Chapter Two #2
Sliding his fingers between hers, he began talking and leading her through a large opening that, she supposed, used to be a doorway.
“This is an old abbey,” he explained. “I believe it stopped being used in the sixteenth century. You can’t see right now, but the roof is gone.
Some of the walls are too. This side of the building is the most intact.
But look.” The fog in the ruins had not built up so thick just yet, and Lillian could see about ten feet in front of her.
There was really nothing inside of the shell of the abbey.
Dead grass and other plants grew on the ground as if they were outside.
Gray, stone walls towered over them, though.
But there was nothing else. No windows, no doors.
Whatever used to be inside had long been gone as well.
Briefly, she wondered if the man and woman from the ghost story had been alive before or after the abbey had stopped being used. But that was a silly thought. They were nothing more than a scary story.
“Do you believe in the ghost story?” Lillian found herself asking.
Their feet crunched over the ground. “Oh, I absolutely believe in the story. I’ve seen the headless ghost myself.”
She looked up at him with raised eyebrows and remembered Mrs. Wormwood had said she knew of one person who claimed to have seen something. “What did you see?” Really, she should not encourage him. And yet she wanted to know.
But he didn’t answer. Not right away, at least. “This abbey had been used for four hundred years before it was shut down.”
“Why did they stop using it?” she asked.
The duke shrugged his shoulders in the dark-green coat. “Who knows? Rumor is the headless ghost scared all of the monks away.”
Unable to help herself, she laughed at the vision of bald monks running out in a quiet, orderly line.
The duke smiled, then continued walking.
“It was five years ago that I saw him,” he said on nearly a whisper.
“We had been out searching for him. The group was far too loud and rowdy and I thought a ghost would avoid such ruckus. So I went off on my own. After about half an hour, I looked over to my side and at the top of a hill stood the shadowy figure of a horse and rider.”
Lillian’s eyes went big. “What did he look like?”
“That’s the funny thing. At that point, he was much too far for me to see. In fact, I thought he was someone from the hunting party, so I approached him.”
Lillian couldn’t help but gasp with fear but awaited the rest of the story.
The duke gave her a crooked smile before looking around him.
“I wonder…” he said thoughtfully before nearly dragging her over to a window.
Or rather, an opening that had once held a window.
“You cannot see it right now, but the hill is out that way.” He let go of her and put his hands on the windowsill, his face tense as he stared out into the fog.
“He started galloping toward me. I noticed too that fog began to rise.”
Lillian put her hand over her racing heart.
“Closer and closer, he ran toward me until I realized he looked as if made from black smoke. And he had no head.”
Without realizing it, she let out a small cry.
“I started running. Or my horse did, I should say—he seemed to realize what was coming toward us before I did. But the ghost was much faster and my horse reared just as the ghost came upon us, black and transparent and terrifying.”
“What happened?” she breathed out.
The duke smiled. “Nothing. He disappeared as he crashed into us. Of course, there wasn’t really any crashing, but he came across us and disappeared into shattered smoke.
” The duke visibly shivered. “I’ve never felt so cold in my life before, as if someone had shoved a large snowball through my body. ”
Lillian was now properly terrified and swallowed audibly. Going home would no longer feel like defeat, but a welcome change.
*
The story was true, but of course Quinton made it sound as terrifying as possible with hopes that the beautiful Miss Hall would snuggle up against him and cling to him with fright.
Admittedly, he had been quite terrified himself at the time, but after his heart rate had settled, he wanted to see the ghost again.
But that had been years ago. The ghost had never reappeared.
“I grew up being read fairy tales,” he began, thinking back to his late mother.
The way she would tuck him in every night, not Nanny, and sit beside his bed in her own pajamas, her black hair in a nightcap, as she read stories with gnomes and faeries to him for hours.
“Any story with fantastical creatures, my mother read it to me. And then when I grew older, I began reading the mythologies behind the creatures. Researched the history behind them. Tried to find evidence of their existence myself.”
Miss Hall stared up at him with wonder in her eyes, as if he were intriguing her.
Not boring the blazes out of her like he seemed to do with everyone else when he talked about this subject.
There was a strange squeeze around his heart and he had the sudden desire to bury his face against her neck.
He cleared his throat. “The headless ghost was the closest I’ve ever come to anything of that nature.
I’ve not seen giants, or demon dogs, or mermaids, or anything of the like. But I’ve seen the ghost.”
“Are you certain? Or are you telling me a story?” She lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
“I vow it happened.” He placed a hand over his heart. “And I’ll be honest with you, too: the air feels promising today. You may get lucky as well.”