by Diane Darcy
“Okay, okay. I give up!” They all laughed good-naturedly, and a moment later a black, double-decker bus rounded the corner, the sign lit with the words Paranormal Tours across the top. The three of them cheered along with the rest of the twenty or so people milling about.
The bus, squeaky breaks screaming, stopped in front of them, the white words The Ghost Bus Tours popping against the stark black paint. Depictions of haunted castles and graveyards were painted off to the sides.
Monica bounced up and down. “I can’t believe we’re here! In Scotland! To see ghosts!”
Garth didn’t say anything, but his broad smile spoke for itself.
Ashley felt a welling of affection for her friends. Garth was wearing a tartan beanie, and Monica a plaid scarf that clashed with her pink coat. Ashley sported a similarly-patterned hair tie in her long dark hair. After years of conventions, they all knew the importance of dressing for the occasion.
She figured under his jacket Garth would be wearing a T-shirt with some sort of weird saying on it as per usual. The last time she’d seen him it had said, Nerd? I prefer the term: more intelligent than you.
The three of them had met in a gaming community, started playing together, and then finally met up at a convention three years ago. They’d hit it off so well, they’d been friends ever since.
She’d never in a million years tell them she was financing this trip, and she so needed this vacation to get her head on straight, and to hopefully simmer her newest idea into perfection.
She’d try the app out again after she got home and see if she’d had any inspiration before trying to market it. If she didn’t license it first.
As they were lining up for the bus, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the caller and saw that, speak of the devil, it was the executive who was after her latest app. She considered rejecting the call, but knew from past experience he’d simply jam up her phone, filling it up with texts and voice messages if she didn’t head him off.
“Save me a seat, I’ll be right back.”
“Ashley!” They both protested, but she moved off anyway and took the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Stephen James with Photon Torpedo. I’m just calling to see if you’ve considered our offer to buy your business? Or even license your app or apps?”
The guy never gave up. He didn’t even know what her second idea was yet, only that she had one, and he’d been relentless. “I’m not ready to make any decisions yet.”
“Why don’t you come on out, come and see the place, or better yet, come and work for us?”
Ashley glanced at her friends. “I’m out of town at the moment. I’ll get back to you in a week.”
“Where are you?”
Sudden suspicion welled within her. After last night she wasn’t taking any chances. “I’m out of town.”
“Hmm. Okay. I’ve sent a new offer to your email address. I hope you’ll take a look at it.”
“This is something I need to think about. I’ll let you know.”
She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Sell her business? Her ideas? All she knew was that she was feeling insecure about her second app, and she didn’t need the pressure. Something was missing from it.
“Have you named it yet?”
She smiled. Seriously, this guy. The sad thing was she really wanted to tell him the name, Alien Hunt, just to say it out loud, get his take on it, but if she did, he’d probably guess what it was. Not the specifics, but still. “Sorry.”
“Hmm. All right. Keep in touch. I’ll be expecting your call.”
“Will do.”
She ended the call and headed back toward the bus. Monica now had her head out one of the bottom windows and was waving. “Ashley, hurry up!”
She hurried to the back of the line and soon everyone was settled in their seats.
“How come I have to sit alone?”
Monica turned around. “Are you out of your Vulcan mind? I gave you the window seat, slime worm! Maybe I should take it back!”
Laughing, Ashley lifted her hands. “No, no, just kidding, I’m good.”
Monica giggled. “Thought so. It’s so lucky you won these tickets! We’re so lucky you chose us!”
“Who else would I choose?”
“You’ve got that right.” Garth turned around, his elbow on top of his seat, his red hair sticking up now that he’d taken his hat off. “What’s in the backpack?”
“Laptop, snacks.”
Monica tossed her hair. “You never let that thing out of your sight!”
Ashley grinned. “And, I never will.”
Garth lifted up the newest iPhone. “You don’t need to carry around a laptop with this baby.” He started to discuss its features in detail, and Ashley met Monica’s gaze and rolled her eyes. Garth had talked them both into switching from Android to iPhone within months of meeting him.
She leaned forward as he was scrolling through to show her some features, and her first app, Space: The Final Conventioneer, popped up. Happiness welled within her. She hadn’t realized that he had it, didn’t say anything, but felt flattered just the same.
She wished that she could tell her friends what she’d done, what she’d created, and how it had taken off. But if she did, it would change the dynamics of their relationship, and she wasn’t willing to do that.
She treasured the friendships too much.
Next, Garth checked his app for Star Wars paraphernalia.
Ashley leaned over the seat so she could see. “What do you think the chances are that Mike Baines will sell me his original vintage 1977 iconic Star Wars poster?”
After a stunned silence, Garth made a scoffing noise, and Monica laughed.
“I would say that is a 0.0 chance, what do you think Monica?”
Monica nodded. “I’d say you’d have to rip that poster from Mike’s dead cold fingers in order to get your hands on it.”
The three of them laughed. “I know he won’t, but it’s fun to try and get him to. Maybe he’ll surprise me one of these days.”
“Ha! If he did sell it he’d want the big bucks, so start building more websites,” Garth referred to the long-time business she’d run since high school.
Monica shook her head. “Just turn on the charm, I think the guy has a crush on you.”
Garth chuckled. “That was obvious in Vegas.”
“Maybe he’s just dangling it over your head to get you to date him.”
They discussed the merits of the poster, the chance that Mike had a crush on her, and how much the convention might cost next year.
With a sigh of happiness, she settled back in her seat. She was there to have fun, and they were off to a really great start.
Chapter 2
A man, feet pounding up the steps of the bus, spread his arms and called out, “All right ye party animals! Is everyone ready for two days of fun!”
“Yes!” Everyone on board yelled back.
Of medium height, thin, and wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a traditional Scottish hat he looked fun, jaunty, and ready for a good time.
“Right you are! My name is Logan Moultrie, and I want to welcome you all to The Edinburgh to Culloden Paranormal Tour, where the next two days will be filled with fun, history, and scares!”
Ashley glanced around to see a smattering of people ages between twentyish and seventyish smiling, ready and willing for the fun to begin.
“Now, I know it’s early.”
Groans met that statement.
“But we’ve a lot of travelin’ to do over the next two days. Ye were all warned when ye signed up that there will be plenty of walking, bus time, and scares, so I’ll not listen to ye’re bellyaching’, do ye understand?”
The crowd laughed.
“The good news is that ye’ve come at the best time of the year! The spirits are always out and about in Scotland, but never more so than in the month of October!”
“Yay!” Ashley yelled as cheers rose from everyone on the
bus. She had to admit she was amused by the fact that Logan’s Scottish accent seemed to come and go. He was probably deepening it for their sake.
Logan lifted his arms up in the air. “As I was saying, I’m sorry for the early morning, but we have a schedule to keep and I’m sure you’ll all be more than happy with the day by the time we drop you off at your hotel in Edinburgh tonight. Today we’ll do the majority of the walking, and tomorrow the majority of the driving. Sound good?”
“Yes!”
Logan glanced around at everyone. “Now, we’ve packed all your luggage in the bottom of the bus, and we’re about to start day one of our tour. There are haunts to see, places to eat, and things to shop for.”
He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “So, on to the next and, as we’re not doing the driving, let’s thank Lewis Smithy, our bus driver, for staying sober while we have a merry old time!” He tipped head and hand back in a drinking gesture, making his audience laugh again.
“Thanks, Lewis!” several called out.
Lewis a young, thin man with wavy dark hair and skinny jeans, waved, then started up the bus again to more cheers, before pulling out into traffic.
“Isn’t Logan’s accent great!” Monica put her hand to her chest.
Garth snorted. “If you like that sort of thing.”
“For those of you who havenae read the itinerary, we’ll be going to Blackness, Prestonpans, Edinburgh, Stirling Castle, Glamis Castle, Crathes, Cawdore, and last on the list is Culloden Moor. So, sit back, get to know your neighbors, and plan to be entertained. Besides the sights, we’ll be seeing plenty of Scottish scenery, have time to stop and take pictures, and I’ll be telling you a bit about the history of Scotland, and its ruins as we go on.” Logan lifted his arm in the air in a gesture of triumph and said, “Yay!”
“Yay!” Everyone copied him.
Ashley couldn’t help but wonder if their guide had had a bit too much to drink. Just as she thought it, Logan took out a silver flask and lifted it to his mouth. “Cheers!” He took a drink and recapped it. “Just what we need to see us on our way!”
“Drinking at seven-thirty in the morning?” Garth asked.
Ashley laughed, amused. “Right?”
Logan, still standing, swayed slightly with the bus. “Now, off to your right, we have The Seedy Bar and Grill. To your left, The All Washed Up Laundromat. A word to the wise, they do add a wee too much starch to your clothing.”
He laughed. “Just kidding! This isn’t the tour. Maybe I’ll wait until we get out into the countryside to start the actual tour. In the meantime, enjoy the scenery, and we will be at Castle Blackness before ye know it. It’s haunted, to be sure, and the spectre is said to be a great annoyance to those who live in the area. So, prepare for the worst!”
Everyone was smiling when Logan sat down. Once in a while he would point out something of interest, and cameras would lift and dutifully take pictures of villages and far off castles they couldn’t see.
When the sun rose, he led the bus in another chorus of, “Yay’s!” and generally kept up enough banter to make sure everyone was thoroughly amused and having a good time.
Scotland was beautiful, filled with green grasses, bushes, rolling hills, and the leaves on the trees starting to turn red and gold against a backdrop of green Scot’s Pine.
About an hour later Logan stood. “We’re now passing through the village of Blackness, and the castle is coming up. We’ll gather on the lawn and I’ll tell ye of the ghostly happenings before setting you loose to explore.”
The bus came to a stop, and Logan led everyone off, single file.
Monica was the first of their trio, and when she stepped off the bus, she announced in a strangely excited voice, “Whew! Watch out for the eye candy!”
Garth was next, and he let out a grunt, and then Ashley stepped down and eagerly looked around.
Whoa! Monica wasn’t kidding. A man, with a capital M, stood off to one side, watching the crowd get off the bus, as the tourists watched him right back, snapping pictures of him before moving on when he scowled. “Wow!” Ashley said under her breath.
“If you like that sort of thing.” Garth said, annoyance coloring his tone.
And like, she did. Ashley had a hard time tearing her gaze from the large, kilted, tattooed man standing near the gated entrance to the castle ruins.
He certainly wasn’t traditionally handsome, but he was all the way masculine from the hard thrust of his jaw, the high cheekbones, the aggressive expression as he took in the crowd closing in on him.
His eyes were a vivid green against the thick, black braids hanging around his face. His hair brushed his shoulders and his nose looked like it had been broken. A razor thin scar slashed across one cheekbone, like a deliberate affectation, something to make him more attractive, more masculine.
And then there was the tattoo, thick and dark, it started at his cheek and continued down his neck. A wolf maybe? It was hard to say, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask. There were more celtic-looking tattoos on one arm.
He wore a soft brown and green kilt, a long-sleeved white shirt with a belted plaid, a sporran and boots. His clothes did nothing to hide the muscle packed on the man’s large frame.
He looked like a warrior of old. A ghost maybe?
She chuckled at the fantasy.
The first people in line skittered back a bit when they reached him along the trail, and hurried past, moving forward to flash their castle cards at the kid manning the gate further along.
Ashley should be embarrassed by the way she was staring, but everyone else was too, and he was staring right back.
She realized her heart was pounding in her chest as her gaze continued to dart away and then back to him again.
Had she ever had that reaction to a man in her life? No. And she saw men in costume all the time. Klingons had nothing on this guy.
She was so getting a picture with him. And maybe even a phone number if she was lucky.
Best. Tour. Ever!
Ronan could feel the wind ruffling his hair.
Breath filling his lungs.
His eyes watered at the brilliant color coming at him from all directions, the air moist from the river running by the castle.
Watchful, Ronan tried not to react to the temporary changes and though his heart pounded, he stood very still as a stream of people descended from yet another bus.
So far, so normal. Many a tour showed up at Culloden Moor with many people disembarking to walk upon the grass, take pictures of the markers, and ramble about the visitors center. They were always an annoyance.
He glanced around, unsure of his whereabouts. The castle was old, deserted, fit for naught but mice, or ghosties, and he did not recognize it.
Had so much changed over the years?
The new line of people came his way, a few attempted to talk to him, some took his picture, but he ignored them all and they slowly wandered off, whispering, throwing him glowing looks of approval, or of embarrassment.
Frustration started to mount as he looked about for the task he was to accomplish. All seemed peaceful, but of course, he didn’t trust it. He never did.
The witch had given him a dagger, and with his arms crossed, he held the hilt in his hand, hidden within his shirt.
He searched for danger, for a villain to defeat, or anything that would indicate the direction he was to take, a task he was to perform.
There was naught to be found.
There was a slight chill to the morning air, and most of the leaves had turned on the nearby trees. The mountains in the distance indicated he was somewhere near Edinburgh. And he glanced back at the castle ruins behind him once more. Surely, that couldn’t be Blackness Castle?
Surely, he’d not been gone that long?
The crowd slowly wandered down the path, following the guide who blathered on about ghosties and such.
Ronan snorted. He did not see any ghosts about, and if the people here were looking for such,
they were fools.
Another tour bus pulled up, making it a total of three, and as the passengers disembarked, he had to endure yet more comments, picture taking, and ogling.
If the witch had not set him here, he would leave and bedamned to the lot of them.
A long while later, the bus drivers had gathered about to chat and smoke and, as Ronan watched, a man, acting in a suspicious manner, sneaked onto the tall, black bus.
Ronan's interest spiked. A thief?
He’d sooner have an assassin, but beggars could not be choosers.
He noted the drivers, completely unaware; simpletons, incapable of doing their jobs.
Ronan grimaced. He oughtn’t to point fingers as he’d not done his job at Culloden. If he had, the lot of them might not have been trapped upon the moor for centuries.
He continued to watch the man search through the possessions left upon the bus, seat by seat.
With a sigh, Ronan set off to follow the thief, though this was, indeed, a waste of his talents, and practically an insult.
Surely the witch wouldn’t make his task so easy?
Did he really care about the possessions of the annoying tourists, anyway?
Nae, he did not.
Perhaps this was not even his task?
One more glance around assured him the group was up the trail and unaware, their backs turned, snatches of their leader’s conversation drifting back to him. There was no other task to perform.
Decision made, Ronan drew his dagger and rushed up the stairs a war cry bellowing from him. It felt good, like he was himself again.
The man, twisting at the sound, moaned, seeming horror -struck.
Ronan roared at him once more and started down the aisle.
The bus driver scrambled onto the bus behind him.
He needn’t bother at this last stage.
Ronan moved slowly, knowing he would not kill the man, his bloodlust not even rising to the fore.
The thief stumbled, dropped all of the possessions he’d taken, and continued to move toward the back of the bus, falling to his knees and crawling for a few feet before hauling himself up and hurrying to the rear.
