White flashes blinded my eyes. The colors before me were of lush green and golden yellow. Sunlight seeped through the birch trees shading the small meadow around me. At the corner of my eyes, buttercup flowers peeked through the bushes under my feet, and they were scattered across the grass. A silhouette took place in the distance. It came from a small opening in the woods, his figure cut through the blinding sunlight I had to raise my hand over my brow.
Cornelius!
Not long after, another silhouette emerged behind him. When the figure came to sight, she revealed glorious red hair flowing her back.
Whoosh...
The soft wind jolted me upright. The sky was still dark outside. Cornelius was absent. What was I expecting anyway? Him sleeping soundly next to me after our midnight conversation? The moon projected its ray into the room, illuminating the clock I placed on the bedside table. Four o'clock. At this point, I was too awake to go back to sleep.
Taking a morning stroll would probably do me good, for getting some fresh air. No one was awake yet. I just hoped that Nathan wouldn't be awake either. He could be up at any moment now.
Morning breeze pricked my bones. The road right outside the manor branched into two different ones. The smaller path next to the vehicle entry must have dwindled down to the lower ground of the neighbourhood–a more serene place in the territory. I wrapped my arms around me and trailed along the smaller road. The dim path was only lit with several lamp streets on the pavements. The forest surrounding the path looked invisible, drowned in the darkness.
Little spots of lights flickered from the distance and I came to Geddes Road, as I read the street's sign. I descended the road into the neighbourhood, which was unsurprisingly quiet. But something caught my attention, or maybe someone: an old man was watering the plants as I passed his house. Aware of my presence, he paused to study me for a second.
" 'ello, lassie." he greeted me with a thick Scottish accent. "What brings ye here tis early?"
"Just looking for some fresh air," I replied.
"But it's five in the morning now. The air is still too cold for ye. Ye should go home, go back to yer bed, before ye catch a cold, or yer parents will look for you." the old man said huskily. "Where do ye live?
I pointed at a small, dim mansion on top of the hill.
"Och yer th' new tenants ay th' manor, Ah see." he beamed. "It's quite isolated up there, isnae it?"
I nodded. He was right. My house stood on top of the hill, slightly far from this neighbourhood.
"What's yer name, wee lass?" he asked me again.
"Lisa."
"Lisa, I see. The name's Ralph." The old man, Ralph, said. "Aren't ye feeling a bit Baltic around here?"
I hugged myself, shivering. "Slightly."
"Care for some tea? Maybe we can talk inside, before the sun rises?" Ralph offered, shoving the broom aside. "But it's up to ye. If ye think I'm a stranger, ye can back off."
"No, no, I'd love to."
At a glance, Ralph did look stern, but I didn't think he had any bad intentions in mind. From how he offered me for tea, he sounded very friendly. Besides, I thought I'd got used to meeting strangers, considering that I'd met one in my bedroom earlier.
His house was smaller than I thought. It was a simple two story-house, but since there were lots of antiques inside, it looked pretty crowded yet messy. Almost everything in the living room was wooden, from parquet floor, wooden furnishings, and everything inside was earthy colored and dominated with browns. Yet it was comfortable and warm.
"Your house is pretty." I complimented.
"Thanks, but it's quite messy and howfin." Ralph shoved some messy things aside, from newspapers that scattered on the floor, telly remotes, and some old books. "Please, take a seat, make yerself at home."
I sat on the furry, leopard skin-patterned sofa, meanwhile the old man scurried off to the kitchen and later returned with two cups of tea.
"Thanks," I picked up my cup and blew the tea.
"So I see yer Thompson's daughter, eh."
"No," I muttered. "Long story."
Ralph leaned on his sofa. "Thompson is one bloody rich bloke, whoever he is fur ye. In fact, by ownin' th' mansion there, he's probably th' richest bloke in our neighbourhuid, an' probably in entire Perthshire."
"This neighbourhood seems a lot better than up there." I took a sip of my tea.
He placed his cup on the table. "Well, it's not perfect, but it's decent. I ne'er feel lonely. Because occasionally, some folk like to gather around in, say lik', weekends or Christmas Eve." he chuckled, before coming to a pause.
"And your family?"
"My family? Lass, mah wife died ten years ago and I have no children." His wrinkles lifted on his face.
"I'm sorry."
"That's fine, lass." the old man sipped his tea again. "After all, I'm th' last Jones to ever live 'ere, after generations of generations. Even since th' auld days where th' Haywood still bolted this territory over 'ere lang ago."
Something familiar filled my eardrum.
"You know about the Haywood?" I frowned.
"Aye, ye must have heard about 'em too." Ralph said. "Th' Haywood owned yer house years ago."
Of course, I would really love to hear the story from someone else's point of view, instead of depending on the journal, investigate Diane, or the unreliable stub sources online. I leaned closer, tucking my arms and knees together.
"I want to hear what you know," I said.
Ralph's face broke into a smile. "I s'pose you couldn't find anythin' on the net, eh. I'm not surprised, but worry not because you just about as lucky as you could get, lassie."
He cleared his throat before beginning the story.
"The Haywood folk lived in your manor. That white building's look has ne'er changed a bit, and that it looks just th' identical 'til now. This territory had been run by that folk from generation tae generation, before they closed it down when World War I broke out. Folk tried to claim th' ownership of the manor soon after th' War was over and th' Haywood wis ne'er to be heard again. However, th' manor remained empty and abandoned, until yer folk came along and disregarded all th' rumors."
"What rumours?"
"Oops, sorry I've spoken too much. But I suppose ye won't like scary stories," he said huskily.
"No, go ahead."
"If that's what ye want, then." he braced himself, leaning back against the sofa. "Umm...yer house is haunted. Ye have any idea 'bout that?"
I nodded.
"And yer not scared?" he lit up in surprise.
I shrugged. "Well, I think that explains why I've felt gust of wind blowing out of nowhere. It was fine though."
"Well...that's...that's such brave of ye." Ralph said.
"So, about the Haywood?" I tried to get him back on track with the Haywood story. "Did something happen?"
"Och right. Almost forgot we're still on th' Haywood." Ralph's face tensed. "Th' Haywood was a renowned folk in the area – th' richest, even. Their family line dates back fur generations. Their folk spreads o'er Scotland and Britain in th' latter, leaving only four members in th' newest generation settling in Aberfeldy. Th' head of the folk, Thomas Haywood, and his wife was Eloise. Thomas, was th' seventh generation o' th' Haywood folk tree, since this job had been running in his family's blood for o'er fifty years, since approximately early nineteenth century. Thomas was a pure good businessman, having been a tycoon for o'er seven properties in Perthshire.
"Th' two was gifted with two wee bairns. Th' older one was Bridget, she was very playful and intelligent–according to what I've heard–and th' younger one was named Cornelius. Mah father, Ralph Jones Senior, was once his close friend in school. The wee lad was intelligent–just lik' his sister–and during secondary school, even he was a prominent member o' yer school's Cricket gang. He was known as a gifted observer, growin' into an aspirin' engineer. My father said he was applying tae Cambridge while workin' at a local garage.
"But then, it wasn't until this family was torn apart. Thomas was influenced by his fellows from Scottish Regiment, which later drew his interest in military and politics. He started to abandon his job and his family didn't seem to lik' this idea. They fought a lot since then, and Bridget decided tae bolt. But something worse happened to th' wee lad."
He gulped, before continuing his story.
"Cornelius..." Ralph choked, and the way he mentioned that name sent shiver through my spines. "He planned to run away because o' the pressure he'd been havin' at home. But everytime he attempted tae do that, his father always caught him in th' act. My father never wanted tae continue th' story. He only said that Cornelius was nowhere tae be seen and heard, and it happened jist when th' World War I broke out. Some folk said he enlisted an' went missing in th' trenches, never tae be heard again. Some e'en said he was murdered before he got tae th' battlefield. Many rumours came out about him at that time, and I could tell it was quite famous, lik' th' story of the missin' Romanov girl at the time.
"But mah father dismissed all th' rumors. On th' contrary of most people's belief, Cornelius ne'er went tae th' war. It was only a story folk made up tae hide the truth. But then, mah father decided tae tell me how Cornelius died..."
"How then?" I asked, a bit impatiently. I hugged myself, ready to hear everything and the secret of Cornelius which he'd been hiding from me.
"He committed a suicide." Ralph silently said.
"Suicide?!" I stood up in surprise I nearly knocked my tea. My heart almost jumped out of my throat. The whole will letter and the blood-smeared cloth now made so much sense.
Ralph seemed startled at my exaggerated reaction so I lowered my tone. "So, suicide? How did he...?" Cutting his wrist and letting his blood to drop on the cloth?
"He...he shot himself...where...shortly afterwards, th' Haywoods moved tae London or Glasgow, I'm not sure. They abandoned this territory and th' house. They were ne'er to be heard again, although rumour has it that Thomas Haywood opened a cuttie weapon tradin' business there, which came tae a bankrupt. But we ne'er really know."
My stomach hurled, satisfied for finally knowing why he died, and on the other side, I was struck that he decided to end his life that way. And yet, would Cornelius figure out that I was trying to find out how and why he died without his knowledge or permission? Would he get angry if he found out?
Ralph examined my face. "Yer alrecht, lass? Ye seem pale?"
"No, I...just can't believe he'd do that." I panted.
Ralph mustn't know that I made contact with the subject of the conversation.
"Aye, I suppose he was tay much under pressure, but ye know what missy? That ghost has quite become an urban legend." Ralph explained. "There hae been many sightings or apparition reported since then. Uh, I can show ye some pictures."
The old man got off the sofa and returned with what struck me like an old brown file – album. Dust covered all over it. He opened it up, turned out it was a collection of old articles taken from newspaper, with news revolving things around Perthshire Highlands. I wasn't sure how these pieces survived after all these years. I flipped through, scanning my eyes throughout the articles before reality hit me.
Aberfeldy Haunting:
Another Sighting of the Haywood Boy Reported
My attention was instead drawn towards one a big picture featured on the page. It was no other than the Haywood house itself–my residence, only it focused on my bedroom window. At first, there was nothing but a black and white picture of the window. The window itself was dark and at a glimpse. But then I noticed a white circle was drawn on the window, before there was something faded, yet very transparent and white, seen on the window.
The figure's frock coat and his top hat were easily identified. His face–looking sideways–looked a bit blurred. I couldn't quite make out his expression from the poor quality of the photograph. More black and white pictures displayed the ghostly figure of Cornelius Haywood. Some pictures depicted his form in a tall, misty white figure in the doorway in the main entrance.
"That's how yer house became quite a legend, because of the story behin' it." Ralph pointed out with his coarse voice.
The story and reports surrounding his death only made me pity him. He didn't wish to be there yet he was ostracised. Shortly after, an article headline that dates back to the forties, caught my attention.
Aberfeldy Haunting:
Man Injured After Haywood House Visit
Ronald Jameson (35), who is reportedly a paranormal investigator, claimed that he had been attacked by a spirit."The spirit is harmful." Jameson, who received minor treatment in Aberfeldy Community Hospital, stated. He is currently recovering from a deep cut on the knee.
Then the images of the cracked glass in the hallway suddenly appeared in my mind.
"I could've done something more – worse – to them. I have the power to. I could have. I should have. T-they laughed. I remember those faces, clear in my head."
Cornelius wasn't meant to hurt them. He was defending himself.
"Aye, that was back in th' fifties. I didn't know such equipments for 'ghost-huntin' as they said, existed already." Ralph broke my muse off. "Eventually th' news quickly faded as time went by. Eventually there were even more important events and news that attract folks more than discussing about supernatural things. Th' house was abandoned. Folks ignored about the attack and they decided that they would keep away from it. In fact, in early forties, no one even bothered tae think about 'he haunted house anymore. They were then but faced by the subsequent World War."
"It must be horrible for him." I sighed. "To die that way, to be treated that way by his family that eventually led to his death."
"Aye, poor thing that lad. He's probably seekin' for revenge..."
"No he isn't!" I slightly snapped. I lowered my tone again to reduce any suspicion. "Well, I don't know. He's probably just misunderstood and misplaced, and I can tell that because he never disturbs Mum or Nathan."
For a while, Ralph just gaped at me. "Ye looked terribly concerned over some dead bloke, lass,"
This was it. He suspected I was a lunatic.
"I'm just interested to learn more about who occupied my house," I answered.
Ralph began to pick up the thick book in his hand. All of the wrinkles on his face had also loosened up.
"Och well, quite a story, eh?" he assured me. I nodded. "At least now ye know yer house has a historical value. When Thompson moved in, nobody budged slightly. He sure was aware of the stories revolvin' th' manor but ach, the lad is a non-believer. I heard he got th' house in such a good deal and totally brushed off all th' hauntin' stories."
I cared so little about how Nathan retrieved the house, now that I didn't care about it anymore. I was more struck with how the Haywood's son chose to end his life that way.
"Ronald and his pals are probably th' last folk even to step intae Haywoods' property before ye and yer folk came in. I e'en wondered how Thompson could get the house so easily without bein' haunted." Ralph continued.
"I wondered about that too. My mother and Nathan don't even get slightly haunted. Only me. But I already get used to it." I nearly whispered.
"Ah, I see. I heard he's a pretty successful tycoon."
I finished my tea and glanced at the window to notice that the sun almost rose. "Well, I think I have to go home now. Mum will be worried when she found out I wasn't in my room."
"Och, sure lassie. Thank ye for comin' by and spending yer time with this' old grandpa." The old man walked me out as he chuckled.
When we reached the door, Ralph looked past me, and that was when I realized that the Haywood house came to sight from the dark. He glanced at the building in awe, projecting the same expression I did when I first arrived.
"Quite a beauty, eh?" He said–his eyes not leaving the house. "It's stood there fur years. That local treasure, but we ne'er know what it keeps, do we?"
I caught a glimpse of the house–its white walls reflecting the ray of the sun, looking glorious when the day broke. But within the illuminated walls was a story lost in time and a young man who was trapped and longed to leave. A young man who was victimised by time.
* * *
The entrance hall was still dark. I gathered Mum and Nathan were not awake yet and Diane had not arrived for the day just yet either. I tiptoed my way upstairs after passing the empty living room.
"What good are prayers and shrines to a person mad with love?"
A calm voice startled me from the direction of the stairs, where there, Cornelius stood, blocking my path and catching me off guard. His face tensed the moment he caught my eyes.
"I didn't know you were into Virgil." he remarked, as I recalled leaving Aeneid along with my stack of books reserved for my reading assignments. He clearly dug through them.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"You were not on your bed."
"I was looking for some fresh air."
"This early?"
I climbed the stairs to return to my bedroom, ignoring Cornelius behind me. But as I turned around, he materialized again, startling me. His expression locked me in place, and that very expression belonged to the very same face where a muzzle once sat at the temple, unmoving, before letting a loud, deadly bang, taking life with it–his life.
"You looked troubled, lass." Cornelius frowned. "Is something wrong?"
I could only hope he didn't hint I was hiding something.
"No, nothing." My hand found the railing of the stairs.
"Where did you go?"
"Why would you care anyway?"
"I gathered you might be lurking around in the dark. It's dangerous!"
"Did it kill you?" I snapped back at him. Little did I hope my question earlier would serve as a bait for him to finally explain why he died, with his own words.
Cornelius appeared bewildered. For someone who threw his life away in a single pull of a trigger, being killed for lurking in the dark was probably nothing.
I walked past him mindlessly and made my way back to my room. Of course, he was already there, sitting comfortably on the window seat. But instead of approaching him, I turned on the heater and then sat at the edge of the bed. Now that one lead was found, I wondered if the suicide was in anyway linked to his unfinished it. Whatever triggered it must have been the reason why he was here after all. Did it have anything to do with his abusive father?
"Are you hiding something from me?" Cornelius asked.
"I think it should be me thinking you're hiding something from me."
"What are you on about, lass?" His thin lips tightened. The lines on his brow became more visible as his facial expression tensed.
"What am I on about? I think the question should be for you, if you can just tell me everything, we don't have to complicate things..."
"Morning, Lis–"
The door swung open in a second, revealing mum dressed ready for her work day. Cornelius vanished in reaction. I could only turn myself around slowly to face mum.
"Were you talking to someone just now?" she frowned.
I caught a glance of my phone on my bed. My hand reached it to make an impression as if I just threw my phone at the bed.
"Yes, I was..." I gulped. "talking to...Irma."
"Is everything okay?" Oh mum, please just go. I can't argue with anyone else at this point.
"No, no, we're good. Just talking."
"Alright. Nathan and I are going to a meeting. I know it's Sunday, but we have a listing to cover. It's going to be really long, maybe we'll come home late. Diane's also off today. So, you know, you can go out with friends or if you're hungry, you can order something or cook."
I suppressed a smile before watching my mum disappear behind the door. I took a deep breath and looked around but the ghost had vanished. What am I doing? I was just wasting my time and energy to draw him out of his past. Aggression might not be the best solution, but I wasn't sure if I was the most patient person either.
* * *
Author's Note: Thanks so much for empireX8peach and lighthrill for the votes and comments! I'd like to say hi too to new followers!
Translucent makes it to the ranks of Wattpad by sitting at #371 in Paranormal!!! Thank you all so much for making it happen. I'll post more and hopefully Translucent can make it higher in rank later in the future. Have a nice Sunday, guys!