Page 17 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“No, you can’t,” Pen agreed with a chuckle.

Fanny gestured to Pen, and she slipped through the doors, pausing on the entry rug beside Laszlo to take it all in. She had seen Edinburgh Castle, a village within its walls, full of museums and exhibitions. From the outset, it was tall and striking, towering on a landscape of sharp, jagged rock that overlooked Old Town.

But this castle? This castle felt like people had lived here, like it held the homely touches of a family, of a refuge in the Highlands passed down from generation to generation. It was a place caught in a time capsule. The walls were clothed in tapestries, and some of the colors had drained from the garments. The floors, though stone, were covered in rugs of rich colors, some new, others worn down by feet.

The castle might not have been large, but it was still a castle, and that, in and of itself, was some type of magic. The corridors were narrow, with strange doors set into stone walls. Pen’s eyes dragged over the details, taking note of anything and everything she saw.Thiswas a place that could inspire.Thiswas a castle where she could write.

Her friend had chosen well.

“A few rules ’fore we start,” Fanny called, drawing their attention. “When I leave this castle, I willnae be coming back during the week. Only reach out if ye have a true emergency. The nearest hospital is three hours away, and we wouldnae want ye to bleed out or anything rash.”

“That’s reassuring,” Daniela said.

“Why won’t you be coming back?” Pen asked.

Fanny turned to her, expression masked. “We ask ye not to smoke, party, or move anything in the castle during yer stay.”

“What about orgies?” Daniela asked, deadpanning.

Fanny looked between their group with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. She opened and closed her mouth several times before she cleared her throat and said, “Cannae believe I have to say this, but no orgies either.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

Pen scanned the open room. Before she knew it, she was spinning toward Storm, pulled to him like a magnet. She was startled to find his eyes already on her. Blinking, he turned away, lips pressed into a thin line as he looked around at the foyer like nothing was at all strange between them.

Fanny led Pen and the others through the vestibule with hooks for their coats to their left, the floor covered by a plush rug with a family crest. A large stag was embellished with bits of gold thread that caught the dim lighting and was surrounded by laurels, and Pen stared down at it until Laszlo closed the door behind them, blocking it from view. Pen returned her attention to the groundskeeper.

“This castle was built in the late eighteenth century. It has only had five owners in that time, which we know is a wee bit unusual. There was something of seventy-five years left to dust and ghosts after the family was unable to produce any more heirs. My grandfather was hired on by the owners of the castle in the mid-twentieth century, and we have been its caretakers ever since.”

“Ghosts, you say?” Daniela asked.

“Ghosts,” Fanny agreed. “If yer here, I’m assuming ye read the description on the website? It’s why we keep the cost so low. Just enough for upkeep and the like.”

That’s not worrying,Pen thought, wiping her sweaty palms on her pants.

They stopped just inside the foyer before a large painting of a woman. It was hung beside a staircase that led up to a landing that overlooked the foyer before splitting off to separate wings of the castle.

Pen kept her distance from the oil painting, eyes locked on the woman’s face. Although she knew little about art, Pen guessed it dated back to the early to mid-nineteenth century. The woman was dressed in black, stays pressing her breasts up to spill over the swooping collar of her empire-waisted Regency gown. Her skin was white, so translucent it was stark against the black of her hair. Her eyes were gray, and no matter where Pen seemed to stand in the foyer, it felt as if they followed her every movement.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Daniela asked, leaning close.

“Creepy,” Pen agreed quietly.

“Who was she?” Laszlo asked.

“We dinnae ken, but many visitors have claimed to see her ghost lurking in the hall at night or looking out over the grounds from the abandoned wing. Some say she is searching for a boy she killed. Many say his screams can be heard when the clock strikes three.”

Also not worrying,Pen thought.

“Have you seen her?” Laszlo asked.

“The woman in black?” Fanny shook her head. “Nay, not the woman in black.”

Pen noticed Fanny didn’t specify further, and the thought of even more ghosts made her shiver. She wanted to look away from the painting, but she was drawn to the woman captured oncanvas. There was a small, jagged tear in the canvas across the top, splitting the charcoal paint like a wound on skin. It was uneven and imperfect, almost as though something or someone had scraped their sharpened nails across it.

“Don’t you have records?” Storm asked from Laszlo’s other side.

“No. They were all lost from a leak in the roof. Many of the books in the study were replaced in the eighties because of it. The castle has since been repaired, but too late for the records, I’m afraid.”