Chapter 2

With no stirrups to place my feet in, Apollo kneeled down to give me a lower way to get on his back. This was a strange way to get onto his back, but I did manage.

“Now hold onto my mane,” his voice spoke in my mind. With a lightness I did not expect from such a large animal, Apollo got back on his feet, and I did feel strangely comfortable, despite the fact that I had no saddle or reins to hold onto.

As with Zeus, Apollo sprouted wings and flapped them, and took off. We joined Amelia and Zeus in the sky, above the treetops.

“You look right at home!” Amelia laughed as she fell in beside me. “Now, Bruce, let’s do this slowly. You need to get used to this way of horse riding.”

“Eh..., yes ... I must admit, it feels a little weird,” I responded.

“Apollo will follow your thoughts. Guide him with your thoughts. Just think; ‘Follow Zeus.’ And he will do it.”

“I ... must think it, and he will comply?” I said, looking over to Amelia. She had a mile wide grin on her face.

“Come on! It’s fun!” She exclaimed. “Watch!” And Amelia and Zeus took off, climbed up in the sky, turned to the left and came swooping down to turn and fall in beside Apollo and me.

“See! As easy as pie!”

“Do the same as Zeus.” I thought, and the next instant Apollo shot off, climbing away up in the sky, turned left and swooped down again, reining in beside Amelia and Zeus.

“Excellent! Now follow me!” Amelia said and flew on forward.

“Follow Amelia.” I thought and Apollo strode ... ah, flew along, following Zeus turn for turn.

We climbed a little higher into the morning sky, and I could see the castle and the yard, the apple trees and the olive trees. The meadow and forest, from where we took off, got smaller as we flew on towards the dam.

That morning became an unforgettable experience for me. The more I followed Amelia, the more comfortable I became, and also more confident. The magic of the ride out, or should I say fly out, was beyond anything I had experienced so far in my life. I even settled to the idea that this was normal, and not a flight of my imagination.

Amelia was a giggly, fun-loving, and impulsive teenager again, laughing and joking all the time. She took us over the estate, over the dam, above the mountains surrounding the estate and then slowed to a walk. Ah ... a hover taxi? Like in helicopters slowly flying a few feet of the ground?

Slowly she followed the gravel road away from the castle to about two kilometres from the castle. At a bend in the tree lined road, she stopped and just sat there upon Zeus, not speaking, staring at a spot in the road. Her laughter had vanished; no giggles; nothing.

“Ammi?” I tried to get her attention.

“It’s here,” She softly said.

“What’s here?” I asked.

“Where it happened. It’s here where I died ... twenty-six years ago...”

“Ammi...”

“No, Bruce. It’s okay. I made peace with it.”

“Why can’t you cross over, Ammi?” I asked.

“Because there are still two things that I must do, and I need ... help...” she stuttered, flicked her golden hair over her shoulder, then turned and looked at me. “But let’s leave it for now ... I just wanted you to see ... where it happened. Come, let’s take these two back, so they can go and relax.”

Suddenly Amelia’s laughter was back, and with her sweet laughter echoing, she hauled Zeus around, took off over the trees and made a beeline for the meadow.

For a moment longer I looked at the road, and the trees along the side of the road. There was not much distance between the bend in the road, and the place where Amelia had died. Fifty or sixty metres. Was this just a freak accident? An unfortunate convergence of circumstances in time and space? Will she ever speak of it to me? And, what help did she need and with what?

“You have many questions, Bruce. Time will reveal all your answers to you. Just be patient with that sweet girl. In another time and space, she could have been more than a friend to you... “ Apollo spoke in my mind. “Now, she is a little scared, not knowing how to discuss her predicament.”

“Let’s go back to the meadow, Apollo, my friend, “ I thought, and it happened. Apollo took off and followed a straight line to the meadow. At the edge of the forest, I saw Amelia standing next to Zeus, and Zeus had his left wing folded over her. Softly, like a shadow, Apollo landed near the two.

I slid off Apollo’s back, and he spoke in my mind: “The two died together, you know. Zeus and Amelia. Zeus was Amelia’s horse in life ... For them it was sudden and violent. For me, it was old age... “ I turned towards Apollo, but he was gone. There one moment, gone the next.

I did not walk up to Amelia and Zeus. I just stood watching. Amelia was stroking Zeus’s neck. Then Zeus nuzzled her and slowly faded away, leaving her standing there on the edge of the forest, looking lonely. She turned to me, and I held out my hand to her.

“Thank you, dear Bruce. Thank you for the flowers, and riding with me. Thank you for spending time with a spectre. Now, I need to go. I’ll see you later.” And she was gone as well; just faded and left me there, in the meadow at the edge of the green forest.

I stood there for a while and wondered if this is all a dream. Then I mentally shook myself and walked back through the meadow, past Amelia’s grave, and on to the castle. What to do, for the rest of the day? I think I’m getting to miss my little teenage ghost ... ah, spirit.

Then again, if she does cross over to the light, what then? Will I be like Uncle Alex, and just stand, looking at her painting ... Wondering if those lips will ever again speak to me, if those eyes will ever see me again, or will she just be, forever, a beautiful picture, in a beautiful golden frame...

On my way back to the castle, manor house, whatever, I saw George tending to the garden on the side of the house. George was a little younger than me, in his early thirties, I thought, dark brown hair, closely cut, and about six foot seven. Now in a denim type overall, he was raking the fallen leaves together into a pile.

“Morning!” I greeted and extended my hand as I got near him. He stopped and looked up.

“Good morning, Sir Bruce. Welcome to McIntyre Castle. It’s good to have you here, Sir!” And he wiped his right hand on the seat of his overall, then extended it and took my hand.

“It feels good to be back here, only I miss my uncle,” I said.

“We all do, Sir, we all do. It is such a shame ... but mind me saying, he had a good innings. No one better to work for. He always had a joke ready.”

“Yes, that was Uncle Alex.”

“Mighty fine man. We all are going to miss him.”

“George, thank you for cutting the flowers for Miss Amelia’s grave. I appreciate it.”

“All in order, Sir. I take it as an honour to cut the flowers once a week for her grave. This year the garden will be good, so there will be many pretty flowers. The roses too. Long stems on the cutting roses.”

“Do you mind getting me a rose? Just one. I want to place it in her room,” I asked of George, and he looked at me.

“Did you know her, Sir.”

“No, George. I did not, but it seems she is part of this old castle, and I will honour that respect for her and Uncle Alex.”

“Mighty nice of you, Sir. I will go and select one rose now and bring it to you, Sir. Will you be in the study?”

“Yes, George ... and George, drop the ‘sir’ thing. I’m just Bruce.”

“I can never do that, Sir. My upbringing, you know.”

“As you wish, George. Just know, I appreciate you and your service here at the castle.”

“Thank you, Sir. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“I think so too, George. Now, let me take my leave and bother you no more.”

“I’ll be heading your way in about ten minutes, Sir.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you then,” and I turned around to walk back to the castle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw for a fleeting moment, a shadow dissolve among the row of old oak trees to the side of the garden. I shook my head and dismissed it.

I was in the study, not knowing what to touch or what not to. There was a bookshelf: wall to wall, ceiling to floor; a huge bookcase with hundreds of books. I looked through them and found some titles I did not even think of seeing in my lifetime. Mark Twain, “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”, “The Mysterious Stranger”, “Life on the Mississippi”, “The War Prayer”, and so the list goes on. Then there was Shakespeare, “Hamlet”, “Romeo and Juliet”, “Macbeth”, “Othello”, “Twelfth Night”, and the list continues. There was also works by William Blake, Robert Burns, John Keats, and many more books by noteworthy authors.

It seems like Uncle Alex was not only well-read but had something of a collector’s streak. These books were all first editions and in mint condition, except one book by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”. Seems like the book had some water damage, but not too bad; only a few pages discoloured with a brown stain. It could still be useful to read.

The rest of the study had a big, polished oak desk with many drawers. The top had an old leather insert over half its surface. There was a selection of classy ballpoint pens and old Parker fountain pens, all neatly placed in a wooden pen box. The rest of the desk was clear. I sat down in the high back leather chair and looked around the room.

It was a large room with easy chairs and couches scattered around. The carpet on the floor was not your cheap mall furniture store type. A knock on the door disturbed my thoughts.

“Sorry, Sir Bruce, but George said you wanted this rose. I placed it in a small vase for you.” Maggie said, as she entered the study.

“Thank you, Maggie,” I said and got up out of the big leather chair and went over to her.

“Where shall I put it for you, Sir Bruce?” Maggie enquired.

“It’s not for me. I want to take it to Amelia’s room...” I said and nearly added “for her,” but refrained just in time.

“Oh, what a nice thought!” she exclaimed, then added, “I don’t want to scare you, Sir Bruce, but I think Amelia is still here ... here in the castle...”

“What makes you think that, Maggie?”

“I sometimes see things moved around in her room. Sometimes the bedding is disturbed. Her toys are sometimes rearranged,” Maggie said, looking a little distressed. “Whenever I go into that room I feel funny, like if someone is watching me ... And then there’s sometimes other stuff missing from the kitchen.”

“What kind of stuff, Maggie?”

“Food stuff. Mostly some sweet cakes and pastries.”

“It is probably your imagination, Maggie.” I said, trying to steer the conversation in another direction. “Why would she haunt the castle? I think there’s another explanation. Ghosts don’t eat or drink. Besides, any of the staff could have taken it without you noticing.”

“The staff won’t steal anything, Sir Bruce.”

“It’s not stealing. I expect for you, and the staff to feel at home, and make like it is home to you too. So, let them enjoy what the castle has to offer. You too, Maggie.” I said, but Maggie was not deterred in any way from changing the subject.

“Thank you, Sir Bruce, but tell me; why then, sometimes at night, when all is quiet, the piano plays by itself?” Maggie said, and I saw in my mind’s eye the old 1924 Steinway & Son concert grade grand piano in the ballroom in the west wing of the castle.

The west wing is mostly reserved for guests, and therefore devoid of movement by either the staff, or while he was around, Uncle Alex ... or even me. Only the cleaning staff go there regularly.

“The piano plays all by itself, how is that possible?”

“Well, Miss Amelia was the only one to play that piano. Sir Alex bought it for her. Now, I believe she comes around and plays it when no one is around.”

“Her soul is at rest now. I don’t believe that she haunts the castle,” I sighed, knowing true well that Amelia was still around.

“I am not so sure, Sir Bruce. She died a violent death, she and her horse. Those souls never get to rest, they keep coming back to ... to ... you know where. But here you go,” she said and gave me the vase with the single red rose. “She loved roses ... and carnations ... Go, give it to her.” And she turned and left, closing the study door on her way out. I wondered if what Maggie said was true. Why else did Amelia take me to the place where she died? Is this standing in her way from crossing over to the other side?

And why did Maggie choose the words: “Go, give it to her,” and not; “Go, put it in her room,” did she know that Amelia is still around?

I felt a little drained, sighed, and sat down on one of the easy chairs. Why am I the only one who can see her? Or am I seeing her? Ain’t she just a deluded flight of my imagination?

Why then did I feel her hand, warm in mine? Felt the horse beneath me, and felt the g-forces, as Apollo flew around the sky? Why me?

Eventually I got up, went out and down the hallway to Amelia’s room. I carried the vase with the single red rose in it to the door of Amelia’s bedroom. I hesitated. Should I knock?

She’s not really there like it seems, therefore I just turned the doorknob and opened the door. I did not know what to expect, but was surprised at the neatness of the room. Dominating the room was a huge four-poster bed with lace curtains drawn aside and fastened to the four posts. The bed was covered with white linen and a colourful bedspread.

Fluffy pillows were neatly arranged at the soft headboard. Decorative scatter pillows were placed in a row next to the bigger pillows. There was a dresser with a big mirror, and some colourful bottles and jars of stuff on one side, and a few bottles of perfume at the back. Pushed slightly underneath the dresser was a stool with a soft pillowed seat.

The carpet on the floor was thickly piled and rich. All the material in the room was natural and all the colours were matching in pastels and greens. The impression I got was that it was a cosy, charming room that added a calming effect to one’s mind.

At the foot of the bed was a couch with a dressing gown and slippers arranged neatly on it. Across from the bed, taking up most of the wall, was a huge wardrobe. It was of rich stinkwood and looked heavy and old. I suppose that is where she would have kept her clothes. I resisted the temptation to open the wardrobe and look inside. It is private, although Amelia is ... not real anymore, I respect her privacy.

A large couch was placed under the window. Next to the couch, on a low chest of drawers, were six or seven of Amelia’s stuffed animal toys. The usual thing for young teenage girls. Although Amelia was eighteen at her last birthday, girls tend to keep their dolls and toys.

In the corner next to the chest of drawers was a box with a skateboard, a pair of rollerblades, and various other things. A crash helmet, knee and elbow guards, and a soccer ball made up the rest of the contents of the box. Neatly arranged in another box was a hockey stick, a baseball bat and glove, and oh boy, a .177 calibre air rifle. The air rifle was clean and well oiled.

The room was that of a young girl that spent her short life here at the castle. Dust free, I realised, and silently thanked the cleaning staff for taking such good care of the room. Also, it gave me a little insight into the life of the girl. Not just girlie stuff, but it seems like Amelia was a little of a wild child. A tomboy?

I looked around and wondered where to place the vase with the rose. I settled on her bedside table. There was an alarm clock on the right-hand side bedside table, and I thought that it would be a good place to put the vase next to the alarm clock. I also realised that the alarm clock was ticking and on time, as if Amelia had just stepped out of the room and will return later. She did step out of the room, twenty-six years ago, only to never return...

What caught my eye though, was the small indention on the mattress and on one pillow, as if a body was lying there. Just, there was no “body” to be seen. I shuddered and left the room. Like Maggie said, you can feel a presence in the room. Was Amelia in the room at this moment? Maybe she is resting. Do ghosts ... ah, spirits, need to rest?

I cast one last look around the room and left, closing the door softly behind me. It is Friday, and I suppose some of the staff will want to knock off early. I went to find Sam.