The Haunting of Mary King's Close (No longer writing)

BOOK ONE: Chapter One

The rain dribbled down with smoking shadows, and covered the sleeping city. Clouds hung close to the ground; suspended between the brick closes and The Royal Mile. They were dark, grey and showed signs of heavy rain which was approaching fast. Smashed bottles of ale and tobacco garbage were scattered on the Mile from the previous night. Ropes finished with second-hand nooses swayed with speed in the vigorous wind. Flesh, that was freshly buried, peaked out from supple soil under St. Giles Cathedral.  Exhausted, raw hands unearthed themselves; ready to shake weeping goodbyes. Excrement, built up over night, rested on the cobblestone, penetrated the air with sharp eccentric tones.  Shouts of gardyloo brought in the garish, sunless morning.

A windows snapping squeak welcomed in the austere wind and brutal rain stirred a young lad from his shadowy slumber.  Gardyloo, followed by the bucket's tip, enhanced his monotonous senses to life. He opened his eyes and stared at the crack in the ceiling above the provisional bed. The lad groaned wistfully, wishing he could stay asleep. He shoved his flea inhabited woollen blanket atop his sleeping, angelic brother and lethargically crawled out of his dilapidated bed. The inflexible floor creaked below his tough feet.

His sister, Cora, stood by the tattered windowpane, passing it to a close when she took notice of her younger brother's sluggish awakening. The skin hide over the window slot snapped shut, keeping sprinkles of rain and sharp wind out of the home. "Mornin' laddie, if a hud knoon yed be up a woodda waited."

She placed the bucket in the far corner of the room, away from the makeshift beds, small table and minute kitchen. She dumped a small piece of bread onto the table. She nodded her head towards it, indicating that it was his breakfast.

"It alright. I'll make Gregg do it," he gargled, as he ran over his eyes with a callous hand before going to the bucket to do his business. He crawled back to his bed, but at his sisters stern words he snapped back up.

"Da went tae work and reckon ye be thar soon," Cora said, tucking a loose strand of vivid, red hair back into her bun. Walking to the other side of the small room she tossed him his trousers. Finlay picked them up from the ground, when they feel short of him and slowly pulled each leg on. After pushing his legs through, he slipped on his dull shoes over his socks that were falling to shreds.

"Is Gregg comin'?" Finlay asked, starting to wake up from his sleep. He stuffed a small piece of bread into his greedy mouth, wishing there was more to sink his teeth in to but all he had was wishful dreaming to feast his mind on. His sister shook her head.

 Finlay groaned loudly; he disliked going to work at his father's but disliked it even more when his brother didn't come. The work was not the bad part but going alone was what he hated.  But the moment of discontent passed quickly. With a malicious smile on Finlay's face, he crept over to the bed and supported by his hand, hovered over his brother.

"Finlay, woot ye-" Cora started the warning but before she could finish, Finlay sharply waved his hand in the air to silence her.

Finlay stuck his middle finger inside his mouth and Cora giggled nervously, realising what he was about to do.  Removing the finger, and nodding with approval at the amount of spit that rested on his finger, Finlay jabbed the finger deeply into Gregg's ear.

Gregg, startled, jumped up while yelling in fight. When he realised what torment his brother forced on him, Gregg pasted a frown upon his lips."Ah'll get ye back," he spat after a failed attempt to hit Finlay across his head.

Finlay did not respond for he was too busy laughing. "Hauve a laugh," he retorted while walking out the door.

The Close was never a friendly place to be at this time of the day; just before the sun rose and darkness still covered the world, when precarious girls sneaked back home and stealers slithered over the city in search of treasure.  Finlay trudged through the close, his shoes digesting the waste. And his nose, accustomed to the smell, seemed not to notice it. Half way there, streaks of the rising sun's light filtered in through the buildings and outlined the door.