by Nathan Roden
Tara went through Crane’s pockets. She took the cash from his wallet. She rifled through his desk drawers and found nothing useful. She searched his file cabinet. She found a lockbox at the bottom of a drawer.
Tara started to cross the room. She thought to search Crane’s pocket for his keys. She stopped halfway. She took two deep breaths and pulled at the lid of the box. She snapped off a fingernail, but the lock gave way. Tara looked down at her bleeding finger. She grabbed a handful of tissues from Crane’s desk.
The lockbox contained a very small handgun and five thousand pounds. Tara pocketed them both and went to Adrian Crane’s private exit door. It required two separate keys to open—inside and out.
Tara stared at the locks and growled in frustration. Lightning bolts propelled from her eyes.
The door frame exploded. The door swung open.
And Tara Jamison was gone.
Six
Sebastian Wellmore
Wellmore Village, Scotland
Sebastian Wellmore sipped his morning tea as he stared down at the business ledger. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
The tourist business at Castle Wellmore was not merely turning a profit. It was making a profit at a rate that he would never have thought possible.
He heard laughter from outside of his second-story window. He stood and went to look.
There were even more of them than usual on that Saturday morning.
There was a total of fifteen college-aged youths—dressed in a variety of spooky costumes: Zombies, Psychotic butchers in bloody aprons and carrying rubber meat cleavers. Girls in frizzy wigs with their faces coated in white makeup that contrasted their fangs and fake bloody lips.
Sebastian shook his head.
They started showing up a few weeks ago after he hired two local college girls to be his new tour guides. Abigail and Lori were naturals—smart, witty and engaging.
But then, the most unusual phenomenon took place. Abigail and Lori’s classmates—mostly drama students, started showing up in Halloween-type costumes. The students added a completely new dimension to the tours of Castle Wellmore—a dimension that Sebastian could have never dreamed of.
Word spread quickly, and soon the tour schedules were full. Children from six years through university age were drawn to the creepy atmosphere at the rejuvenated Castle Wellmore.
When Sebastian noticed what was happening, he called Abigail and Lori into his office. He offered them seats. Sebastian sat at his desk and leaned across it, resting on his elbows.
“Girls, you are doing a remarkable job. Please take this in confidence, however. We have had many lean years here as a business. After my father passed, we were forced to spend all that we made on the upkeep of this old place. I only recently lost my mother…”
Sebastian pretended to be overcome with grief. Lori reached across the desk and put her hand on top of Sebastian’s. He jerked his hand away. Sebastian had never been fond of human contact and had not experienced it in years. Lori’s eyes opened wide.
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said. “I…I haven’t been sleeping well, and I’m more than a little jumpy.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Wellmore,” Lori said, though she did not believe that it was. Wellmore’s hand was as cold as ice.
“Girls,” Sebastian continued. “These…others—friends of yours, I presume? I do appreciate that they come and provide entertainment for the guests—but I cannot afford to pay them. I hope that you understand—”
“They don’t need to be paid, Mr. Wellmore,” Abigail said. “The kids from the drama department love that they have a place like this to practice their craft! So much of what they do at the University is all classic stuff and dry as a bone. But here—this is like playin’ Halloween every day! We got more kids showing up all the time.”
“Very well, then,” Sebastian said. “I’m glad that there is no misunderstanding. I applaud your efforts and those of your friends.”
Abigail and Lori stood.
“Well, Sir,” Abigail said. “We have a tour to do.”
Sebastian nodded. The girls left.
Sebastian joined the tour at its conclusion in the front room by the castle entrance. He watched the crowd, which was almost all young people. A lone woman stood to one side. Sebastian thanked the guests as they departed.
“Well, Mildred. It is good to see you,” Sebastian said to the last lady through the door.
Mildred looked embarrassed. She was a former employee at Castle Wellmore but had become disgusted with the direction that Sebastian was taking the castle tours. She was also more than a little uncomfortable in Sebastian’s presence. This feeling increased after the untimely death of Maggie Wellmore.
“Thank you,” Mildred said. “I see that you are doing quite well without me.”
“I hope you have no hard feelings,” Sebastian said. “To tell you the truth, I’m as shocked by our recent success as you are.”
“Why should you be surprised? You were trying to sell this place as a haunted castle when I was giving the tours.”
“That’s true. These children from the University have breathed a life into it that I could never have accomplished.”
“Congratulations,” Mildred said. She dropped her head and began to walk.
“Could I have a moment, Mildred?” Sebastian asked. Mildred turned.
“How are you doing? Have you found other work?”
Mildred shuffled her feet.
“Oh, I’m well on my way to fortune and glory, Mr. Wellmore—doing other people’s washing and cleaning.”
For the briefest of moments, Sebastian looked at Mildred and remembered the forecast he had made to his own mother.
He had told his mother that she would soon be forced into a similar servitude in order to survive. For the briefest of moments, a wave of pity and compassion surged through him. The sensation made him shudder. He had never had such a feeling in his life. He was suddenly uncomfortable.
Sebastian was suddenly very afraid.
“Mildred,” Sebastian said with a quiver in his voice. “I find myself overwhelmed of late—what with the sudden success of the castle. I have other business needs to attend to, and I have no time to fit everything in. I wonder if you might consider—”
“Consider what? I’m no University student—”
“No, no!” Sebastian chuckled. “I was wondering if you might consider a position managing the operations here. I will certainly understand if—”
“I’ll be here in the morning,” Mildred said.
“Splendid!”
“Thank you, Mr. Wellmore.”
“No, thank you, Mildred. Have a lovely evening.”
Sebastian watched Mildred walk away, and another warm wave of emotion swept over him.
He heard voices inside his head. Dark voices. Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
What is wrong with you? Have you forgotten yourself? Have you forgotten your place? HAVE YOU GROWN WEAK?
“I forget NOTHING!” Sebastian whispered aloud. “But I am no one’s tool! I will do things my way.”
“Evil is most effective—
“When it is unseen.”
The voices inside his head fell silent.
Sebastian turned on his computer. He brought up the website for the Castle McIntyre. Very little had changed. There was no mention of any of the staff leaving the United States or returning from Europe. Castle tours were still advertised as available on Saturdays and Sundays only.
Sebastian opened his document folder. He re-read each of the four news pieces that reported the miraculous recovery of Oliver and Gwendoline McFadden. The rescue did not rate highly on any news source. It was treated more as a “feel-good” novelty story—like when a dog covers five hundred miles to locate its owner.
He shut down the computer. He breathed easily and had little doubt that he was in the clear. He believed that his imprisonment of the innocent couple would remain a secret forever.
; Sebastian went to bed early that night. He woke after less than an hour and was unable to go back to sleep. The longer he lay in his bed, the more he felt like he was being watched. He got up and turned on the light. He was alone.
Sebastian’s feelings were conflicted. He was outraged at the unfamiliar thoughts that had invaded his mind. He was particularly disturbed that he was becoming aware of the unthinkable—a conscience.
But this is impossible, he thought.
If Sebastian had a conscience at all, it had been completely dormant. The feelings that had surfaced lately left his feeling like a reluctant host to an unwanted guest.
Such a guest had no place in his future.
He got dressed. He walked into the kitchen and splashed water on his face. He opened the door leading to the dungeon. He switched on the light and stepped down.
The light bulb exploded and rained down glass on his head. He swore and returned to the kitchen, where he took a flashlight from a drawer. He started down the steps again.
Sebastian was hit by a wave of dizziness. He placed a hand against the wall. A different kind of wave hit him—nausea this time. He swore again and took another step down. A cramp seized his stomach so hard that he doubled over in agony and threw up violently. Several mice came out of hiding with their whiskers twitching. Sebastian swore and kicked them down the stairs. Sebastian stepped around the mess as he descended the remaining stairs. He rested one hand against the wall.
Four steps from the landing, he slipped. A spasm of pain shot through his back and groin. He fell to the floor and screamed. He kicked and screamed and cursed for several seconds before he pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled toward the dungeon door. His hip burned where he had fallen on his keys. He wrestled the keys from his trouser pocket.
Sebastian reached for the fake stone on the wall. He cursed at himself. The video camera, audio monitor, and light controls that were once hidden in the wall no longer existed. He had removed the electronics and mortared in a real stone.
Sebastian’s hands shook as he fumbled with the keys.
Why am I here? Nothing has changed. Why am I desperate to stand in the middle of this ancient den of pain and suffering?
Because you are afraid, the voice inside Sebastian’s head said to him.
“I am not afraid!” Sebastian growled.
Yes you are, the voice echoed around him from every direction.
You are losing control.
“We will see about that,” Sebastian said as he turned the key.
Sebastian walked to the middle of the dungeon floor. His stomach cramped again, but he flatly refused to be sick again. He turned slowly in a circle, listening.
He had lied to the voice. He was afraid.
The faint outline of a skinless face appeared inches in front of him.
“Coward!” It screamed at him before it moved away.
The executioner’s head took its place.
“It is WEAK!” it bellowed.
One at a time, a succession of horrifying creature appeared before Sebastian’s eyes. Their forms were only faint visions, and incomplete. Their voices cracked and were barely discernible. Each delivered a different insult.
Their insults were directed at Sebastian’s fear.
And he was afraid—and his fear made him angry.
And then the Red Beast appeared.
“You disappoint me, Heir of Wellmore,” the Beast leaned into Sebastian’s face. The Beast was barely visible, and its voice crackled like a distant radio station.
“I have not waited a thousand years to be made subject to your weakness!”
Sebastian stood tall.
“I will—”
“I will tolerate no more of your empty words, Human!” the Beast roared. “You will do as I command!”
“Bring me the GIRL!”
The entire band of evil spirits circled around Sebastian’s head. They screamed in his ears.
“Bring us the girl! Bring us the girl! Bring us the girl!”
Sebastian backed away slowly, and then he turned and ran for the door. When he looked back into the room, he was alone.
Sebastian returned to his office, and his computer.
“Bring us the girl! Bring us the girl!” he mocked as he waited for his computer to boot up.
Why should I chance to tread that worn path, when the boy may hold the key to the power? Sebastian thought. The boy, whose blood can make my transformation complete—and at no cost to me whatsoever!
“Heed my words, Beast!” Sebastian said aloud to the air. “Had you not allowed yourself to be trapped in a dank and dismal dungeon for a thousand years, you might not be on the verge of becoming a servant—to me!”
Sebastian cackled as he typed in his search term.
Wylie Westerhouse.
The available information on the boy had increased.
No, it had exploded. His name—his face—it was now everywhere.
Sebastian began to shake as he read headline after headline.
No.
No!
“He’s famous?” Sebastian whispered in disbelief.
“The boy is FAMOUS?” he screamed.
Sebastian screamed and raked his arm across his desk. His two monitors shattered on the floor, trailing their wires and cables.
Sebastian fumed. He hinged his plans on kidnapping the boy—whom he was certain had managed to obtain the ability to see into the spirit realm from the McFadden girl.
But Sebastian’s plan was to take the boy known by a relative few. Three of those people would have no credible information to give. Would they be willing to tell the authorities that the boy was kidnapped for his psychic abilities? Would they recount their stories of how they had themselves been kidnapped, and then released after six months?
Not likely.
But he had become famous—as a singer. And from the accounts Sebastian had read, the scale was worldwide. Which was far more than Sebastian was prepared to deal with.
This left him back at square one. And the McFadden girl.
His secret advantage had been the knowledge of the boy to whom the McFadden girl had passed her gift. He had guarded this secret from the Great Red Beast—the ancient evil summoned from the depths by his own ancient ancestor.
And now, his secret—and his advantage—were gone.
Seven
Wylie Westerhouse
Branson, Missouri
“Surprise!”
Duncan and I walked through the doors of Castle McIntyre—and straight into a party.
People and ghosts alike clapped and cheered. A variety of noisemakers sounded off. Confetti filled the air. The great room was decorated in bright colors reminiscent of a medieval festival. A massive antique table was filled with every conceivable finger food. A crystal punch bowl the size of a wheelbarrow anchored the arrangement.
Holly and Nora moved toward us. Nora moved so fast that she was practically invisible. She leaped into Duncan’s arms. She threw her arms—and her legs—around him. I was embarrassed, for all of about one second.
Holly threw her arms around me, and I stumbled backward. Then next thing I knew, her lips pressed against mine. I was ready for that. I wasn’t ready for her mouth to be open. I mean, I enjoyed it immensely, but when I peeked out of one eye I was looking right at Mr. And Mrs. McFadden.
Gwendoline McFadden looked to be in a state of shock. Oliver McFadden laughed. He put his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her tight to his side. And then, he put his other arm around her and kissed her. On the mouth.
I think I had just scored a landmark victory.
I walked from the euphoria of my reunion with Holly, right into Quentin’s hug. Next, there was a best-bro hug with Nate and a best-bro hug with Toby—my hairy, white, four-legged soul mate.
That night may have been the happiest night of my life. What could have been better? I could list everything that was going right for me, but that would be redundant and braggadocios, don’t you think?
Tooie Reznik was there with Nate. She brought along her extensive doll collection. Apparently, no doll was ever discarded in the Reznik household. I had a healthy set of goosebumps as I watched Tooie and Charlotte McIntyre sit in the floor and play with Tooie’s Furbies and her Bratz dolls. Later that night, Quentin helped Tooie connect her game system to his projector television.
Do you have any idea what it is like to watch children—and adults—from the sixteenth century, play a dancing game set to pop music from the twenty-first century?
My world is awesome.
And completely unbelievable.
I was preparing to do a concert tour with one of the biggest stars in the world. That experience would have to take second place to that night inside of Castle McIntyre.
I stayed the night at the castle. Quentin did, too. I never got around to asking what was in the punch. The night was so insanely magical, that I don’t know if I was drinking an alcoholic beverage or not.
I woke up, still in a state of euphoria. I walked downstairs and found Quentin and Oliver McFadden wearing aprons and preparing breakfast.
Quentin opened the oven door and pulled out a pan of biscuits.
“Good morning, Wylie! I hope you woke up with an appetite.”
“Oh, yes. I smell my favorite breakfast—the kind that is being cooked by someone else.”
“The men do the cooking?” I heard a voice behind me. It was Gwendoline McFadden.
“There is so much to like about America,” she said. She smiled at me.
“Good morning, Mrs. McFadden.”
Gwendoline McFadden squeezed my shoulder.
