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

BOOK ONE: Chapter Nine

He passed without notice. Lay cold in his bed with his hands outstretched and eyes glaring at the floor. Blood trailed across his face and saliva dripping from his mouth, which stood ajar.

His chilliness passed through the air to Cora. Shivers spread down her skull and attacked her increasingly, decreasing heart. She rocked back and forth on her side; unable to control the unexpected, jagged movements. Her body bolted tight as the quakes halted. Her head dropped to the side and her eyes crossed, looking downward.

Finlay lay on his back and coughed as poisonous substances passed up his throat. He made no noise when it slid into his mouth and did not stir when it trickled back down. He was perfectly still when it pumped up once more but cried out when it clogged his air supply and crushed him. He stayed flawlessly immobile as heat drained from his body.

There was nobody to lay the salt and earth nor was there the sound of distant bagpipes wrapped in tartans. There were no women to weep salty tears over their earthy grave or shriek their names into the empty sky. There was nobody to grab and hold while outburst escaped from unwilling mouths. There was no funeral in foreign Latin or a formal procession to mourn their passing. 

Just silence.

There was only silence.

Just the soft beat of Nails' heart to surround them. The murmur of his delicate words that slipped from his mouth in calm sleep was occasionally heard. But not by them for they could no longer receive the notes.

Something stirred in his sleeping mind and he could not bat it away with a dream. It stuck to his thoughts and engulfed his being. His mind dragged his body out of sleep and into reality.

He saw his sleeping angles and was careful not to wake them when he slipped out of the bed. He was silent in a poor imitation of what Cora did when making breakfast. He was noiseless He didn't speak when he poured whiskey into his mouth, sighed softly in relief and ate. 

That us nuthin' tae worry aboot, he thought. They us perfect, he wrongly contemplated.

He took in their angelic beings and smiled; proud to see their spirits of solidarity. Finlay's sense of bitterness seemed to have vanished and was replaced by care. Cora had never filled Maeve's shoes better than now. And Greggs immature being was swapped with development in the mind. They acted like they were concerned for each other; as real siblings should have acted from the moment they were able to utter meaningless words.

He sat by the table and slowly nursed his common drink.  The drink was sour upon his tongue and he gritted his teeth with each bitter sip.

But then something struck him. Something…odd. Something wasn't quite right, but Niall couldn't figure what it was, exactly. Something was just…off. They were too calm, even for sleeping.

He crouched down besides the bed and placed a gentle hand on Finlay's shoulder. Niall rocked Finlay's torso lightly.  There was no response. Maybe Niall thought optimistically, he us sleepin'. So Niall tried harder to only end with the same heart -stirring result.

With his voice stuck in his mouth, he moved on to Cora. He patted her head and rubbed her sweltering hair. But nothing came from her body. No breathe, no movement, nothing as small as a twitch in her eyes or a gargle in her throat. 

As panic travelled around his body, he touched Gregg's unfolded arm.  But Niall was greeted, once more, with the same jerking response.

Niall screamed when they remained soundless. Not even a violent shake could wake them from sleeps tight grasp.  He backed away with shaking knees and trembling hands.  His hands shook in the air, until they found the chair to lower him into. He slowly brought his body into the chair and once his bottom, reached the wood, he lost control.