Let’s talk about ghosts, shall we? I am not hunting a ghost myself, but if you are ever on the hunt for a figment or a phantom, then this is the right country for it. And here are a few brief thoughts for those who might want to hunt a Gaelic ghost:
If out of doors, seek a sacred circle or shrouded shrine. Move only by moonlight and search solely in starshine. Ghosts melt away in the rain.
On days of prohibitive weather, seek out charismatic crypts, apparitions in apses and stained-glass specters.
And the best part? Even if you never spy the ghosts you seek, the beautiful old spaces and places in this country will haunt your heart forever.
In spite of my friend’s highest hopes, I did not meet an Outlander ghost, nor any of the colorful denizens of the ancient Castle Leoch. I did meet another writer, deep in the research of his own tale. Ankle deep, you might say.
I have one more stop in search of a stone circle, but the truth is, even if I never do find the inspiration for Craigh na Dun? I can in no way call myself disappointed. Adventure awaits behind every standing stone.
- ES
Comments: 31
HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:
If stone circle begins to hum——run!
MagischeSteinkraus, Berlin, Deutchland:
Nein! Step through…step through!
(Read 29 more comments here…)
It was just noon by the time I finished the blog post. The Internet cafe had a special on sausage rolls, so I scarfed two of them down and called it brunch.
Being so deeply cold somehow at the castle seemed to justify the need for a recovery day. I’d spent the day after my latest adventure traversing the distance between my big soft feather bed at Auntie Gwen’s and the giant, steaming iron tub down the hall.
And in the bath? I read OUTLANDER.
I also put in several hours monopolizing Auntie Gwen’s home computer, searching the history of the wee castle where I’d found Jack.
However, after a day of sloth, I was beginning to get a bit anxious about finances. My flagrant spending since cashing in the return ticket in Inverness had seen the lovely large balance dwindling far too rapidly for my liking. I decided that once I had checked out the circle, I’d turn around and head south. Back to Edinburgh, the land of the coffee shop. My greatest area of expertise, and hopefully a decent source of under-the-table cash.
But before any of that, I needed to go visit Gerald. See how he was doing, find out if I had guessed right about his belief the ruin was Leoch. And get more information about the circle.
I arrived at the hospital thirty minutes too early for visiting hours. The nurse who sat at the information desk had the bristling blonde version of the Scottish unibrow, and her gaze when I suggested popping in a bit early was like thunder.
“I’ll no’ reckon so,” she said, arms folded across her ample bosom. “It’s two on the notice, and ye’ll not get past my desk until that wee clock on tha’ wall ower there tells me ye can.”
I crept away, knowing full well that if I had a tail, it would be tucked between my legs.
The nurse at the registration desk was not as frightening, but her news was even less welcome. “Findlay, Findlay. Yes, here he is. Are you immediate family?”
“Uh—yes. I’m his—uh—his American cousin.”
She tapped her pen on the desk and shot me a wry smile. “Well, Miss American Cousin, yer Scots relative has been discharged. Surprised he didn’t let you know before he left, him bein’ yer cousin, and all?”
“Oh… well, I—I guess he must have had someone else pick him up. But he was okay, then, when he left?”
“We aren’t generally in the habit of letting our patients leave when they are not—as you say—okay.”
I left the skeptical registration nurse behind and wandered back toward Gerald’s ward. If I couldn’t find out what had happened to Jack, I could at least bring him up to date on my adventures at the castle. It was ten past two by this time, and the scary unibrow nurse was no longer at her station, so I hopped in the elevator and sailed up to the third floor.
Unlike the previous visit, the ward was empty, except for Gerald’s bed. He was sitting up, laughing, with a young man who was himself perched on the bed. I felt quite scandalized at the sight, given the dressing-down I had received for sitting on the bed, and even more so when the young man stood up and I caught sight of the ID card clipped to his waistband.
“Emma—come in, come in! This is Nurse Goodfield—I was hoping you’d get a chance to meet.”
The nurse stood up slowly, clearly not troubled at all with the protocol. “Nice to meet you, Emma,” he said with a crisp English accent, and shot a grin at his patient. “I’ll leave you Yanks to talk in private. Back to check on you later, Mister Abernathy.”