What a Ghoul Wants (6 page)

I felt a nudge on my elbow and looked away from Arthur to see Heath tugging at me.
“Merrick!” he mouthed. “The clerk!”

My eyes widened and I looked back again to the figure on the tarp. We were close enough
not to be hampered by the mist, and the body was well lit by the portable lights set
up for the police and the coroner. When I took a second look, I realized Heath was
right. Disguised by the blue of his skin and the bloating to his body, he was hard
at first to identify, but that shock of red hair and the set to his chin were enough
to convince me. Well, that and the reaction of poor Mr. Crunn. “That’s my clerk,”
Arthur said, pointing feebly at the body. “Merrick Brown. He was supposed to be on
duty overnight.”

“What time did his shift begin?” the inspector asked him, scribbling furiously into
his notebook.

“He was on a twelve-hour shift,” Crunn said. “Six p.m. to six a.m.”

“That’s quite a long stretch to be on duty,” the inspector said, and I noted the hint
of disapproval in his tone.

“He’s allowed a cot in the hallway behind the clerk station. He can sleep the whole
night through if none of the guests require his services. It’s often a very quiet
shift, and Merrick prefers it. Er. . . preferred it.” Arthur seemed unable to tear
his eyes away from the tarp, and as the inspector was opening his mouth to ask him
another question, the poor old man swayed on his feet, and his hand fell out of mine.
In an instant Heath had him under the armpits, holding him up when Crunn’s knees gave
out from under him.

Inspector Lumley stepped in front of me to help Heath ease Arthur to the ground. “Arthur?
Are you all right?” Lumley asked as Crunn’s head wobbled on his neck.

I wanted to yell at him. Of course he wasn’t! I looked around and saw that one of
the men standing nearby wore a paramedic’s uniform. “Hey!” I called to him. He looked
up from the body and noticed Arthur sitting dully on the ground. He was in motion
in an instant.

I stepped out of the way and so did Heath, and we watched while the paramedic tended
to Crunn, who was now hyperventilating and complaining that he felt dizzy.

Lumley appeared rattled by the fact that Arthur had gotten so upset, and I could see
a bit of guilt cross his countenance as he helped the medic tend to the older man.

After taking Crunn’s vitals, the paramedic said, “He’s having a panic attack, Inspector.”

Lumley’s frown deepened. “Arthur,” he said as the medic placed an oxygen mask over
the old man’s nose and mouth. “I’m sorry for all this distress. Is your sister at
the castle?”

Crunn was taking heaving breaths and holding tight to the oxygen mask. He lifted one
hand and it shook violently as he attempted to point to the keep. The inspector seemed
to take that for a yes and stood up to call to a round man with droopy eyes and a
series of double chins, wearing a constable’s uniform, standing nearby. “Niles,” he
said. “Go inside and see if you can rouse Mrs. Farnsworth, Mr. Crunn’s sister.”

“What room is she in?” Niles said.

Arthur reached up and grabbed my hand. I bent down and he managed to gasp, “Kit. . .
chen.”

I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to go with the constable to help
find your sister?”

Arthur gave one slow nod.

I stood and motioned for the constable to come with me. Heath tucked in behind us
as we backtracked along the same route we’d come by, moving up the hill again at a
faster pace this time. I was terribly worried about that poor old man. I wondered
if the sight of his deceased clerk had perhaps been too much of a strain on his heart,
and I was also a little furious at the inspector for exposing a fragile elderly gentleman
to such a grim and distressing thing.

We crossed the bridge without a word and I was the first to reach the door. Arthur
had left it unlocked, but the moisture was making it stick a little and I struggled
with it until Heath’s strong arms wrapped around mine and he helped me. The door gave
a tremendous squeak and I looked back at him gratefully.

I went through first, followed by the constable and then Heath. We descended the stairs
and went through the next doorway without incident, then out onto the low bridge that
spanned the moat. The bridge was quite narrow and we could travel across it only one
at a time. As I took my first several steps onto the stone structure, I could feel
my breath quicken.

It took me a moment to realize that the farther into the tunnel I went, the more distressed
I was becoming. I felt as if the low-hanging ceiling was starting to close in on me.
At first I tried to tamp the feeling down. Traveling through tunnellike enclosures
has never been a pleasant experience for me. I’d nearly met my maker in one or two
of them in fact.

So it was no wonder that I was having this reaction. But the more I tried to calm
my nerves, the more apparent it was that the anxiety mounting inside of me may not
have been exclusively due to the architecture.

About five yards onto the bridge, I came to an abrupt halt, which caused the constable
to bump into me. “Sorry,” he muttered, and I could feel him waiting impatiently for
me to continue.

“M. J.?” Heath said a bit farther back. “You okay?”

I nodded out of habit, but the truth was that I wasn’t okay at all. Goose pimples
were lining my arms and the air in the tunnel had suddenly become so cold that I could
clearly see my breath in the dim light. “Something’s wrong,” I whispered.

“Eh?” asked the constable. “What’s that?”

“Em?” Heath called again.

I backed up, or tried to, but the policeman was still right behind me and we bumped
together again. “You all right, miss?” he asked.

My heart was pounding in my chest and my sixth sense was going haywire. Something
was in the tunnel with us. Something bad.

Behind me I heard Heath’s sharp intake of air. He’d sensed it too. “We need to find
another route,” he said softly.

“What’s the matter with you lot?” the impatient constable snapped. “It’s straight
through here to the main keep. Just carry on, miss, and we’ll be there in a moment.”

“No,” I said, pushing back against him. “We’re not going across this bridge.” All
I wanted to do was get out of that damn enclosed space.

I could feel the constable’s impatience as he resisted my attempts to push him back
the way we’d come. “Listen ’ere,” he said, but the moment the words were out of his
mouth, there was a sound. . . like a hiss at the other end of the bridge, and I could
feel a rippling sensation all along my skin. The atmosphere had just gone from really
bad to way worse.

The sound affected all of us the same way; no one moved or said another word for several
seconds. Finally I risked an anxious “Heath?”

“I’m right here, but we need to get out of here. Now.”

Behind me I could feel the constable’s weight shift slightly away from me, so either
he was inching back or Heath was physically pulling him. And for the briefest moment
I actually felt like we were gonna get out of there without the evil spirit noticing,
but that was quickly quashed when another rather unearthly sound reached our ears.
I’d call it laughter, but it was hardly that. It was the cackling sound of a lunatic
and it filled the tunnel from floor to ceiling, echoing and bouncing off the walls
and our bodies.

It grew louder too, and soon it was at such an awful volume that I reached up to cover
my ears.
“Stop!”
I shouted when even that became unbearable, and the most unusual thing happened:
The cackling ceased and once again we were plunged into eerie silence save for the
quiet lapping of the water beneath the bridge.

“What the bloody hell was
that
?” the constable squeaked.

“Nothing good,” I replied, once again pushing against him as I tried to back up away
from the source, which I knew remained ominously in front of us. “Move!” I growled
when the constable stood rooted to the spot by his own fear.

He had taken one step back when all of a sudden a figure appeared just fifteen feet
or so from us. I let out a startled squeak, as did the man behind me.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the constable raise his flashlight and illuminate
a set of tattered rags, which hung loosely about the gaunt figure of a woman with
pale white skin, marred by several long scars, and when the beam of the light shone
on the woman’s face, we all gasped anew.

Wide wild eyes stared at us with an intensity that chilled me to the bone. Her long
hair was so matted, tangled, and dirty that it was hard to tell what color it was,
and as I stared at her in shock, a wicked smile spread across her evil face, revealing
a rotted row of brown teeth and cracked, bleeding lips.

I backed up into the constable again, but he wouldn’t budge—likely so terrified by
the horrible figure in front of us that he’d gone temporarily immobile.

The hag’s eyes narrowed and she trained her evil stare at me before she strode purposely
forward to stop just a few feet from us. I could smell the fetid odor of her breath
and I nearly gagged on it. She spoke then, her voice raspy and thick, but I couldn’t
understand a single word she said. When I didn’t respond, she lifted a thick black
chain that I hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. I stared at it for a few beats before
inching my own hand up to move the beam of the constable’s light along the black metal
as it trailed to the floor and away about six or seven feet to attach to a metal collar
secured about the neck of a Merrick Brown who looked as frightened as I felt. Maybe
even more so.

I was so stunned to see him standing there that for several seconds my brain couldn’t
quite make sense of it. He seemed to be struggling with the circumstance of being
there too, because in a desperate tone he asked, “What’s happened to me?”

At this the haggard woman in front of us whirled around and flew at him; crossing
back across the bridge, she charged Merrick, who cowered at her approach but did little
else to defend himself as she raised her hand and smacked him with far more force
than I could’ve imagined she was able to wield. She then uttered something guttural
and spat at him and he shuffled back a few paces. Behind me Heath yelled out, “Hey!
Leave him alone!” and the crazed woman merely looked over her shoulder and smiled
wickedly before smacking Merrick hard again.

I wanted to do something to stop the assault, but my brain was finally putting the
mystery of Merrick’s appearance into place. “Heath!” I yelled. “Grab the constable
and run!”

I then turned and shoved the constable so hard that he nearly fell backward. Heath
reached out at just the right moment to catch him by the shoulder and pull him along,
and we moved swiftly toward the stairs.
“Go, go, go, go, go!”
I shouted, feeling the presence of the hag bearing down on me, and just as Heath
made it through the doorway, I felt her grab hold of the collar of my sweater and
yank me back so hard that I lost my footing.

I fell to the stone floor, landing flat on my back, and the impact knocked the wind
right out of me. I reached out blindly and tried to call out to Heath, but I had no
air. A freezing cold hand latched on to my upper arm and gave a tremendous pull and
then the hag’s face filled my vision, her eyes wicked and cruel. I tried to swat at
her, but she ducked my hands, squeezing my arm even harder and giving me a swift kick
in the ribs to boot.

“Heath!”
I managed, and in an instant he was there. I felt his strong arms grab hold of my
legs, giving me a good tug out of the clutches of the spook before he lifted me into
his arms, hugging me tightly to pivot around and push me forward toward the door.
Somehow I got my feet underneath me and limped quickly to the steps, but just as I’d
made it up the first two stairs, I felt Heath’s presence at my back suddenly vanish.

Whirling around, I saw him being dragged away by the hag, back onto the bridge. The
scene seemed impossible—the hag was barely as tall as I was, and yet she was overpowering
Heath like he was a small child. He struggled mightily, but her grip on him was too
firm and he couldn’t keep her from pulling him backward onto the bridge.

I made to jump back down the stairs, my arms outstretched to help, but the door slammed
shut in my face. Frantically, I grabbed for the handle, yanking hard on it, but it
was stuck fast.
“Heath!”
I screamed, pounding on the door. I could hear his strangled voice from the other
side as he struggled with the ghostly hag. “Heath! Heath!
Heath!
” I cried, banging on the door and pulling at the handle, but it was no use. The door
was locked tight and I couldn’t get through.

And then, above my cries and pounding I heard a loud splash, like someone being plunged
into the water. I gasped and stopped pounding on the door to press my ear against
it. Through the wood I could hear the sounds of more splashing, as if someone was
flailing around in the water, and intuitively I knew that Heath had been pulled or
had fallen over the side of the low stone wall. In a state of panic I flew up the
stairs, nearly knocking the constable over in my haste, and I moved to the railing
of the bridge, searching the black water for any sign of Heath. But there was no sign
of him.

“Heath!”
I shouted. I heard faint splashing sounds, which were coming from inside the outer
wall of the castle. From up here I could see a low overhang where the moat flowed
freely underneath the outer wall. My chest tightened. Heath was athletic and strong
and a solid swimmer to boot, but that splashing was taking on a frantic rhythm and
I had the most horrible feeling that he was right then in the fight of his life.

The constable suddenly appeared next to me and shone his flashlight at the dark water
along the wall. “Where is he?” he demanded.

I didn’t answer. Instead I kicked off my boots, tore off my sweater, and grabbed for
his light (praying that the thing was waterproof). I then pulled myself up onto the
lip of the bridge wall, and dived in.