Page 18 of The Curse of McMillan Castle
Three Days Later
Rosie
Rosie couldn’t take it another moment. She couldn’t be startled awake for another night. This had to end once and for all.
Returning the portrait to the castle hadn’t done what Duncan hoped. Rather than putting the poor woman’s soul to rest, the painting had simply moved on from haunting Duncan. Now she spent her nights haunting Rosie, and Rosie couldn’t bear another moment of it.
Sure, she’d wanted to see a ghost in theory. And while she hadn’t seen anactualghost yet, what she had seen was enough to put her curiosity to rest.
For the third night in a row, Rosie found herself awake in the darkest hours of the night. Only this time, she wasn’t going to allow Osla to wake her. This time, she would see it happen in real time. Perched on the end of her bed, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, candles lit around the room so she could keep a close eye on the painting, Rosie waited.
She would see the painting start to rattle. She would see Osla’s eyes shift ever so slightly. She had to see it. She needed to witness the act herself to know for certain that her late-night horror story readings hadn’t caused her to imagine all of it.
The first night, it was easy to convince herself that it was only her imagination at play. Tell someone a house is haunted and it won’t take long for something to happen to convince them it’s true—even if it isn’t. Her reading had shown her that much. She imagined a painting could work much the same way.
She’d been told the painting was haunted. Now her mind was working overtime to prove to herself that it was. But it wasn’t her imagination that caused the painting to fall from its propped position against her wall, and she swore that Osla’s eyes shifted just a little that first night after she lifted her back up into place.
The second night was even more obvious. The corner of Osla’s mouth was most assuredly turned up at one side after falling and her eyes looked even more changed.
Still, she’d yet to see anything actually happen. Both nights she’d only witnessed the aftermath after being awakened by a clamor. This time she needed to see it.
One hour passed. Then two. By the third, she was almost convinced that perhaps it had been her mind inventing it all. Maybe the frame was bent at the bottom making it unstable and causing it to fall over onto its face? Maybe she hadn’t properly studied Osla’s face before and only thought that it had changed.
But then, three and a half hours into her stakeout, something in the room began to shift. A chill washed over Rosie as the air grew cold around her. Reaching up a hand, she quickly rubbed at her eyes to push the sleep away as her hand holding the candle began to shake.
Then, ever so slowly, the portrait began to tremble, back and forth, back and forth against the wall. Rosie wanted to scream but couldn’t manage to open her mouth enough to do so. Instead, she gripped her blanket more closely around her shoulders and watched.
Osla’s eyes suddenly jerked inside the painting, changing directions until it looked as if she were peering right at Rosie. Rosie locked eyes with Osla’s pleading gaze before the painting rocked hard once more and fell onto its face.
“That’s it. Enough.” Rosie said the words aloud as she stood with the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. Still shaking, Rosie ran from the room, unsure of just who she intended to seek out until she found herself in front of Cooper’s bedroom door.
Knowing that Cooper shared his room with his younger siblings, Rosie pushed the door open as quietly as she could, tiptoeing toward the edge of his bed before placing a hand over his mouth as she lowered herself to whisper into his ear.
“Wake up. I need you.”
Rosie couldn’t see Cooper’s expression in the darkness, but his weary voice struggled to answer against her hand before she released him.
“Ro..Rosie?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Come here. I need your help.”
Without a word, Cooper rose from his bed and followed her out into the hallway. No matter how much he got on her nerves, she had to admit that Cooper never did let her down when she really needed him.
As soon as Cooper closed the door behind him, Rosie reached for his hand and began to pull him back toward her own bedroom.
“Cooper, I did something I shouldn’t have, and I need your help to get rid of it.”
Cooper’s voice was hesitant as he answered her.
“What did you do?”
“I think it’s better if I show you. It’s in my bedroom.”
* * *
Cooper
He couldn’t let Rosie see how frightened he truly was. She already thought he was too young—too little—as she so often liked to point out to him. No. Rosie was frightened. That meant he had to be strong for her. This wasn’t a ghost. This was just a painting—a haunted painting.
