A Heather & Sand Halloween fiction. The adventure, characters encountered and spooky goings-on below are entirely imagined.
There are several phrases you don’t want to hear in a castle as darkness falls.
“What was that?” is one.
“Wasn’t that door open?” is another.
But the one that started all our trouble was perfectly familiar.
“Just one more photograph.”
Tom was standing beneath an archway at Bamburgh Castle, looking at the evening light with the expression he usually reserves for a particularly promising breakfast.
Beyond the walls, the sea had turned slate grey. A little October mist was gathering along the coast, and the last light lay across the stonework like warm honey.
It was beautiful.
It was also time to go home.
Peter was waiting in the car with Meg. Flynn was with his grandmother, where the evening’s most frightening prospect was being offered mashed carrot.
We had agreed to be five minutes.
That had been twenty minutes ago.
“Last one,” I said.
“Absolutely.”
He lifted the camera.
Somewhere behind us, a door closed.
Not a little click.
A proper, final, medieval sort of clunk.
Just the wind
By the time Tom had finished checking his photograph, the courtyard was empty.
Our footsteps sounded unexpectedly loud.
“Which way did we come in?” I asked.
“This way.”
We tried the door.
It didn’t move.
Tom tried it again, with the slightly firmer hand men use when they believe a door has misunderstood them.
Still nothing.
“Probably another exit.”
The next door was locked too.
We looked at each other.
Tom gave me a reassuring smile.
I have known that smile for years. It generally appears shortly before we discover we have walked three miles in the wrong direction.
Then something scraped overhead.
A long, slow metallic sound.
We both looked up.
“Old building,” Tom said.
“Yes.”
“Things move.”
“Yes.”
“Temperature changes. Pipes.”
“Armoured pipes?”
The scraping stopped.
From somewhere beyond the passage came three distinct knocks.
Tom’s smile became less ambitious.
The woman at the window
We called out.
“Hello?”
Our voices went away into the castle and returned sounding less confident.
No answer.
Tom checked his phone.
“Well?” I asked.
He held it a little higher.
Then higher still.
Unless he was trying to photograph a satellite, it wasn’t encouraging.
We moved towards a courtyard window. Across the darkening space, another window glowed faintly.
Something pale passed behind it.
Tall.
White.
Gone.
“Did you see that?” I whispered.
“Probably someone working.”
“Good. Let’s speak to them.”
We hurried down the passage.
At the far end stood a suit of armour.
I was certain it hadn’t been there before.
This was probably unfair to the armour, which may have been standing there for a considerable number of years, but I wasn’t feeling generous.
Behind it, a door stood slightly open.
“Hello?” Tom called again. “We seem to have been locked—”
The door swung shut.
A moment later, footsteps sounded on the other side.
Slow footsteps.
Heavy ones.
Tom lowered his camera into its bag.
I noticed.
In our household, that is roughly the equivalent of a ship’s captain ordering the lifeboats lowered.
A perfectly reasonable explanation
“There’ll be a perfectly reasonable explanation,” he said.
“I’d love to meet it.”
We stood still.
The footsteps stopped.
Tom took one step forward.
From beyond the door came a low voice.
“Who’s there?”
Now, in daylight, with a cup of tea in my hand, I can see that this was an excellent opportunity to introduce ourselves.
At the time, the voice seemed to come from somewhere near the floor.
Tom and I took a step backwards.
The voice called again.
“Hello?”
Something rattled.
The door began to open.
A pale figure emerged, broad at the shoulders, with what appeared to be a long white head.
Beside me, Tom made a small sound.
I won’t attempt to spell it.
Then the figure lurched towards us.
“Wait—”
We did not wait.
The least dignified escape in Northumberland
I would like to say that we acted calmly.
I would also like to say that I have never eaten Flynn’s emergency biscuits in the car.
Neither would be true.
We ran.
Tom went left.
I went right.
Unfortunately, we were holding hands.
After a brief discussion conducted entirely through elbows, we both went left.
Behind us came a crash, followed by a tremendous metallic clatter.
“The armour!” I gasped.
“I know!”
“It’s following us!”
“It can’t be!”
“Tell it!”
We reached a narrow doorway at exactly the same moment.
For one unhelpful second, we became a single person with four shoulders.
Tom’s camera bag caught on the door handle.
He stopped dead.
I did not.
There was a noise from him which I suspect the Percys would have recognised as a surrender.
Then we were through, stumbling into a small room with a window looking out towards the approach.
I pushed the door shut.
Tom leaned against it.
We listened.
Silence.
Outside, beyond the glass, I could see the car.
And in its rear window, two very familiar ears.
“Meg.”
A bark with a purpose
I waved both arms.
Meg sat up.
I waved harder.
She pressed her nose towards the glass.
“Peter!” I shouted.
The window was thick. My voice seemed to fall straight back into the room.
Meg barked.
Once.
Then again.
In the front seat, Peter turned towards her.
I could almost hear him.
They’ll be back in a minute, Meg.
She barked louder.
I pulled my scarf off and waved it beside the window.
Meg put her front paws up and began the sort of barking she normally reserves for a delivery van committing the offence of existing.
Peter looked towards the castle.
I waved.
He leaned forward.
Then he opened the car door.
“There!” I said. “He’s seen us!”
Tom joined me at the window.
With both of us waving, Peter finally raised a hand.
Then he got out, clipped on Meg’s lead and hurried towards a departing member of staff.
Meg went with him at a determined trot.
She had the air of someone who had been obliged to take over a badly managed situation.
The ghost removes his sheet
Our rescuer arrived with keys.
Behind him came a second man, carrying a white sheet, a wooden stand and the expression of someone whose evening had also gone badly wrong.
It took a little untangling.
The pale figure had been a Halloween decoration under a dust sheet.
The man carrying it had been trying to work out who was calling from the passages.
The scraping was its stand dragging across the floor.
The footsteps were his.
The low voice had come while he was bending down to free the sheet from a wheel.
And the terrible crash?
He glanced at Tom.
“Did you catch the armour with your bag?”
Tom looked down at the camera bag.
There was a pause.
“Possibly.”
The man nodded.
“Thought so. The gauntlet came off.”
I shut my eyes.
We had fled from a man carrying a decoration, pursued by a noise we had made ourselves.
There are moments in a relationship when kindness is important.
I decided I could be kind tomorrow.
Our very good girl
Outside, Meg greeted us as though we had returned from several years at sea.
I crouched down and put both arms around her.
“Yes,” I told her. “You were absolutely right.”
She licked my chin.
Peter looked from me to Tom.
“Get your photograph?”
Tom took a breath.
I answered for him.
“He’s captured quite enough for one evening.”
Back in the car, with the heater on and Meg settled behind us, the whole thing began to seem funny.
Quite suddenly, very funny.
Tom even laughed at the doorway incident, although he maintained that the camera bag had been chiefly responsible.
“I knew there’d be an explanation,” he said.
“You did.”
“I wasn’t particularly worried.”
“No.”
“I was mostly concerned about you.”
“Of course.”
Peter caught my eye in the mirror.
I left it there.
As we pulled away, I looked back at the castle.
In one of the upper windows, a pale shape stood perfectly still.
A reflection, probably.
A curtain.
Another decoration waiting to be put away.
Behind me, Meg lifted her head.
She gave one small, low growl.
I faced forwards.
“Everything all right?” Tom asked.
“Lovely.”
I reached across and took his hand.
Tom had wanted to capture the spirit of Bamburgh.
Next time, he can buy a postcard.