Lovers: The Irish Castle

by Lila Dubois

  The cold air was like a bucket of icy water thrown in her face. The wall she’d built in her mind to block out harsh realities and thoughts of the future fell. The doubts and objections she’d pushed aside rushed to the forefront of her mind. There was an ashy taste in her mouth and her stomach was rolled into a knot.

  “Michael.” She pried her fingers from his. “You know that this can’t last, right?”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn. A single lamp on the registration desk and the moonlight that streamed in the front windows illuminated the foyer. The dueling gold and silver light painted each side of him, his hair and skin lit by tones of precious metal.

  “What can’t?” There was pain in his question.

  “Us. I have to go home. Home to Chicago. You’re right, this place is a part of me but my life, my real life, is there.”

  “You’re real life.” The words were hard, cold. “So what am I? Your vacation fling? The fling you said you didn’t want?”

  “Michael, I’ve known you barely a week. What do you want me to say? I’m just trying to be realistic.” It was the right thing to do—so why did the words feel so wrong?

  “‘Your real life’ and again you’re saying that what I feel isn’t real.”

  “No, I’m not saying that. You’re…you’re the best man I’ve ever been with but I…”

  I can’t stay. I can’t be with you. I have to go. I have to work.

  That’s what she should say, what she needed to say. Why couldn’t she get the words out?

  Something on the other side of the room caught her eye. The sweeping double staircase was dark wood, the center lined with dark-hued carpet. Against that backdrop, the small flicker of white was enough to catch her attention.

  “Michael did you see something?”

  There was anger on his face when he turned, and she hated to see that, yet her heart was starting to race, and not because of their conversation. Something about her must have alerted him to her growing fear, because anger morphed to concern. “Where?”

  “There, at the top of the stairs. I thought I saw…”

  Mary blinked but there was nothing there.

  “Mary?”

  “Must have been my imagination.” She forced herself to smile, but it didn’t last. Michael was white as a sheet…as if he’d just seen a ghost.

  *

  He had never understood the phrase “frozen with horror” until that moment.

  At the top of the stairs was the outline of a figure, the same one he’d seen before, but this time menace rolled off the ghost, not sadness. The apparition seemed to be made of nothing more than smoke, and waved as if in a breeze.

  Mary touched his cheek. “Michael?” She looked over her shoulder, following the direction of his gaze, but she didn’t react to the gray-mist figure that seemed to be headed their way.

  “Michael, what’s wrong?”

  He found his voice, struggling to remain calm. Thirty seconds must have passed, but the thing was still there, and it was definitely heading toward them. “Nothing, except one of Glenncailty’s ghosts wants to meet you. I’m thinking we should go now.”

  “A ghost? Really?” She looked both intrigued and skeptical. She turned to the stairs again, and this time her fingers clamped down around his. “Michael, there’s a ghost!”

  “Run.”

  They bolted down across the floor toward the heavy front doors. He shoved, but they were locked.

  “Is it dangerous?” Mary gasped, looking back at the ghost.

  “No,” he lied.

  “Then why are we running?”

  Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t want to tell her that he’d seen the ghost before, and thought it had been watching her. Didn’t want to admit that it had worried him enough that he’d stood guard outside her room.

  The doors wouldn’t budge, so Michael started inching along the wall. “There has to be an emergency exit or something.”

  Mary was pressed against his side, body turned so she could watch the ghost that was still moving toward them.

  “Come on.” Michael led her back toward her room. As they dashed though the hallways, Michael kept checking behind them. When they reached the small foyer at the foot of the east wing stairs, where the door to the pub was, they stopped.

  Michael looked at Mary. Her eyes were wide and dark.

  “I can’t believe we saw a ghost. A real ghost! I wonder if the other things were real too?”

  “What other things?” Michael asked suspiciously, then, “Why do you look happy?”

  “I’m not exactly happy, but it’s pretty cool. We just saw a real ghost.”

  Michael shook his head. “The people who died in Glenncailty did not have happy lives.”

  Even in the dim light he could see the flush on her cheeks. “Of course. That was insensitive of me.”

  Michael immediately felt like a jerk. “I didn’t mean to make you—”

  “Michael.” This time her voice wavered with fear.

  He turned. The ghost was in the glass hallway, less than ten feet behind them.

  No longer a wisp of smoke, the ghost was solidifying. He could see her features and the details on her dress. Without stopping to question his instinct, Michael grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her under the stairs, where the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign guided them out. Slamming the door open, Michael pulled her into the gardens. Their breath steamed from their mouths as they stumbled through the plants.

  “Michael, what about the other people in the hotel? Should we warn them about the ghost?”

  “My phone, and my keys, are in your room.”

  “There must be someone around.”

  Michael took a breath, hoping his heart would stop beating so loudly. Then he’d be able to think. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the ghost had been looking at Mary, coming after Mary.

  “Seamus—Seamus O’Muircheartaigh,” he said as his breathing evened out. “My mother said he lives in the old dowager house at the back of the gardens.”

  “I met him.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, and his dogs. Someone on the third floor was waving out the window. He caught me waving back, then implied it was a ghost that I’d been waving at.”

  “That’s a safe enough bet now.”

  “I thought he was joking.”

  “I don’t think Seamus jokes about the ghosts.”

  Mary followed him as he picked his way through the garden until they found one of the crushed stone paths. They followed it until he caught a glimpse of rooftops on the other side of the garden’s rear wall. “There it is.”

  As they stepped off the path, a growl stopped them.

  “What was that?” Mary’s words were nothing more than a breath.

  Michael pushed her behind him, scanning the shadows for the source of the sound. Finally he saw it—a massive wolfhound, its shoulder nearly as tall as Michael’s waist.

  “It’s a wolfhound.” Michael tried to relax, if only to calm Mary. “Seamus has wolfhounds, it’s a tradition with the Lord of Glenncailty, remember?”

  “Right. The dog looks bigger in the dark. Lots bigger. Er, is it dangerous? Maybe it thinks we’re burglars.” Mary’s words were little puffs of air at his back.

  Michael was about to say that the beast wasn’t dangerous when the hound came out of the shadows into a patch of moonlight. The silver beast was translucent, his paws leaving the grass unbent.

  “That’s, that’s…” Mary stuttered.

  At the rear of the main building was a terrace with a set of double doors leading into the morning room. The terrace was empty except for a few urns of flowers, but as Mary and Michael stood there staring at the ghostly beast, the doors opened.

  “Look, there’s someone coming out.” Mary started forward, skirting the wolfhound, which had stopped ten feet from them.

  “Mary, wait.” Though the doors were open, there were no lights on in the room beyond. It didn’t feel right.


  The ghost walked out onto the terrace. Mary gasped. Michael pulled her back, cursing as he realized they were trapped between the door and the woman.

  Mary tried to pull free. “Michael, I think I know her.”

  Cold slid down his back. He tried to turn Mary away from the ghost of the woman but she shrugged out of his hold.

  “I know her, Michael.”

  “No, Mary. She’s a ghost, someone who died a long time ago. You don’t know her.”

  Mary took a few steps forward, as if she were going to greet the ghost. Michael grabbed her around the waist. “Mary, stop.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Mary, I need you to stay with me.”

  Iníon.

  The word floated on the breeze, faint yet distinct.

  Michael looked at the terrace to see that the ghost had twisted to face them. The woman was solid and seemingly real, as if she’d stepped out of a high resolution black and white photo.

  “I need to go up there.” Mary looked up, her face silver in the moonlight. “I need to listen to her. She has to tell me something.”

  Mary’s eyes were empty, her face scarily blank. Though she spoke, the words were flat, emotionless.

  Michael smoothed her hair back from her face. “Don’t listen to her, listen to me. Stay with me.” He had never been more truly afraid than he was in that moment. Whatever that thing was, it had some kind of hold on the woman he was falling in love with.

  “She has to tell me something.”

  “Pretty Mary, wake up. Please.”

  “I have to listen.”

  “Mary, my love, I need you to wake up. Now.” Michael cupped her face, stroking it with shaking fingers. She continued to mumble, her eyes unfocused, her cheeks and brow muscles slack.

  Out of desperation he kissed her. It was a move right out of a fairy tale, but it seemed like a better option than slapping her.

  To his unending shock, it worked.

  “Michael, is this really the time or place for a make-out session?” She sounded more disgruntled than possessed. Her voice had lost the strange intensity of a moment ago, and when she looked at him her eyes focused, her forehead wrinkling.

  “Mary?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re okay.” He dropped his forehead to hers.

  “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “No idea. Oh wait, maybe it’s because you’re chatting with a ghost.”

  “I was…” Mary tried to turn around, but Michael wouldn’t let her. She stroked his shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “We need to get out of here.”

  “I think I know what she wants. We’re not in danger, Michael.”

  He certainly didn’t believe that, but Mary sounded absolutely sure of it. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her face against his neck.

  Iníon.

  He heard it again, and though the ghost’s lips didn’t move, he knew she was the one who’d spoken. He looked down at Mary and with a click, understood why the ghost was focused on her.

  A cloud passed in front of the moon, dampening what little light there was. In the darkness, the woman seemed to glow from within. She wore a tattered gown, and there was a thick black line around her neck.

  “She’s sad, and angry.” Mary said against his shoulder. “Angry with me.”

  Michael jerked her back a step, ready to run for it. The ghost looked solid enough to actually hurt them, which until this moment he wouldn’t have thought was possible.

  “No, just listen. She’s angry because she was foolish. She was in love, and loved, but wasted it. She didn’t give that love a chance, and when she realized what she’d lost it was too late.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I felt what she feels.” Mary met his gaze. “Do you remember that night I came to your house.”

  “Yes.”

  “And remember how I told you I tripped on the third-floor stairs? When I was there I heard a voice. I thought I was dreaming, or hallucinating, because even hours later I was sad and angry—with myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I let my pride stand between me and love.”

  Michael didn’t know what to say.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how stupid it was not to give us a chance.”

  “And you’re saying…that those feelings weren’t real, they were the ghosts.” He released her. “You’re saying that nothing you feel for me is real.”

  “No! That’s not it.” Before she could continue, the ghostly wolfhound walked out of the garden and headed for the terrace. The ghost turned to watch it come. As the wolf approached, the woman seemed to deteriorate, her dress shredding even more, long black lines appearing on her arms and face.

  “What’s happening to her?” Mary asked in horror.

  “I don’t know, but I think those are cuts, or scars.” Michael was born and raised in Glenncailty, and he knew that the castle’s history was dark and tragic, but if that girl really was a ghost of someone who had once lived here, then it seemed even the darkest tales only touched on the true horror of this place’s past.

  The dog glided up the steps to stand beside the girl. She turned to look at them, and Michael instinctively pushed Mary behind him. The ghost’s mouth opened, her eyes sinking into her head. Michael had to fight the urge to run. What had been a bedraggled woman was now a mangled horror. Her jaw moved and he realized she was talking. He heard, though only faintly, snippets of words, all spoken in Irish.

  Before Michael could translate what she’d said, a second figure appeared from the gardens. As they watched it walk toward the girl, Michael got the strangest feeling that he was watching a play—that the ghosts’ appearance had nothing to do with him or Mary. They’d walked in on something that had happened long before they were born and might continue long after they were dead.

  The second figure, a wavering outline without the detail of the woman, mounted the steps to the terrace. It stopped before the girl, who had returned to her previous state—no more gaping wounds or eye-less sockets.

  “He loves her.”

  Michael looked to the side to where Mary was peeking out from behind his back. “What?”

  The ghosts stared silently at one another before the new apparition turned and glided away, the hound trailing after him.

  “He loves her, but it’s too late.” Mary’s words were laced with sadness.

  The moon emerged from behind the cloud, flooding the garden with pale light.

  The ghosts were gone.

  Mary looked up at Michael. She seemed as stunned as he felt.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, stroking her hair. He had a million questions, but the first priority was her safety.

  “I am. I was scared for a moment, but more than scared, I’m sad for her, and for him.” Mary shivered.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  Chapter 10

  The door they’d exited had locked behind them, but as they were circling the building looking for a way in, the first of the kitchen staff arrived. After hearing a few minutes of their rambling story about ghosts, she called the guest services manager. Ten minutes later they were seated on a couch in the formal front room with mugs of tea and the promise of scones.

  “Was that the man you told me about?”

  Michael looked at Mary, confused by her question. “What man?”

  “When we saw the statue in Cailtytown, you told me about the man who got rid of the first Lord of Glenncailty. You said he had a dog kill the lord when he was hurting a woman. We saw the ghosts of a man, a woman and a wolfhound.”

  Michael stared at her in shock. He hadn’t seen enough of the second ghost to be sure it was a man, but Mary seemed certain. Though he’d experienced the same thing she had, he hadn’t really tried to understand what was happening. His main concern had been keeping her safe.

  “You think the second ghost was a man?”

  “Yes, do
n’t you?”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “The more I think about it the more sense it makes. I think that the woman was in love with the man, but for some reason instead of getting married she came to work at the castle. Then the Lord of Glenncailty started abusing her, and so the guy she should have married brings a dog, using it to get close enough to kill the bastard who’s hurting his girl.”

  “If that’s true, then I’m sad for both of them,” he said. “They can’t have had peaceful lives if they’re still here, wandering the grounds of the castle.”

  “They should have been together, but her decision to come to the castle doomed them. The other day on the stairs, and again tonight, I was experiencing her feelings. She’s angry with herself, because her decision is what led to all the rest of it. I think she took a job at the castle, and once the lord of Glenncailty got a hold of her, she couldn’t escape.”

  “Ms. Callahan, I’m so sorry.” Sorcha bustled in. Despite the fact that she’d probably been pulled out of bed, she was impeccably dressed in a suit with her nametag in place. “The kitchen is bringing you some breakfast momentarily.”

  Sorcha took a seat across from the couch where they were. “Please, tell me what happened.”

  Taking turns, they explained what they saw. Sorcha’s frown deepened as they spoke. “I’m so sorry. Ms. Callahan, we’d be happy to help you move to a different hotel, and we will refund your stay.”

  Mary laced her fingers with Michael’s. “I don’t want to go.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, it was more sad than scary.”

  Sorcha looked skeptical for a moment, before her face smoothed into a smile. “Well, we’d like to comp your room for last night, and this evening we’ll have staff at the registration desk all night, if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.” Mary nodded.

  Sorcha left to check on their food and bring fresh tea, and Michael pulled her against his side.

  “Are you sure you’re okay in the hotel tonight?”

  “Yes, though it would be nice if I had someone to keep me company.” She fluttered her lashes at him.

  Michael laughed. “That I can do, pretty Mary.” He kissed her, but pulled away. “I think I know why we saw the ghost.”