By the time the village came into view, evening had fallen and every window shone amber against the dark. Ian must have looked like a man returned from burial, for the first people who saw him crossed themselves before he had even stepped onto the dock.
Before the night was done, he had told the story to a room gone silent around him. Some called it madness. Some wept because they had heard their grandparents whisper parts of the same tale.
At dawn, the villagers followed Ian to the forbidden cliffs. They entered the caves with lamps and cloths over their mouths, and what they found turned rumor into truth forever. Bones beyond counting. Rusted iron. Scratches in stone. Proof enough to make even the doubters kneel.
They carried the remains into daylight over three long days, and with each bundle borne from the cave, the air within seemed to grow lighter. On the final evening, when the last bones were lifted and the village elders spoke the prayers of farewell above the tide, Ian looked back at the dark mouth in the cliff.
For a moment, the cave was full of figures made of pearl-gray mist, standing in still rows. None of them begged now. They only watched as the sea wind moved through them, and then, like breath fading from a mirror, they were gone.
Told to Michael Lauglin by Ian Lauglin on his death-bed – 91 years of age
***
“Michael?” frowned Rose. “You knew? You knew there were bodies down there and what they’d endured. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I gave a promise to me granddad, lass. I promised I would never speak of it again. But O’Shan is lying. He was never a good master. He was always evil. It is not his death that he forgets. He forgets his life.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“We understand,” said Joseph nodding. “I don’t agree that you withheld that information from us but I understand why you did it, Michael. At least because of you those poor people were given proper burials.”
“I do think he’s right about one thing,” said Julia. “I don’t think O’Shan remembers his life. Not all of it. He put those people in that cave and let them die if they were no longer of use to him. He was dreaming up torture for them the more the cure failed.”
“We put a stop to it. Today,” said Conor. “Let’s go.”
With several vehicles filled they drove the short distance to Castle O’Shan. The moment they stepped out of the vehicles,everyone felt the oppressive hatred and spirit inside. He was angry and tired. His need was reaching a fever pitch and nothing was going to satisfy it.
“We will be with you,” said Eagle Feather. “You might not see us but we will be there.”
“Thank you,” said Gabi. She took Zulu’s hand, his body encased in the stealth netting. In his pouch was the stealth blanket should he need to get Gabi out quickly.
Joseph walked in first, taking the steps slowly again. This time, before when he reached the final step, he heard the voice of John O’Shan.
“I smell you Indian,” he said in a disgusted voice.
“Funny, I bathed this morning,” said Joseph standing on the landing. He could feel the presence of Zulu behind him but turning, he only saw the pale face of Gabi.
“Did you find my cure?” asked O’Shan.
“I found someone meeting the description,” he said. He pulled Gabi to the top step and John O’Shan nearly looked as if he might faint. Joseph wondered if ghosts could faint and then brushed the thought aside. “She is exactly what you asked for and more.”
“And more? What do you mean more?”
“I am a physician,” said Gabi. Joseph felt her hand shaking and took it in his own. He knew that Zulu was near her, probably touching her as well. “What you have cannot be cured by any blood. Nothing can cure it. You are dead.”
“I am in waiting!” he screamed with a pitch so violent Gabi covered her ears.
“You are not in waiting,” she said breathlessly. “You are dead. You’ve been dead a very long time and you’ll forgive mefor saying this but if ever there was a man who deserved to die, it was you.”
He stared at her, his ghostly breath seemingly coming in shorter and shorter spurts. Stepping forward he reached for her but his hands were somehow bound, unable to move.
Grip, Archie, and Eagle Feather appeared. Apparently a ghost could restrain a ghost. Who knew? Hezekiah stepped forward.
“I am Dr. Hezekiah Morton. You suffered from a disease that could not be cured. Taking the blood of anyone would never have cured it.”
“You’re wrong!” he screamed struggling against their grip. But the younger men were much stronger. “She is my cure. Just let me have her blood. She is exactly what the priest said I needed. Silver hair, unnatural eyes, skin of pearls. She is everything!”
“I am not everything,” whispered Gabi. “I am much older than sixty.”
