Page 41 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
The old man nodded vehemently. “Like Nelson at the Nile.”
Heather and Lynn laughed. “At least she lets you out a little,” Lynn said from across Heather. “That’s not so bad.”
The old man tucked his coin purse away, shrugging. “She lets me have a little fun now and again. I’m grateful to the old cow.”
The women continued laughing. Lynn took another bite of burger but Heather, whose mind was always in overdrive, began to ponder the little old man with the drinking allowance. From the looks of him, he had probably lived in Cullen his entire life, which meant he surely knew of the old legends in the area, Findlater included.
In her line of work, Heather had always found the locals to be the best source of information. Her eyes began to gleam with excitement, the same gleam she always got when she was on to something. Something told her not to let this old guy get away.
“Well, good for you,” she said, lifting her glass of beer in a saluting gesture. “Everybody deserves the chance to get out and live a little. Do you always come here?”
The old man nodded. “Aye,” he replied, smacking his lips after taking a long drink of dark beer. “I do. I have for years.”
“How long?”
The old man shrugged, lifting his skinny shoulders. “A long time,” he said. “I don’t know how long this place has been here, but it’s been here a long, long time.”
Heather watched him take another drink of his dark beer, nearly consuming half of it in two big swallows. She was becoming more interested in him than she was in eating her burger.
“Have you lived here all of your life?” she asked.
The old man nodded. “All me life,” he said, eyeing her a moment. “You’re a Yank. Where did you come from?”
Heather nodded. “Did my accent give me away?”
The old man snorted, his old face folded and wrinkled. “I served in the Royal Scots Fusiliers back in Hitler’s war,” he said. “I was a young lad, stationed in Italy. It was my first time away from home and there I went, off to war. I was scared out of me mind. But I had some Yank friends that made it all worthwhile. I miss those lads.”
Heather grinned. “Then you like Yanks?”
“I do.”
“I’ll bet you have some stories to tell about Italy and the war.”
The old man nodded, sipping at his beer now. He suddenly seemed somber, as if reflecting on the war he just spoke of and the lads he missed. Perhaps they had died in Italy; perhaps he was reliving that horror once again even at the whisper of a memory. Whatever the case, his movements seemed to slow a bit.
“Aye,” he finally said. “I do have lots of stories, but they belong to me. I don’t speak of what happened in Italy.”
Heather sensed she had offended him somehow and she hastened to keep the conversation going. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “My grandfather was in World War II, also. He never really talked about any of it until the last year before he died. He spent time at Bastogne. Terrible place.”
The old man nodded. “So I heard.”
He let the conversation drop after that, draining the last of his beer. Heather flagged over the bartender and paid for another drink for the old man, who accepted it with joy. Heather hoped that buying him the drink might soothe whatever insult she had dealt him.
“Don’t tell your wife I bought you a drink,” she said. “I don’t want her mad at me.”
The old man took another very long drink, licking his lips. “I wouldn’t dare betray a lass who bought me a drink,” he said, seemingly more jovial than he had been only moments before. “Thank you kindly.”
Heather grinned and lifted her glass to him, toasting their dark secret in that she had bought him more drink than his wife allowed. She took a small sip of hers; he took a big gulp of his. She eyed him a moment, her next statement being very calculated.
“So you’ve lived here all of your life,” she said casually. “Then you must know a lot of local legends.”
The old man nodded. “That I do.”
Heather indicated Lynn, whose mouth was full of the last of her burger. “My friend and I were going to Findlater Castle,” she said. “We’re very interested in it. We’ve heard it’s haunted.”
The old man looked at her, his nondescript dark eyes glimmering. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking but his demeanor seemed to change slightly. He became more… curious.
“Whitecliff Castle?” he said. “That is your destination?”
