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

BOOK TWO: Chapter Two

Mr. and Mrs. Coltheart stood outside of their new home; each carrying bundles of materials from their old home in Musselburgh.  Clothing, work implements such as needles and kitchenware and food were folded into the creases of the quilts that binded the materials. Their arms curved at the bends from trying to keep hold of each item.

They had picked a secluded home towards the end of the Close, in desperate hopes that it would provide some type of privacy as they started their new life together. They were not aware of who else would move into the Close, so a small and person home was exactly what they were searching for. Although, it was small, cosy and ideal, it was also in need a lot of repair from the holes in the walls to the crumbling surfaces or the cracks running across the ceiling. A long and narrow staircase was stationed right after the door and lead up to the home.  And there was an old, one-roomed house that was next door which would be perfect to the maid's needs: near enough to serve but far enough away from their living quarters for solitude.

The young couple walked into their home and dumped everything on the ground to start setting up all their possessions.   They placed a table in the centre of the main room and surrounded it with two wooden chairs. Another table, for cooking, was pushed into a corner and a bed was shoved into the adjacent room. While waiting for their main, Abigail, to arrive with the rest of their belonging, the Colthearts set out more candles in the windows and other places of their home. In a few minutes time, the small house was decorated with light that stretched from all corners to the middle.

The cobblestone Close lacked any light apart from Mr. And Mrs. Coltheart's house where they stacked candles in the windows. The candles shot small streaks of light into the Close but not nearly enough to cover the darkness. The stone's façade was indented every so often from times pressing hand. The close reeked of blood, tears and death from years of neglect.

"Ye smell that?" Mrs. Coltheart stuck her nose in the air and sniffed around her.  She set a candlestick down on the table and rested her hand on her hip.

Her husband, who was fiddling with his carpentry tools by the dim light of a candle, looked up from his sharpened tools with a quizzical look upon his face.  He sniffed the air too."Nae," was his suspicious response.

"Ye sure?" She demanded. "It like blood. Ah smelt it outside tae. Blood; a lot of it. And faeces...like a cow." She waved her hand in the air as if dismissing the idea from her mind and continued tidying up the room.

The sun sunk below the building's line with a lethargic pace and set the Close to the eerie mood that created tales that plagues the Close. The Colthearts snuffed out all of their candles, except for two by the sides of the bed and settled down for the long night. The last thing that they said to each other before falling into sleep was said by Mr. Coltheart as he whispered, "Ah smell th' blood tae."

Days went quickly by and the youthful couple settled into their cosy home with love and admiration for the other that only grew with each vibrant sunset.  But as they great love grew, so did the smell of blood in the noses of the Colthearts. Long, tedious hours were spent by Abigail on her hands and knees dragging a wet cloth back and forth across ever surface in hope that it would remove that wretched smell that lingered in the air. But no such luck would fall down upon the Colthearts for even after several days of the vagarious and constant scrubbing; the smell still penetrated each nostril with such hostility that each person was forced to plug their nose just to be free.

Because of the Coltheart's inability to push the bloody smell out of their home and lives, they figured it would be easier to give up and allow their noses to become accustomed to the smell and start ignoring it.

But that was not an easy task to accomplish for the smell was so overwhelming. But as time flew by, they did start to forget about it.

Mrs. Coltheart found Edinburgh an exciting and thrilling escape from the small and crushing features of Musselburgh and so she welcomed the city with open arms.  She spent long hours wondering the winding streets of Edinburgh and making friends with the women who worked and visited Mercat Cross. She also took solace in conversation with Abigail who was wide-eyed and eager to please Mrs. Coltheart in everything she was assigned.

Like Mrs. Coltheart, Mr. Coltheart was glad to be in Edinburgh. But for him, he was happy to have returned to Edinburgh and continue his carpentry where he was taught the trade. He had opened his shop in an old home near the top of the Close, close to the public's eye. He spent many hours working there and was hardly home.

For the Colthearts, life seemed to be decked with shining perfection and not one blemish would dare to appear and mar the faultlessness.  The Colthearts ignored the little bumps in the still of the night, blaming it on their clumsy maid going to the toilet and failing to stay silent. They dismissed candles spontaneously flickering as the wind pushing into the house through the chipped windows and cracked wall boards. They paid no attention to windows snapping shut in the morning. They also ignored the eccentric moo of a cow that seemed to come from the Close. But when they looked, there was nothing but bricks.  No matter how much they had heard about strange things happening here, they were to disregard the notion and were determined to lead a happy, normal life with their new status of pregnant.