Wayward Winds Estate In Bitter Springs: Chapter Analysis

Chapter Five

Return of the Blue Ghoul

Wayward Winds Estate in Bitter Springs

Friday, 6:30 p.m.

Several hours later, we stood on Miss McBride’s doorstep ringing the bell.

It was a bleak summer’s evening with the shadows deepening on a path that ambled down between bitternut hickory trees, and then cut sideways across a field of tiny green grapevines. There was a wind beginning, small gusts that rattled the fence posts and set the dandelions dancing in unison on the broad expanse of lawn. Rain spotted our shirts and glistened on our nylon backpacks.

“Okay,” I said. “Remember to follow the Deadwood Detective Agency’s standard operating procedures. Nail down the timeline. Follow up on the leads and treat everything as evidence. If you see the

ghost, note the location, who’s present when it turns up, and the person’s reaction.”
“You think the ghost is still here?” Twist said.
“Yeah. Sure, where would it go?”
“The North Pole,” he suggested hopefully.
Seth, busily adjusting the gadget on his belt, shook his head.
We waited on the step. The Wayward Winds Estate was a two-story Victorian showing sharp and brown against the shards of hard gray clouds. It was old and weathered with gargoyles on the corners of the roof, and thin lace curtains dangling at the transom windows. No lights showed in the upper story, but the hallway light was on.
Twist squinted through the glass, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Well, somebody’s at home,” he said. “I can see a person standing at the far end of the hall.”
He pressed the buzzer again. It was an awful sound, a dagger to the ear. He dropped the knocker, too.
Shadows rose behind the glass. Chains rattled, and the door swung wide. A boy, built tall and slender like Seth, stood there. He was pale, with coal-black hair, faded jeans, and a ratty white T-shirt.
“The name is Twistleton.” Twist stuck out his hand. “I’m with the Deadwood Detective Agency. These are my associates, Seth Holloway and Madison Mischief.”
“Hey,” the kid said, grabbing our gear.
He ushered us down a wood-paneled hallway, past the curious stares of the kitchen staff and into a parlor. It was a cozy room with worn lemon-colored carpet, racks of brightly decorated plates, coats, hats, umbrellas hanging on hooks, and garden prints in golden frames plastering the walls. On a tufted sofa, a woman with silver hair pinned beneath a hat sporting a peacock feather sat knitting a sweater.
“Good evening, Madison.” She dropped her needles into a basket beside her and drooped a papery and spotted hand in my direction.
I grasped it lightly and shook it.
“How is your mother?”
Two housekeepers dressed in navy uniforms with crisp, white aprons tumbled into the room, threading the furniture as they grabbed our backpacks from the boy and chatted their way into the hall.
“Somebody told me that the ghost is going to ruin the estate,” one said.
“Oh, goodness no,” the other added.
Miss McBride whipped around to stare at the women. The hem of her russet skirt just grazed the floor.
“Gossip mongering,” she mumbled. “How sad.”
I quickly scribbled down my observations in a notebook: possible suspect cooperative, but not a fan of chitchat. There are no ghouls visible to the naked eye.
“Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes.” She pointed to the boys. “Seth and Twist. Wonderful. Did you have a pleasant trip?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Twist said.
“Please, call me Aunt Emma. Everyone else does.”
“Sure.” Twist used his best smile. “You told my partner that the ghost has been roaming around your home?”
“Yes, it started wandering through the halls the other day.”
“Oh, I see,” I said.
“Well, when your mother mentioned that you and your agents have a talent for solving difficult cases, cases that others wouldn’t dare take on, I called thinking that perhaps the Deadwood Detective Agency could determine why the ghost is haunting my estate. Maybe even figure out how to get rid of the frightening phantom.”
“We’ll do our best, ma’am. I mean, Miss McBride,” Twist promised.
“I know you will. We’ll discuss this matter at length in the morning. Chance?” Miss McBride called to the dark-haired boy. He came forward, and she introduced us. “I’m not sure if this young man had the opportunity to tell you, but he’s the great-great-grandson of Captain McBride. Chester had two wives. His first wife Addison succumbed to scarlet fever and left him with a son named Alexander. After that, Chester got himself into some trouble. He married Princess Mei and they sailed away, leaving Alexander in an orphanage. Eventually, the captain’s son married and they brought Jason into the world. His son, James Armstrong, Chance’s father, drowned in an overturned boat.”
She fiddled with the tiny buttons fastened tightly at her throat. “Chance survived the accident and lived with the man who’d rescued him for several years. Then the man heard that Chance had family in Bitter Springs. He contacted me and asked if I would take him in. Well, naturally, I said yes, and he’s been here ever since.”
Miss McBride was silent for a moment, the room so deadened by fabrics and paper that I thought I could hear the beating of our hearts. “But enough about us. I’m sure by now you’re bored to death and probably hungry.” She stood up and led us into the kitchen.
A reed of a woman with a slim face and calm brown eyes stood at the table peeling potatoes. “Miss McBride you should be resting,” the woman said in an accent that was definitely from somewhere farther east than Whodunit Hill.
“I have to get these children settled first.” She kissed Chance’s cheek. “So I’ll leave you to eat and get acquainted. Hannah, can you fix Madison, Twist, and Seth something to eat?”
“Yes, Miss McBride,” she said, tracing her toe in a tango.
I imagined she’d once been a dancer, perhaps a ballerina, or an acrobatic performer who twirled ribbons.
Hannah plunged a large spoon into a saucepan and added a spice. I could smell the rich tang of apples with a tinge of nutmeg. As she stirred, Mr. Shaw came into the kitchen.
“Didn’t we see you at Willaston Place a few days ago?” Seth asked him.
“Yes, I believe so. I never dreamed we’d find a secret room containing a skeleton—in nightclothes, no less.” He laughed and it sounded like steel chafing through pebbles. “And now you’re here trying to figure out why a ghost is haunting our house.”
“Do you think it’s the ghost of Captain McBride?” Twist asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was hoping you and your friends could solve that mystery.”

“Don't worry, sir,” I said. “We’ll have this thing wrapped up tight in no time.”

“Excellent.” He smiled. “I feel better already. Well, good night.”

“David,” Miss McBride stood in the doorway, “will you help me up the stairs?”

“Of course,” he said, holding out his elbow for her—a sweet old-fashioned gesture.

She looped her arm through his, and they strolled toward the steps.

“See you in the morning,” Chance called to them over his shoulder.

He switched on the kitchen lights and the wrought-iron chandelier illuminated bright plaster frescoes of Italian vineyards, cabinets topped with yellowish-green leaves, and a lavishly carved ceiling.

“It gets dark early here in the ravine,” he told us. “The tall mountains that surround us make it seem later than it really is. Sometimes, it’s nice being cocooned in silence with only the whisper of the distant wind through trees. Other times, it’s kind of spooky.”

“Spooky,” Twist agreed.

“Speaking of spooky,” I said, “did you see the ghost?”

“No,” Chance replied softly, staring out of the

window.
“But it was seen by your aunt, right?” I pressed.
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” I suggested.

“When did your aunt first see the ghost?”

“So many questions from such a very young lady,” Hannah said, floating next to the table, placing plates in front of each of us. Then she tossed down crinkle-cut pickles, macaroni salad, and potato chips.

“Sorry, ma’am, it’s my job.”

She slid a platter stacked with sandwiches beside the salad and splashed some apple cider into our cups.

“I almost forgot. Were you here when the ghost showed up?”

“Eat,” she said, turning and walking toward the stove.

A total dead end.

I grabbed a watercress sandwich and was about to take a bite when a scream like a fist pounded on the table. It was followed by a drowning silence. I dropped my sandwich and jumped to my feet.

“That was Aunt Emma.” Chance stormed out of the kitchen.

We chased after him up the stairs and down a dark hall. At the end, a door stood ajar and light stretched across the hallway floor.

I was a few steps from the door handle when I heard Miss McBride scream again. Slowly, I crept into the room and saw her sprawled across the bed.

Mr. Shaw was bent over her, rubbing her temples and rambling, “Emma, can you hear me? Are you all right?” He spotted Hannah. “Please bring me some of Miss McBride’s smelling

salts.”
Hannah hurried into the bathroom and snatched a slender bottle off a shelf. She returned and held the open vial under Miss McBride’s nose.
After a moment or two, she shuddered and opened her eyes.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she sobbed, groggy, childlike half-sniffles. “I’m so sorry. I must have collapsed on the floor.”
Chance paced restlessly across the wool rug like a zoo animal. After a few laps, he seemed to relax.
“What happened?” he said, sitting down heavily on the bed.
“I saw the ghost again.” She cleared her throat. “After I bid you good night, I walked upstairs, stepped into my bedroom, and just before I turned on the light I glanced outside.” She pointed to a window that looked out into the darkness. “The ghost was kneeling on the roof. It stood up swathed in a dark robe and twisted around. I’m sure it was my great-uncle, Chester. His mouth looked like a diagonal gash and those eyes . . . One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a nickel, and emerald green.” She shivered. “The green eye was moving continuously, without blinking. It rolled up and down, examining, probing every inch of me. It was terrifying, particularly when he clenched his fists and spoke in a wrathful drone: ‘Leave Willaston alone.’ He’s angry at me.”
“But why?” Seth asked, rocking back on his heels.
“Because, years ago, my mother swore she would seal up the mansion and never open it again. She made a solemn vow that neither the house nor the property would be sold or disturbed in any way. And I’ve broken that promise.”
* * *
It was o’dark thirty before I slipped upstairs and sat, or rather collapsed on an antique brass bed and fell asleep.
Thanks to the ghost I had lots of weird and extremely disturbing dreams. The ghoul glided through them, first as a gigantic blue phantom with a devious mind and eye sockets flaring with greenish fire. Then, as a pale spirit that steadily drifted forward, its mouth agape, its long black hair flapping around its skull.