Aberdeen poured rain. A sheet of it skated down the windowpane. Loch Ness Hall was hidden away in darkness. The lace-edged window drapes swam lazily as air pushed itself under the shingles. In Loch Ness’s ghostly parlor, a girl lounged on the velvet suede couch, bundled in a fuzzy wool quilt. Her dark ruby hair bled together with the plum fabric of the armrest. Her name was Rosamund. Rosamund, with a pointed aristocrat face and a sculpted hourglass figure like a rose vase, was thirty-seven and still unnerved by Scotland’s rainstorms.

The storm swelled. Rosamund shivered. Rain battered the roof, washed against the glass in waves. Lightning flared and thunder crashed.

As she listened to that wind whine and wail like a lonely hound, breathed in the clean, cold scent, and let her sleepy eyes draw shut, she felt her mind coast. She thought of Glasgow. Of the haunted church she’d stayed at. She wasn’t quite sure why she thought of the Glasgow Churchyard, but she did. It came back to her as clear and obvious as if it were yesterday.

And then, just as quick, the fleeting memory ebbed and was gone. She was back in Aberdeen. Aberdeen, she mused, was nothing like Glasgow. Aberdeen was beautiful, green, and like a place one visited in one’s dreams…it had drowsy, quiet stagecoach drivers who’d nod and smile at you like it was their job…sweet-tempered townsfolk…sunset-colored clay shingles on the cottages that burned in summertime and gray marble porches that gave bare feet shivers…. And beauty. Aberdeen was gorgeous, stunning. Breathtaking.

Glasgow, on the other hand, felt cold to her, distant. It was that eerie, dismal city that haunted her at night, brought out her fear of the dark and gave her a reason to sleep with the curtains drawn. It was like nothing else in the world. That places evoked such dreary memories.

The grandfather clock chimed; the humming bells played on for an eternity, announcing the arrival of eleven o’clock. Rosamund started awake out of her wandering thoughts, hugging the blanket closer as more cold air pooled under the shuddery shingles into the parlor. Her teeth chattered and clacked in her head.

At least, she thought, I’m home. In Aberdeen….

Her eyes closed again. This time, she fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Rosamund decided to invite the neighbors for tea.




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