TODAY, WE FEATURE OUR TEAM MEMBER, JANE MURRAY WHO IS WRITING AND SHARING AS D.C. CUMMINGS WITH HER NOVEL 'THE CASTLE'

THE CASTLE

BY D.C. CUMMINGS

EXCERPT

‘It isn’t very scary, is it, Nona?’

Fifi turned to her grandmother, wrinkling up her nose as they stood outside Gwydrwn Castle. The rain had abated slightly and thus, the chance to escape the confines of the caravan had presented itself. Bundling three bored, whining children into the car, Nonny had driven them to the haunted castle, after making a hasty appointment with the castle’s guardian the night before by telephone. Huw, grumbling about his hip, had refused to accompany the family group, insisting he was in too much pain to go with them.

Disconnecting the call, Nonny had heaved a sigh of relief. During the whole of the call, she had been gripped with a feeling of intense dislike, bordering on hatred towards the woman she had been speaking to. Puzzled by her reaction, she had shrugged and headed for the main bedroom of the caravan to tell Huw, but on seeing her face, he had simply said, ‘Not now, Nonny, my hip’s hurting.’

‘Your bloody hip always seems to hurt you whenever Gwydrwn is mentioned. To my knowledge, I don’t think you’ve ever set foot in the place!’

‘No, and I never will either, Nonny, I don’t know quite why you are so insistent on going to the place when you know and have known for all our married life that I want nothing to do with Gwydrwn flaming Castle! Now go and settle the children and leave me in peace with my hip, as you call it!’

She had felt slighted and angry at her husband and had spent the night in Fifi’s bedroom, on the bottom bunk bed, without understanding why she did not want to be with Huw.

Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she had been hopeful of the sun making an appearance, but this was soon dispelled by darkening storm clouds to the west and a steady “mizzle” falling about the small group gathered outside the gatehouse to the castle.

She rang the bell, bad temper edging around her forced, put-on-for-the-children smile. Someone really should have been outside to meet them!

At that moment, a small pre-Raphaelite looking girl appeared through a tiny doorway which formed part of the huge boundary gates. She was huddled into a very inappropriate anorak for the weather conditions, and below the anorak, she wore black jeans tucked into tan coloured boots. Her hair was a glorious halo of untidy golden red curls, which she kept flicking back from her pale, freckled face.

‘I’m so sorry! Have you been outside long? I overslept.’ She looked apologetic and held out her hand to Nonny. When their hands touched, they both looked at each other, puzzled at the sensation which passed between them. Nonny frowned, trying to rid herself of the feeling of dislike which was creeping around the edges of her consciousness.

Shaking her head, Nonny replied, ‘Not long, my dear, we’d only rung the bell twice. But it might be a good idea if we could go inside?’ She looked skyward at the rain, which was becoming more persistent. Her tone was sarcastic, which made the girl look even more apologetic.

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I am so, so sorry. I don’t know where my manners are, right now! Please, do come in. You must be …’ she rifled in her coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled booking form. ‘The Coetmors. Oh, gosh. What a coincidence! The family who first owned the Castle were called Coetmor.’

‘My husband’s family,’ smiled Nonny, following the girl inside. ‘They are believed to be related to the people who built the house. My husband is Welsh, you see. He was born and brought up in Llanrwst. He used to come to the castle quite often as a child and play in the grounds, although for some reason, he’s never been inside. He couldn’t come today; he’s feeling ill.’

The girl smiled at Nonny, a small, tight smile of dislike and she led them inside, to the Hall Range, the oldest and the original part of the house. The children, who up until that moment had been chattering and squabbling between themselves, were instantly stilled into silence as the atmosphere curled around them like a long, lost memory. Shadows danced from the darkness of the farthest corners of the room and the cold, frigid air snatched away their breath and turned it into white vapour trails. Nonny noticed that the children had also moved a little closer to where she was standing. She felt Marc’s hand slide into hers and, shivering slightly, she stamped her feet on the ground. The young girl noticed the involuntary movement and looked apologetic again.

‘This room is usually much warmer than this, I’m sorry, something must have gone wrong with the timer on the heating, Mrs Coetmor.’

‘Oh, it’s not the cold, dear, and it’s actually Lady Coetmor, although I don’t use the title very much,’ Nonny told her, still shivering. ‘No, it isn’t the cold, I have the strangest sensation of being watched.’ She had lowered her voice, so that Fifi and her two brothers did not hear.

‘Bring him in!’

The words filled the room, echoing through the centuries. The small group looked from person to person, perplexed. Marc moved even closer to his grandmother. Nonny was sure everyone could hear her heart beating in her chest.

‘Finn’s not here, silly,’ piped up Fifi, mishearing. ‘He’s at home looking after Nona and Grandy’s house. Why do you want Finn, anyway, who are you?’

Shaken out of her fear by the sound of her youngest grandchild’s voice, reverberating through the immense and dismal room, Nonny let go of Marc and took hold of Fifi’s hand, chiding her as she did so.

‘Stop talking nonsense, Fifi, there’s nobody there!’

Fifi stuck out her bottom lip in a petulant manner. ‘But Nona, the man was there!’ She pointed to the huge fireplace at the opposite end of the room, ‘The man was there, asking for Finn. He was wearing a dress and stockings. His boots were by the fire.’

Fifi looked puzzled. ‘The fire was lit, Nona, there were flames. I saw them. I saw them!’

Frightened now, Fifi started to cry. Luc raised his eyes to the ceiling.

‘Shut up, you stupid cry baby, or Nona will make us go back to the caravan and we’ve wanted to see the haunted castle for ages. Shut up, will you?’

He punched his sister quite hard on the shoulder, and Fifi cried even louder.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Nonny, to the young woman, who was tactfully waiting while the children were calmed down. ‘They aren’t usually like this!’

‘Yes, they are,’ muttered Marc, shooting a look of hatred at his older brother, who was always bullying his little sister. ‘Fifi and Luc are always fighting. Mum and Dad say they’re possessed.’

A huge draught of freezing air swept through the Hall Range, stinging cheeks and making their eyes water. Fifi howled again, this time because of the cold, for which Lowri repeated her earlier apology, then, looking around uneasily, she said, ‘Well, my name is Lowri, and I look after the haunted castle. I must say, Lady Coetmor, it’s weird having someone here who is related to the former owners!’

Nonny smiled. ‘My husband’s family is rather old, as is my own. Huw’s family owned the castle going back to around the fourteenth century. I tell my grandchildren spooky stories about it, although I don’t really know much of its history. Most of my stories are my imagination. I don’t think even Huw knows much about this place and certainly not how it fell out of the family hands.’

Lowri returned the smile. ‘Ah, well, I can help you out a bit there, the castle was built in the mid thirteen-hundreds, by a gentleman called Hywel Coetmor. He was quite a distinguished character, a knight, a campaigner and reputed to have been, along with his brother Rhys, the illegitimate great grandson of Dafydd, the last true Prince of Wales. It was Hywel’s son, another Dafydd, who sold Gwydrwn to the Wynn family. It’s a bit of a mystery how the castle came to belong to the youngest son, as it was Gruffudd who was the original heir. Hywel fought alongside Owain Glyndŵr against the English, in what was known as the Last Revolt. After that, sadly, English rule dominated Wales.’

Nonny grimaced. ‘Does that mean I am not welcome? I am English!’

Lowri laughed, ‘As you’re married to a Coetmor, I think I can forgive you!’

Nonny thought it best not to mention her own ancestor’s various roles in defeating not only the Coetmors, but Owain Glyndŵr. The Miller-Slade family had links to both the Beaufort family and, interestingly, the Llewelyn family.

Bringing herself back from her ancestors and her past, she looked at the young woman who was smiling at Fifi and wondered again why she felt so much dislike for someone she had only just met. Fifi, sniffing and wiping her eyes with a handkerchief provided by Lowri, told her grandmother shakily that she was alright now. Marc rolled his eyes expressively.

‘Would you like to see the rest of the haunted castle?’ Lowri asked the children.

Fifi nodded, ‘I don’t want the man to follow us, though.’

‘I’m sure he won’t,’ said Lowri. ‘Although just to be on the safe side, if you tell me what he looks like, we can watch out for him and make sure he goes away.’

Fifi smiled up at her newfound friend. She liked the lady with the bouncy red hair. Still sniffing loudly, Fifi said, ‘Alright then. He was very tall, and he had dark hair and a beard, and really, really, blue eyes. He spoke like you. Oh, and he had a scar on his cheek, just here.’

Fifi pointed to underneath her left eye.

Lowri went cold. Trying hard not to give away her underlying fear, she smiled and led the family out of the Hall Range into the dining room, unable to forget that the young girl had just perfectly described the man she had seen a few days ago, walking through the wall. Hywel Coetmor, who had been dead for over seven hundred years.

*****

Crouched in front of the caravan’s inadequate gas fire, Huw had his eyes tightly closed against the fear which had stalked him all his life and was now threatening to overwhelm him. Taking deep breaths, he opened his eyes in panic and grabbed his Bible, which he had dropped when he had been trying to light the fire. Clutching it as firmly as his arthritic hands allowed, and closing his eyes again, he held it to his breast as he intoned the familiar prayers; Psalm 121:7 – The Lord will keep you from all evil, the Lord will keep your life. 2: Timothy 4:18 – The Lord will rescue us from every evil deed, and bring us safely into his heavenly kingdom, to Him be the glory, forever and ever, Amen. Over and over, until the prayers became a mantra. He rocked back and forth and as he prayed, he cried; the hot tears of fear trickled from the corners of his eyes, running in tiny rivulets into the patchwork of wrinkles on his old face.

This was what he had feared all his life, that the evil should reawaken and somehow reach his family. His eyes flew open as the face of his long dead, younger brother appeared before him. Bryn! Had it killed Bryn? The fear made him go cold.

‘Eithr gwared ni rhag Drwg!’

He lapsed into his native Welsh and slid painfully to his knees in prayer, as a thought struck him. Who else? Who else had it claimed – his father’s younger brother, Madoc, who had died when Huw had been a small boy? He remembered his Granddaddy Nin, as Huw had called him. Ninion had been the older brother. How had his younger brother, Huw’s Great-Uncle Tudur died?

‘Eithr gwared ni rhag Drwg!’ he cried again.

Deliver us from evil.

He heard a car engine, then the shrieks of the children. They had arrived back. Hauling himself to his feet, Huw fought to contain the fear, the icy terror which held him in its grasp as he contemplated the fate of his own sons and as he did so, a terrifying thought struck him. Whatever it was that made him so afraid, it killed the younger sons. Tudur. Madoc. Bryn. Was it going to kill Finn, too?

‘Deliver us from evil,’ he said again, making the sign of the cross, because he didn’t know what else to do.

Smiling, he went to the door to greet his wife and grandchildren.

**********

Buying Link: The Castle

COMING SOON: On Sunday, 13th July, our guest author, Kirsty F McKay, is sharing an excerpt from her novel, 'The Veils of Valoria'.