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 Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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