The Haunted Castle. Part Four.

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The Haunted Castle. Part Four.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Myrtle’s Diary.

I managed to get hold of Little Willie on several occasions, and turned up gold. A shattered piece of prototype space rocket, with not only the Virgin insignia on it, but blood that just must be mum’s. It is at a private forensic laboratory now along with her feet that I found at the crash site, and some of mum’s hair from home. It was checked for DNA and matched. Sadly though it will not be enough!

 

The insurance company will not accept that as ‘definitive proof,’ their words not mine, of Brenda’s death. I need another plan! In fact, I need a miracle.

***

Meanwhile, in Castle Barnard’s kitchen sits Spot, at the iPad stolen from Danny Kemp, composing yet more stupid poetry and letters to his uncommitted sweetheart, Tracey Edges.

Dearest, darling Tracey

Oh how the sweetness of your breath, fills every recess and crevice of my nest.

I long for the night that you do succumb, to the rhythm of my desire as my love does run.

(Useless, isn’t he. It gets worse)

Fill my heart with your love. I’ll send this message tied to a dove…… 

(Feel pity for me, please. I have to copy this rubbish)

There has been a great deal going on here in the past few weeks that have disturbed me, Tracey. Little Willie has constructed a direct passage from the cemetery into the basement, with the help of that roofing inspector chappie, and some objects have been removed! I asked them what they were doing, but was only told that odd pieces of metal may have fallen from the building, becoming lodged in the dungeons at sometime. Somewhat queer, don’t you think.

On reflection that could be the cause of the rattling, chain like, noises I hear. I do sincerely hope that is true, as I would hate it if you were woken needlessly, after we marry, from the blissful sleep you no doubt will find.

The smell of rotting leeks has returned, to be joined by the sound of wailing and hammering type noises. I am baffled by it all. If I had never rubbed that jar of Branson pickles of yours and met Dickie, the genie, then I would never believe in spirits and ghosts. 

I’m of the opinion that there is indeed a ghost in this there Castle!

Spot

***

Myrtle’s Diary.

Little Willie has risen to the occasion. I figured that if mum was able to communicate with me, telling of the events directly before her death, then I could present that to the insurance company. I left a note to that effect, along with her favourite leeks, whilst Little Willie left a hammer and chisel. Mum must now chisel her message into stone, which I will take a photo of, presenting it as proof.

*** 

Dearest Tracey,

I have found the ghost of…..Brenda! She crashed aboard a Virgin moon rocket a few days before I bought Castle Barnard…. What a coincidence, eh! 

The hammering noise was atrocious last night, so I went to investigate. As I turned a corner, down in the dungeons, I saw a hammer hitting a chisel and writing something in one of the pillars. I shouted out and approach slowly, but as I did so both the hammer and chisel fell to the floor. The place then filled with a freezing mist that swirled around, for a second or two, then disappeared through me!

I went blue with cold. I was completely numb, but luckily the sensation soon passed and I was able to move. I read the message, Tracey. Please be seated before you read on. You will be amazed at the revelation that I found! This was the carved message:

Myrtle, when I escaped from that military prison I made it as far as the Virgin rocket site, about five miles away. There was no plan. My only thoughts were of you, and the Queen’s throne of Wales. I was trying to work out how to fly their moon shuttle when the manacles, they had around my feet and hands, tangled with an outside rocket booster. The balance was wrong, and I had no control. I crashed here minutes after takeoff. If it’s any consolation I felt nothing, only an insatiable appetite. Thank you for the leeks and I’m sorry that you have lost your dad as well as me, your mother. Good luck with the insurance money, but I doubt they will believe all this. 

Brenda,

In ghostly form; Queen Of The Welsh.

***

Tracey, Tracey,

The roofing man is not a man but Myrtle in disguise. What can I do? Spot urgently needs HELP.

Spot

***

Will the insurance company be reasonable

And common sense see? 

Will Tracey advise Spot,

Or will she flee? 

Will the marriage go on as planned,

Or will there never be those wedding bands? 

Will Myrtle get the money, 

Or will it slip through her hands?

More soon in Part Five!

© 2014, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

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About Daniel Kemp

Daniel Kemp, ex-London police officer, mini-cab business owner, pub tenant and licensed London taxi driver never planned to be a writer, but after his first novel —The Desolate Garden — was under a paid option to become a $30 million film for five years until distribution became an insurmountable problem for the production company what else could he do? Nowadays he is a prolific storyteller, and although it’s true to say that he mainly concentrates on what he knows most about; murders laced by the intrigue involving spies, his diverse experience of life shows in the short stories he compiles both for adults and children. He is the recipient of rave reviews from a prestigious Manhattan publication, been described as —the new Graham Green — by a managerial employee of Waterstones Books, for whom he did a countrywide tour of signing events, and he has appeared on ‘live' television.
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