decree while his court looks on.
“Alistair can see the children. He can come up to the house once in a while. But he cannot stay under this roof.”
“Do you have anywhere to stay?” asks Aunt Shuna at once.
“Not yet, but…”
“Duncan, Alistair is staying here tonight.” Shuna is firm.
“I said he can’t stay under this roof.”
“Just one night, Duncan. One night! Or do you want our brother to go to the Eilean Arms? Do you want our brother to have to sleep in a hotel when this is our family home?”
“Shuna, it’s ok…” Uncle Alistair hurries to pacify her.
“No, it’s not ok.”
“Fine. One night, and then you find your own place.”
I can tell that Dad hates being over-ruled.
“Thank you. I’ll find somewhere to rent as soon as I can. You know, with an office as well.” My uncle smiles nervously.
“An office? What will you do?” asks Shuna.
“I’ve set up a little… pest control business in London. I’d like to do the same up here. We remove… disagreeable creatures. Rats, snakes, and the likes.”
Valentina’s eyes widen at the mention of snakes.
“You can’t be very good at it, can you, if you have to abandon yo
ur own infested house,” says Dad coldly.
“Yeah, well. That wasn’t the only reason I came.” Alistair looks first at the floor, then at Dad. “I wanted to put it right.” He speaks in a very small voice.
Put what right?
“That’s not possible.” Dad’s voice is firm.
“You don’t know that!” Uncle Alistair blurts out. Shuna reaches out for him, a soft hand on his arm.
“That’s enough. You are under this roof on probation. Keep my children out of trouble. Keep them out of your crazy stuff.”
Alistair nods. “I’ll make it up to you.” He sounds a bit choked.
“I hope so.”
And with this, my dad goes back upstairs – the emergency over, he doesn’t stay with us any longer than necessary. Shuna hugs Alistair very, very tight again, murmurs something about a special dinner, and runs into the kitchen.
We are left, Alistair, Valentina and me.
“Come on, children,” whispers Alistair. Or he tries to whisper. His voice is still like a foghorn. “Come and meet Camilla.”
“Is she your daughter?” I ask.
“Not exactly. Just a ghost I know.”
What?
“Luca, Valentina, come and set the table!” Shuna calls us from the kitchen.
“Later,” says Uncle Alistair conspiratorially.
And that’s how it all started.
4. WE FIND A SISTER – A DEAD ONE
Alistair Grant’s Scottish Paranormal Database
Entry Number 219: The ghostly child
Type: Haunting
Location: Barrhead, East Renfrewshire
Date: 2006–the present
Details: A ghostly baby is heard crying in a house built in 1985, by both the tenants of the house and the owners of the houses next door.
“Luca! Luca, wake up!”
It’s my sister’s voice, coming from far away.
“Mmmmmmm….”
“LUCA, WAKE UP!” she whispers urgently. Funny how in the middle of the night a whisper feels like a scream. I look at the clock on my bedside table. Three in the morning.
“I’m sleeping… go back to bed…” I mutter, roll over, and… I leap up!
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