Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls: A Ghost Hunter Mystery

by Victoria Laurie

  “How do you know all that?” I asked him.

  “While you guys were buying your T-shirts, I asked about renting a boat to get to Dunlow. I was told that no one rents to anyone going there, because so many boats have been damaged or sunk on the rocks near the island.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “So if we get stuck on that stupid rock again, the only way off is to wait for low tide.”

  “Yep,” said Gil. “Which is why we’re only staying one hour. We are not getting stuck again.”

  When we reached the causeway, Heath parked next to our other van and secured the keys to the inside of his coat. “Ready?” he asked me.

  I squinted at the ominous rock in the distance, where the castle was barely visible. “Not really. But when did that ever stop me?”

  Heath wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me with him as we walked. “You realize that if I have my spikes drawn, I might not sense the phantom until it’s nearly on top of you.”

  I swallowed hard. “I do now.”

  “But your own intuition should alert you in time.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. That’s something.”

  “We should have a signal,” he advised. “If you feel it before I do, and you need us to get to you, we should have a code word.”

  I smiled. “How does ‘Help!’ work for you?”

  Heath chuckled. “It works.”

  “You guys just remember to stay together,” I reminded him. “No one gets separated this time, okay?”

  Heath saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  The causeway was easy going that afternoon. The storm surge had died down and there was no fog to obscure our path. We made it to the island without incident and as one we tilted our heads up to peer at the edge of the cliff.

  No lurking shadow peered down at us, which I took as a good sign.

  “Oh, man!” Gil whined.

  I turned around and considered him. He was shaking a little and definitely pale. “You’re fine, honey,” I told him gently. “Remember, you’re wearing the super sweatshirt. Nothing can hurt you as long as you’re wearing that.”

  My best friend appeared to be ignoring me and his breathing was coming in quick little pants.

  “Gil!” I said firmly. “You have to get a grip, okay? I can’t have you flaking out up top. I’m depending on you.” Gil said nothing. Instead he just continued to stare at the cliffs. “Seriously, honey, this is the only way we can get Gopher back. Please let me know you can do this.”

  Gilley’s large round eyes met mine and he pressed his lips together and pumped his head up and down. “Mmmm, hmmm!” he said.

  I patted him on the shoulder. “That’s my Gilley.”

  John made note of the time and we all moved to the stairs. My shoulders sagged a little as I thought about the arduous climb up—my legs were still tired and aching from the day before—but there was no use complaining about it.

  We moved steadily up the stairs, huddling close together. On the way both John and Heath unsheathed their spikes and secured them to their tool belts. I left my canisters alone, but it was hard to resist the urge to pull them out and walk up there fully armed.

  We reached the top and paused at the landing, waiting and watching for any movement or sense of the phantom’s presence. All was still and quiet except for the wind and the call of a few seagulls.

  Ahead of us, the massive form of the castle loomed, and its dark exterior appeared to mock us in the bright light of day. “Shall we?” Heath whispered.

  “I think we’d better,” I replied.

  Heath led us cautiously to the large keep door and we ducked inside, bypassing the ruins of the fire we’d burned the night before. Inside the front hall we paused again and listened.

  Nothing moved and no disturbance came to our ears.

  Heath motioned us forward again and I could feel my heart begin to race and goose pimples prickled my skin. The phantom was somewhere nearby, waiting and watching.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  We moved quickly and quietly down the central corridor to the branch where the phantom had previously attacked Heath and me. There, I held up my hands to stop the group. “This is where I move forward, and you guys keep about twenty to twenty-five feet back.”

  Heath really looked like he didn’t like the idea, but he held his tongue and gave my shoulder a soft squeeze.

  “Please be careful, M. J.,” Gil whispered.

  “Count on it,” I told him. I then turned and walked away from the magnetic protection of the group.

  In one hand I held my flashlight; in the other I held a grenade. On the drive to the beach I’d practiced popping off the lid with my fingers so that I wouldn’t have to tuck my flashlight under my arm to get at the spike. I hoped that opening the canister and dropping the spike at my feet would give the guys enough time to reach me.

  At twenty feet, I knew Gil could reach me in about three seconds. Flat.

  “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi ...,” I counted. It didn’t feel like very long.

  The problem was that the corridors and hallways weren’t always going to be twenty feet long. There would be times on this search when my backup couldn’t see me. And that was a real problem, but Gopher needed my help—of that I was certain—and I couldn’t leave him to the phantom. Not after experiencing the power of that horrible thing firsthand.

  I looked back at my bodyguards one last time before moving forward alone. All my senses were on high alert—including number six. That dial had been turned up to eleventy. I walked cautiously and carefully, feeling the ether, listening for any sound louder than my own heartbeat, and focused on sensing which way to go.

  My gut led me straight ahead to a side corridor that was much narrower than the central hallway. I flashed my beam down the hallway. A rat scuttled away from the beam. I flinched, then shivered.

  “What’s down there?” Gilley asked from a safe distance.

  “I’m not sure. But my gut’s telling me to check it out.”

  “Wait for us there,” Heath instructed. “I don’t want to lose sight of you.”

  I waited patiently for them to come up next to me. “Okay?” I asked Heath, who was also shining his flashlight down the corridor.

  “It’s about thirty feet long,” he said, squinting in the dim light. “We’ll wait for you to check it out right here.”

  I nodded and moved into the narrow space. Fifteen feet away from the boys I could feel the energy shift, and I knew I’d crossed the threshold of their magnetic field. They would still have an effect on other spooks, but the phantom was strong enough to bother me if it put its mind to it.

  And that thought made me extremely nervous. I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, and considered telling the boys to come in closer. I had the eerie perception that I was being herded, like a sheep to slaughter, and I didn’t like it one little bit.

  I stopped in front of the open door to a room off the corridor, and before waving for the boys to come forward, I held my flashlight up to inspect it.

  The room was empty.

  I decided it was best to bring my backup forward to this doorway before continuing alone down the hall. There were more doors and likely more rooms to inspect, and hopefully, Gopher was in one of them. “Gopher?” I called into the stillness.

  I heard a low, mournful moan.

  It was farther down the hallway, in one of the rooms near the end. Forgetting to signal to the boys, I hurried down the corridor. “Gopher?!” I called anxiously. “Dude, is that you?”

  “Help me!” came his muffled reply.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, honey, I’m coming!” I cried, and began to run to the last door on the right. “Goph—”

  And that was all I could get out before something large, black, and horrible barreled into me like a freight train.

  I was knocked sideways through a doorway and into a room with such force that I hit the wood floor with a loud thud, and
smacked the side of my head hard enough to leave me dizzy. I’d managed to hold on to the flashlight, but the metal canister I’d been holding flew out of my hands as I hit the floor, and it took me a moment to catch my breath.

  In the distance I heard yelling, and my name being called, and I looked up in time to see the door slam—closing me off from my backup.

  I got up fast and stumbled toward the door, but stopped dead when I saw a shadow form against the wood and sinister laughter filled the room.

  My fingers flew to my other grenade, which should have been at my belt, but I realized in the tumble I’d taken, the belt had twisted at my waist, and I couldn’t find the loop with my other canister.

  Pounding erupted on the other side of the door, and the handle was twisted and pulled, but it held firm.

  The phantom flew away from the exit to the opposite side of the rather large room, away from the door and the magnetic energy wafting through it. I heard the phantom emit something like a growl and I resumed my plan to get to the door. “Help!” I yelled, but my voice sounded hoarse with fright.

  I tugged on the door handle even as my head began to fill with horrible images of monsters, demons, and slithering creatures from my worst nightmares. “G-G-G-G- Gilley!” I stuttered.

  The pounding on the other side of the door grew frantic, and a wham from the other side let me know someone was throwing his weight against it in an effort to break it down. Meanwhile, the phantom hissed and growled and stepped closer to me.

  The air became cold as ice, and I had to abandon the door handle and hold my hands protectively over my head, trying in vain to stop the images taking over my every thought. In the back of my mind I knew I was losing control, and I knew there was something I needed to do to stall the awful onslaught, but I couldn’t remember what it was.

  And then, another sound reached me. A voice, urgent and commanding, said, “This way, lass!”

  I shook my head, scuttling away from the approaching phantom. It hissed again, but as it did so, it must have taken its focus off me, because the images abated just a bit.

  I blinked and moved along the wall, away from the black shadowy nightmare in the room. “Here!” the voice insisted. “Lass! Come quickly!”

  I blinked again and saw a man in period dress that I swore I recognized, waving at me. He was standing next to a set of wooden panels. I watched as he turned his attention to the phantom and yelled, “Back, you blasted boggart! Get back, I say!”

  The phantom hissed and growled and the nightmare in my head abated even more. I stumbled toward the man. When I reached his side, he said, “There’s a good lass. Now, push that bit of panel.”

  With shaking fingers I pressed where he indicated, and an entire section of the wall slid inward to reveal a spiral stone staircase. “Down you go, then,” said the man.

  A growl from behind me was all the encouragement I needed. I darted through the section of wall to the top stair. I glanced over my shoulder for just a moment and saw the phantom racing toward me. Instinctively I threw my weight against the back side of the panel and slammed it shut; then I bulleted down the stairs as fast as my shaking legs could carry me.

  Reaching the bottom, I found myself in a long stone tunnel. Trembling from head to toe, I moved away from the staircase, trying desperately to get some distance between me and the phantom. I was so frightened that I could barely walk, and tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision.

  And then I remembered what had saved me the last time. Heath’s grandfather Samuel could help me.

  I closed my eyes and called out to him in my mind.

  Push aside your fear! I heard him say clearly in my head. To fight this demon, you MUST push aside your own fear!

  I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, willing myself to get a grip. “You’re fine,” I said aloud. “M. J., you’re just fine.”

  I took a few more deep breaths and after a moment or two I didn’t feel “fine,” but I did feel a bit better.

  “That’s good, lass,” said a voice right next to me.

  I jumped a foot and spun around, my hand finally finding the canister with the spike. When I searched the narrow stone corridor, I realized no one was actually in it. “Who’s there?” I asked cautiously.

  The same man who had saved me from the phantom appeared some way down the hall. “Me,” he said simply.

  And then I remembered where I’d seen him before. “Lord Dunnyvale,” I said. “Thank you for saving me.”

  He bowed formally to me. “The least I could do,” he told me. “You were in a very bad state up there, after all.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the stairs and shuddered.

  “He can’t get to you now,” he told me. “Especially while you’re standing there.”

  I turned back to Dunnyvale. He looked as real as any living person, but I knew it was all a facade. And then what Samuel had told me clicked in my head. “Fear acts like a beacon for the phantom, right?”

  “It does,” said Ranald. “The more afraid you are, the easier it is for the phantom to find and torture you.”

  I took another steadying breath. “I have to get back to my friends,” I told him.

  “Yes,” he said, and I thought he’d say more, but instead he turned and pointed down the corridor. “This tunnel will lead you where you need to go. But you might wish to pause here and inspect your surroundings for a bit.”

  I cocked my head at him. “Why’s that exactly?”

  Instead of answering me, he said, “Remember our bargain, lass. You rid my castle of that wretched creature, and I will tell you where to find your friend.”

  I looked at him incredulously. “You seriously want me to go back for another round with that thing?”

  “No.”

  That gave me pause. “No?”

  “I want you to find out where the phantom came from. And for that, you’ll need Alex.”

  “Can’t you just tell me where it came from?”

  “No.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I’ve already told you where to start. Find Alex, good lady Holliday. You won’t be sorry you did.”

  With that, Lord Dunnyvale disappeared in the blink of an eye, and I was left alone again to ponder his riddles.

  The moment he left, I uncapped my remaining grenade, tipped out the spike, and eyed the corridor warily.

  I realized there were small rooms just off the main hallway I was standing in. The rooms were about the size of a walk-in closet and they had no doors on them, just names carved into the stone. I squinted at the name-plates and I realized with some surprise that these were actually crypts.

  Stepping cautiously into the vault in front of me, I could see that it was in fact Ranald’s tomb.

  His sarcophagus was a huge marble creation with a likeness of him carved into the top. It was a very good rendition if the man’s ghost truly looked like him when he was alive. As I inspected his coffin, my foot hit something and I looked down to see a medium-sized bundle made out of canvas leaning up against the sarcophagus.

  Bending down to inspect it, I was surprised to find a very modern-looking backpack, covered in dust, but otherwise in excellent condition. Wiping away some of the dust, I realized there were initials embroidered into the top of the pack. “A. M. N.,” I recited.

  I wanted to unzip it and dig through the contents, but I knew I needed to get out of this underground corridor and find the boys quick. They had to be out of their minds with worry by now.

  So I picked up the pack—which was surprisingly heavy—slung it over my shoulder, and tripped over something that clanked on the ground. Shining my flashlight at it, I realized it was a crowbar, which was really curious. Still, I didn’t give it much thought because I was on a mission to find the boys, so I headed out of Ranald’s crypt and hustled down the corridor.

  I finally came to the end of it a few minutes later and was shocked to see a large metal door hanging open a crack. I pulled on the handle and it
creaked and groaned open, to reveal a set of stone stairs and the open air of the outside.

  Stepping onto the stairwell, I realized I’d come out at the stairs that led up to the castle. I looked over the railing, guessing that I was about three-quarters of the way up from the bottom. I was surprised to find that none of us had noticed the door on the several trips we’d made both up and down the stairs.

  “M. J.?!” I heard someone gasp.

  I looked behind me and there, just a few steps up, were Gilley, Heath, and John, all appearing incredibly shocked at my sudden appearance.

  “Hey, guys,” I said with a small wave.

  “Ohmigod!” Gilley shrieked, and he flew down to hug me fiercely. “You’re alive! You’re alive!”

  I squirmed in his arms—he was hugging me super-tight. “Of course I’m alive,” I said to him. “What’d you expect?”

  Gilley stepped back and considered me. “We thought the phantom ate you.”

  My jaw fell open. “You thought what?”

  “Only Gilley thought that,” Heath said, coming down the stairs looking immensely relieved.

  “I actually considered the possibility,” said John. We all turned to stare at him. “What?” he asked. “Dude, Gilley had a point.”

  “What point?” I demanded.

  “We finally broke through the door, and that thing hissed and growled at us and then it took off right through the wall!” explained Gil. “So, after it left, we searched the whole room, and there was no sign of you. I mean, it just stood to reason that the phantom had eaten you.”

  I gaped at him. “Stood to reason?”

  “Yes,” he insisted, sticking by his theory.

  Heath and I exchanged a look, and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. Anyone who could consume a breakfast as big as the one Gilley had might think it quite reasonable that a phantom would want to make a buffet out of me. “Well,” I told them, “I haven’t been eaten.”