Page 4 of Spellbinding Spirit

Two knocks follow almost instantly, spaced just enough apart to make it feel like someone—or something—is thinking about the response.

I glance at the camera to make sure it’s rolling. My pulse quickens as Philip continues.

“Are you the Grey Lady?” he asks, and we both wait. Silence.

“Are you someone else?” Another pause, and then—knock knock.

Philip’s grin grows wider. “Unbelievable,” he breathes. “Your turn.”

I hesitate, feeling the weight of the moment. It’s always the same thrill—the possibility that this time, it’s real. “Did you live in this house?” I ask.

Knock. Knock.

“What year did you die?” Philip presses. “Knock once for before 1900, twice for after.”

Knock. Once.

“Oh this is brilliant,” Philip says, leaning against the corridor wall. “We’re going to have a whole bloody interview at this rate.”

But before he can ask another question the knocks come again. Rapid this time—three, four, five in a row. It’s chaotic, like the sound is tumbling over itself. My stomach tightens.

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “We didn’t ask anything.”

The knocks continue, now erratic and seemingly random. Philip’s grin falters as he looks around the corridor. The sound isn’t coming from one spot anymore; it’s bouncing, first from the far corner then near the windows. My eyes dart to the jar in the centre of the room but the feather is perfectly still.

“Is it... messing with us?” Philip mutters.

I’m about to respond when the noise crescendos—a loud bang, bang, bang that rattles the windows. Philip jumps to his feet, his torch beam swinging wildly.

“Wait!” I hiss. “Look at the window.” I direct my torch towards where the noise is coming from.

We both stop and stare at the narrow shutter on the far end of the corridor. It slams against the frame again as the wind howls through the cracks. For a moment neither of us says anything. Then Philip lets out a bark of laughter.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, doubling over. “A bloody shutter! We were interrogating a shutter.”

“I don’t think I’ll write a paper about that,” I laugh. “All that knocking and it’s just the wind.”

Philip chuckles. “Still, you have to admit it had us going for a bit.”

We settle down again and wait and wait. Time moves slowly and nothing out of the ordinary happens. Come four o’clock I’m about to nod off so we call it a night and pack up the equipment with a mixture of amusement and mild disappointment. The castle feels less intimidating now; surely if there had been anything it would have made itself known in the last four hours. Philip’s still chuckling to himself as we make our way back through the hall.

“‘Are you the Grey Lady?’” he mimics, shaking his head. “She’s probably having a good laugh too, wherever she is.”

I smile but my mind drifts back to the knocks. There’s a tiny part of me that can’t quite shake the way they seemed to respond, just for those few moments.

The night air brushes past us as we step into the main foyer, cool and sharp. I sling my gear over my shoulder, ready for my bed. Philip is already halfway to the door when I hear it—a faint voice, barely audible.

It’s not a word, not really, just a low, melodic sound like someone humming under their breath. I freeze and strain to listen. It’s so soft that I almost convince myself it’s my imagination. Almost.

“Professor?” Philip calls, holding the door open.

“Coming,” I reply, shaking my head. “Just... thought I heard something.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. I glance back one last time and scan the dark, empty hall. Nothing moves, nothing stirs. The castle is silent again.

As I step outside the voice lingers in my mind like a melody I can’t quite place. But I dismiss it. It’s late, and we’ve already had one false alarm tonight. Still, as we drive away from Livemore Castle I can’t help but wonder if we missed something.

Chapter 3

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