Page 5 of The Curse of McMillan Castle
For exactly three nights he’d been the reluctant owner of some strange woman’s portrait, and for exactly three nights he’d woken in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat after the most horrid and repetitive dream. Duncan never dreamed, and yet ever since welcoming the portrait into his home, he couldn’t seem to escape the onslaught of horrible visions that found him each night as he slept.
After lying sleeplessly for the latter half of the night, Duncan finally rose from his bed, moving to light a fire for warmth as he spoke to the stray village tabby cat that he allowed into his home each night so that she wouldn’t freeze. He called her Tabitha. He wasn’t sure if anyone else in the village had taken to her enough to give her a name. She ran wild during the daytime, but for some strange reason, after years of doing exactly as she pleased, Tabitha had fallen into the habit of coming to Duncan’s home each evening, happy to seek the warmth of four walls and the comfort of someone’s company during the night’s darkest hours. Did that make Tabitha his?No,he thought to himself. He had no need of anything that required him, relied on him. He could barely take care of himself. Still, he couldn’t deny that any night that Tabitha was a little late in her arrival, part of him began to worry dreadfully for her.
“What do ye say, Tabitha? Am I losing me mind, or is there something wrong with this here painting?” He pointed at the portrait for good measure as the fire he stoked began to roar. Tabitha—bless her—turned her head in the direction he pointed and meowed in appeasement.
He chuckled and nodded. “Aye, ye are right. Mayhap I am going mad. I’m speaking to ye as if I expect ye to answer me back. Though the lad did seem in quite a hurry to be rid of this here lady, dinna he?”
It was no wonder that he’d made less from his work this year than any year prior. How did he expect to make what he needed to, when he accepted gifts rather than currency for work?
He continued speaking to Tabitha, even as the cat turned away from him, no longer interested in the conversation.
“Either way, whether it be the painting or me own mind, I doona think I can keep her in the house another night.”
The fire crackled beside him, and for a moment he had the mind to walk across the room, pick up the portrait and throw it into the flames, but as he stared into the eyes of the woman within, something stopped him.
Duncan wasn’t a believer in the supernatural. Unlike many in Scotland, he didn’t fear that he might one day wander into the land of the faeries, and he didn’t feel the need to stay indoors during a full moon. But if anything could change his mind, it would be the portrait that hung just a few paces from him. It filled his entire room with a sense of unease he didn’t care for.
“What do ye say, Tabitha? Do ye wish to follow me to me mother’s house? Ye ken she is likely to have fresh milk that she will spoil ye with.”
His mother was the village oddity. Happily widowed for decades, if not for the protection their laird provided her, Duncan was certain she would’ve been burned as a witch years ago. She wasn’t a witch, at least not that Duncan knew of. But she did have an unusual proclivity for all things occult. Perhaps she could give him some idea of what to do with the dreadful painting and how to find some restful sleep once again.
Dressing quickly, Duncan reached for the portrait before opening the door to the cold October air. As expected, Tabitha shot out of his home with such speed that he knew there was no chance of her following him over to his mother’s like some docile, obedient dog. It would be evening before he saw the wee beastie again.
It was just as well. He understood Tabitha’s wildness, and he had no desire to change it. No one had ever been able to tame him, either.
It was early still. Although most of the village still slept, he knew his mother would be awake, most likely sewing by her fire.
He knocked gently on her door before opening it as he called out to her. “Do ye ever sleep past the rising of the sun?”
His mother twisted in her chair and frowned at him. “Why ever would I do that, lad? At my age, I doona have time to waste sleeping. I doona wish to miss a moment of whatever time I have left snoring it away.”
He smiled at her and pulled up another chair near the fire before returning back to the front door of her home to pick up the portrait he’d set just inside upon entering.
“Some would say that sleep might see ye live longer.”
“Some say a fair manner of nonsense, Duncan. Ye most of all. Now, why are ye here so early? Ye have never had any trouble sleeping past the rising of the sun, as ye say, and what did ye bring in here with ye?”
Carrying the portrait over to her, he sat down across from his mother and set the bottom edge of the portrait’s frame on the floor so that his mother could see it.
“I think this lassie may be haunting me.”
“Haunting ye? Ye doona believe in ghosts.”
“I doona. But each night since she came into me possession, I have had the most terrible dreams of the woman portrayed in the painting.”
“Ye never dream.”
“Aye. I ken.”
His mother sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Just how did ye come into possession of this portrait? And what precisely, are ye dreaming?”
“Old man Travis gave it to me in exchange for some stonework I did for him. He dinna tell me until the job was done that he dinna have the means to pay me. And I dinna notice at the time just how eager he seemed to be rid of this lassie. And as for the dreams, ’tis the same dream each night. I dream that I am sleeping, but the sound of something rattling startles me awake. I wake to the fire in me home raging and this here portrait rattling furiously against the wall. When I rise from the bed and approach her, I can see tears streaming down her face. When I reach for her, her mouth opens and the wretched lass screams violently at me. Then I awake covered in sweat despite the chill in the air all around me.”
The expression on his mother’s face was stern. Pushing her feet into the ground, Duncan watched as she scooted a little further away from him.
“And ye thought it a grand idea to bring this item into me home then, did ye?”
Duncan chuckled. “I willna leave her here with ye. I wish to ken if ye have any suggestions for what I might do with her. I must have a peaceful night’s sleep, or I fear I truly shall go mad.”
