Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls by Victoria Laurie
I turned back to Heath to see if he’d been swayed by Gilley’s argument. “I’m still in if you want to go,” he said.
Gilley glared furiously at him.
“We’re going,” I told Gil. “Sorry, buddy, but we have to do this.”
Gilley’s face turned downright mean, and he shoved his chair back and stomped out of the room. “I’m not going with you!” he called from the stairway. He then stopped abruptly, returned to the table, and grabbed three more rolls before turning away in a huff again.
Heath and I found our way to the local paper, which was located in a rather small building in the center of town. The door was locked tight, and the interior was dark, as were most of the businesses along the narrow street.
I huddled inside my coat, shivering in the chill rain and damp air. “I hope we catch a break from this weather tonight when we cross the causeway,” I said.
“It would be the first time we caught a break on this bust,” Heath grumbled.
And then I had another idea. “Hey, you know, if Kincaid stayed at the Dunlee Inn, maybe the French guy did too.”
“Worth checking out. Did John tell you where it was?”
I saw a small café down the street with lights on and the sound of a generator’s motor humming on the otherwise quiet street. “No. But someone in there is bound to know.”
After getting directions from the café owner, we made our way to the Dunlee Inn. It was a sweet-looking structure with dark brown shingles and a thatched roof. Moving inside, we inquired about the owner, and a portly gentleman with thick white hair and a ready smile greeted us. “Top oh the mornin’ to ya,” he sang. “I’m Sean Tierney. How can I help you?”
Heath and I explained who we were, and reminded him that he’d spoken to our colleague the evening before. “Ah, yes,” he said. “John from America. Lovely young man. He was inquiring about Mr. Kincaid and his party.”
“Yes,” I said. “And we’re very grateful for the information you gave to him. But today I wanted to come by and ask about the Frenchman who first encountered the phantom.”
“You mean Gaston Bouvet?”
My eyebrows shot up. “You remember him?”
The innkeeper smiled wide. “Oh, I remember him all right. He stayed with me those first few weeks he was exploring the castle. O’ course, on his return trip he stayed in the Mulholland house, but while he was here, we got to know each other quite well.”
“We’re interested to learn anything we can about the phantom that haunts Dunlow Castle. We understand that Gaston was the first to encounter it.”
Sean’s expression turned grave. “Aye, miss, he was the first. But he made no mention of it on his visit with us here at the Dunlee Inn. No, we think he encountered that frightful thing on his return visit when he and his mate went putting their noses where they didn’t belong.”
“How long was the time between his two visits?”
Sean scratched his head and thought back. “I’d say at least a fortnight. He said he had business to attend to before he came back and continued his search for Dunnyvale’s gold.”
Heath asked, “Do you really believe Bouvet knew where the gold was hidden?”
“He said he did. In fact, he insisted that he knew exactly where it was hidden. He claimed to have a secret letter telling him precisely where to find the gold—though I never got a peek at it. He carried the letter on his person at all times, and only took it out when he could be sure no one was havin’ a look over his shoulder.”
I wondered what had happened in the two weeks between Bouvet’s first visit to the rock and his second that sparked the appearance of the phantom, and remembered that Dunnyvale had told me the phantom was brought there by someone. I asked Sean, “In the time that Bouvet was back in France, did anyone else report having any strange encounters at Dunlow Castle?”
The innkeeper shook his head. “No, miss, quite the opposite. There were many a local person here in Dunlee who wanted to see if they could find the gold before the Frenchman came back. But no one had any luck at it. There were treasure hunters on that rock right up to Bouvet’s return, in fact.”
I turned to Heath and shrugged my shoulders. He nodded; then we thanked the kindly innkeeper and headed out. “What was it about Bouvet’s return that brought on the phantom?” I asked him after we’d dashed through the rain to the van and buckled ourselves in.
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “The only thing I can think of is that Bouvet somehow either brought the phantom with him on his return visit or woke it up when he went in search of the treasure.”
“Huh,” I said, wondering about what he’d just revealed. “Maybe that’s it, Heath.”
“Maybe what’s it?”
“What if the phantom has really been on that rock all along, guarding Dunnyvale’s treasure, and only got woken up when that treasure was disturbed?”
“You mean like the mummy’s curse, or something?” Heath said with a chuckle.
But I wasn’t joking. “Exactly like that,” I told him. “It sort of makes sense given the fact that no one remembers seeing the phantom until Bouvet returned for the treasure. And up until his second visit when he went to retrieve it, the phantom was apparently lying dormant.”
“But what about what Lord Dunnyvale told you?”
“You mean the part where he told me that someone else was responsible for the phantom? And that the answers to the phantom’s origins lie with this Alexandra person?”
“Yeah.”
I shook my head. “I think he was lying.” Heath looked skeptical, so I explained my reasoning. “Alexandra and Kincaid didn’t show up until sixteen years after the first appearance of the phantom. It was haunting that castle all that time, so how could it possibly be connected to her?”
“Good point,” Heath admitted.
“And,” I continued, “Alexandra’s Russian. If I remember correctly, Kincaid was South African—right?”
“Right.”
“Sean said that Bouvet went back to France to tend to his business and returned with a friend. Kincaid would have been about ten years old at the time, living in South Africa—so we know the friend wasn’t him. And from what John said about this Russian chick, she was probably of a similar age at the time, so how could it have been her? All roads lead back to that rock and Bouvet’s search for the gold. I think that Ranald used the phantom as a guard to keep his treasure out of any prospective thief’s hands.”
“So the spirit of Lord Dunnyvale lied to you, but for what purpose?”
And that stumped me. For the life of me I couldn’t think of a reason why Dunnyvale would save me from the phantom only to send me in circles about its origin. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
Heath leaned back in his seat and sighed tiredly. “Well,” he said, “we’d better figure it out soon if we’re going to save Gopher.”
Chapter 8
Heath and I stood on the first cobblestones of the causeway, shivering in the cold wind, blowing out of the north. “Jesus,” he said, ducking his chin against the elements.
I pulled at the cuffs of my gloves and patted the scarf wound thickly about my neck. “At least it’s stopped raining.”
“You ready to get this over with?”
I switched on my flashlight. Heath did the same and our beams swept over the cobblestones. An occasional wave slipped over the lip of the causeway, but otherwise, it remained dry. “I’m up for jogging it,” I told him, relieved to see it fairly clear of water.
Heath made a sweeping motion with his arm and, adopting an Irish brogue, said, “Lasses first!”
I gave him a sidelong grin and trotted forward. As we broke away from the surrounding rocks and shore, the cold wind bit into us even more. Thank God I’d packed some long underwear.
I increased my speed, wanting to get across the causeway as quickly as possible. Behind me I could hear Heath’s quick steps, telling me he was keeping pace.
We reached the rock without
Heath stepped up beside me, breathing hard. “Where should we start looking?”
I pointed to my left. “That’s where we saw Kincaid fall.”
Heath nodded. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and call up both Kincaid and Bouvet.”
I frowned. “We haven’t had that kind of luck so far.”
“So we’re due,” he said with a grin. “Come on. The sooner we find out if these two are willing to communicate, the sooner we can get back to the B&B and that warm fire.”
I hurried along after Heath as he scouted the path to the place right below where we’d watched Kincaid fall. When we stopped, I chanced a glance over my shoulder, nervous to be so close to the phantom.
“Did you see something?” Heath asked, pointing his flashlight in the direction I was looking.
“No,” I assured him. “I was just thinking how odd it is that the phantom doesn’t seem to come down those stairs.”
“It’s not that unusual,” he replied. “Especially if it wants to stick close to the gold and protect it.”
“Maybe,” I said, but something about the phantom haunting only the top of the rock bothered me.
I was silent for a few moments and Heath nudged me. “What’re you thinking?”
I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “That we might want to find out what its range is.”
“That could be dangerous.”
I cracked a smile. “And this bust has been such wholesome fun so far?”
Heath appeared to waver at my suggestion. I saw his hand move to one of the canisters tucked into his tool belt. We’d come to the rock somewhat “unarmed.” Neither of us was openly wearing magnets, but we’d brought enough canisters to give the phantom pause should we encounter it.
Finally, he said, “Let’s tackle Kincaid and Bouvet first, and see how we feel about playing tag with the phantom after, as long as we have time.”
“Cool.”
I switched off my flashlight and Heath did the same. I then pulled out one of the small handheld cameras with night vision and flipped it on. Looking through the view screen, I considered the dark green landscape. “You want to go first?” I asked Heath.
“Sure,” he said, before cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out to Kincaid. “Jordan Kincaid! If you can hear us, please give us a sign!”
We both listened for any unusual sounds, but only the wind and waves reached our ears. “Jordan Kincaid!” Heath called again.
I counted to ten, and focused the lens of the camera all around the rocks. Nothing moved and there were no unusual shadows lurking about.
“Try Bouvet,” I suggested.
“What was his first name again?”
“Gaston.”
Heath called out to Gaston, but there was no reply. I closed my eyes and focused on the ether, flipping my intuition on to high. There was a mixture of energy there at the base of the rocks. I could feel the tragedy of the three lives lost, along with other older rifts in the ether. “This rock has seen a lot of death,” I said.
Beside me, Heath reached for my hand. “I can feel it too. But none of it wants to communicate.”
I tucked the camera into my messenger bag and turned my flashlight back on. “I say we move to the stairs and see how far up we can go before we start triggering the phantom.”
Heath held my hand firmly, keeping me next to him. “Tell me why again?”
I was thinking about the crypt where Dunnyvale was interred, and about the journal entry that Kincaid had entered the night he died. He’d talked about those crypts and I just knew there was a reason Alex had gone to explore them. My own intuition was tugging me up those stairs back to that secret door, and I felt compelled to honor the impulse.
“I just want to know what our boundaries are,” I told him.
Again Heath appeared to waver.
“You can stay here,” I told him. “I’m okay going alone.” Man, was I good liar or what?
Heath slanted his lids at me. “You’re not going alone.”
“Cool,” I said, pulling my hand from his. “Then let’s get to it.”
I hurried ahead of Heath lest he think it a good idea to pick me up and haul me away caveman-style. That was only okay if we were near a bed.
We reached the stairs and I checked myself. We had to proceed slowly and carefully; otherwise, that phantom could be on both of us faster than we could react.
While holding the flashlight in one hand, I lifted out a canister with my other, and held my thumb against the rim to pop the cap quickly should I start to feel the phantom’s energy. Looking over my shoulder, I asked Heath if he was ready.
“No,” he said, pulling out two canisters himself. “But I’m not letting you go it alone.”
I smiled winningly at him before turning back to the stairs. We moved up slow and steady-like, pausing every so often to listen for any sign of any spirits including the phantom.
As I climbed, I’d periodically shone the beam of my flashlight to the left, searching for that hidden door.
“It’s up a little further,” Heath called from behind me.
He knew me too well.
A few minutes later he tugged on the back of my shirt. “There,” he said, pointing out the door in the shadow of my beam.
I stopped on the stair opposite the door. “I have a gut feeling.”
“You think Gopher’s in there?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. But something’s tugging me there.”
Heath tucked one of the canisters under his arm before closing his hand over my wrist and moving the flashlight up the stairs. We were about three-quarters of the way up, and nerve-rackingly close to the phantom’s territory.
No dark shadows presented themselves, and although the edges of my senses were picking up the uncomfortable feeling of being near the phantom, I didn’t feel that it was about to attack us.
Of course, I hadn’t truly sensed that it was about to attack me the last time either.
“Your call,” Heath said, nodding his head toward the door.
I took a deep breath and edged my way to the entrance of the crypts. The door was heavy and difficult to pull open, but with little more than a loud nerve-jarring screech, it allowed us to pass through it.
We stood in the dark entrance for a few beats, waiting, listening, and feeling the ether.
“Someone’s here,” I whispered, sensing the telltale signs of a spook nearby.
“Yep.”
I quickly turned off the flashlight and got my camera back out. Flipping it on, I held it up to eye level before clearing my throat and saying, “Hello?”
“Bonsoir,” said a very soft voice, and Heath and I both jumped.
But I saw no one either with my naked eye or through the view screen. “Hello?” I said again.
“Ah-lo?” a male voice replied.
“I think it’s Bouvet!” Heath whispered excitedly in my ear.
“Oui,” said the voice. “C’est moi.”
My eyes widened. The voice was disconnected but clear, and I waved the camera around, trying to find a shadow or form to which it might belong.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Bouvet,” Heath said. “Je m’appelle Heath.”
My eyebrows rose and I turned to him. “You speak French?”
“That’s all I know.”
There was a chuckle and the hair on my arms prickled. “Ah-lo, Heath,” said the voice with a heavy French accent. “Perhaps you will assist me?”
I smiled wide. We definitely had Bouvet!
“Certainly, sir,” said Heath. “And maybe you can help us too?”
“But of course! I am looking for mes amis. Have you seen zem?”
“No,” Heath said. “We just got here a little while ago, Mr. Bouvet. And we haven’t seen anyone else but you.”
I squinted at the view screen. And
“Zey are supposed to help me with za lid. It is most ’eavy, you know. Perhaps you might be of some assistance?”
“Sure,” Heath offered. “What lid is it that you need help with?”
There was a pause, and I wondered if we’d lost Bouvet. “Ah, zere you are!” he exclaimed suddenly before switching back to French. “Oh là! Tu m’as apporté un cadeau? Encore un de tes trésors merveilleux de l’Amérique du Sud, il paraît. C’est un vrai honneur que tu me fais là, mon vieux, et je vais l’ouvrir sur-le-champ!”
“What’s he saying?” I whispered.
“I don’t have a clue,” Heath whispered back.
Bouvet’s tone was casual and lighthearted, but I was worried. Something about the energy around us had shifted, and I thought that maybe the spirit of Gaston Bouvet had moved away from conversing with Heath and me to enter the memory of what had happened to him in the moments leading up to his death.
“Oh, but of course, mon ami!” he said, switching partially back to English. “But first you must ’elp me with ze lid!” Bouvet chuckled, as if he was still engaged in conversation with someone other than us. “Qu’est-ce?” he added, as if someone had just said something he didn’t quite hear. After a moment he said, “Oh, very well! Un, deux, trois!”
There was a popping noise ... a bit of a pause ... then the most terrified scream I’d ever heard. I jumped back against the wall, shocked and scared down to my toes as I also heard frantic footsteps racing along the stone while that scream went on, and on.
In the next instant there was a rush of wind as something whizzed right past me, and footsteps continued to sound out the doorway and up the stairs. “What the hell?” I heard Heath gasp.
My fist clutched my grenade, and my shaking fingers poised themselves on the edge of the lid. For a few seconds I considered popping the top and unleashing the spike, but then I realized that although I was scared, I wasn’t actually sensing the phantom approach ... yet.