One
Sara Traynor’s kitchen was spacious and sunlit. Generously equipped with storage cabinets and decorated in cheery yellows and airy greens, it reminded Selena Watt of the home where she’d grown up, on her parents’ dairy farm, and she said so.
Sara set a brown ceramic teapot down on a trivet in the middle of the square wooden table. “Believe it or not, until I inherited this place seven years ago, the kitchen was in the basement, and this used to be two bedrooms and a sitting room. The original structure was built more than a century ago, by my great-great-grandfather. You saw the plaque beside the front door?”
Selena nodded yes.
“We’ve managed to keep it in the family,” Sara continued, “and my name is on the deed, but because it’s been designated as a heritage property, any major renovation plans have to be approved by the Groverton Historical Society.” Lowering herself onto the seat across the table from Selena, she added, “It took us nearly as long to get the permits for moving and modernizing the kitchen as it did for the contractor’s crew to complete the actual work. The place was a godawful mess for two solid months.”
Selena gazed around the room again, trying to visualize what Sara had described. They would have had to knock down walls, upgrade and redirect the plumbing and wiring, possibly even relocate that broad, double-paned window to centre it over the stainless steel sink.
“Wow,” she murmured. “All that done in only two months? I’m impressed.”
“Well, as they say, many hands make the work go faster.” Sara paused to fill both their glass mugs with orange ginger tea, then went on, “And I suspect it also helped that the Society sent someone out to monitor and record everything for their archives.”
“Is that standard procedure?”
“For our Society? Oh, yes.” She nudged a plate of homemade oatmeal cookies invitingly in Selena’s direction. “They’re very diligent about preserving local history. But enough about them. You said on the phone that you’re looking for real estate here in town. Are you thinking of moving to Groverton?”
Peering at her hostess over the rim of her mug, Selena swallowed a mouthful of the fragrant herbal tea, then declared, “I am. Standerville is a nice little community, but it’s never going to be more than that. If Watt’s Greatest Travel and Leisure is to grow, it needs to be in a larger, busier town. Groverton is perfect for me. It’s already a hub of tourism activity, with three different chain hotels and two major resorts in the area. There’s also new housing development going on, which means the pool of potential clients is increasing. And it doesn’t hurt that I’ve got friends here,” she added with a grin. “So, I’ve been browsing the local listings online. Some of them look promising, but there’s one in particular that may be just what I need. I have an appointment with a realtor this afternoon to view it in person. Wish me luck.”
The realtor had texted Selena an address where they were to meet up, but it wasn’t the location of the place she’d specifically asked to see. That was her first clue that something had gone awry. The second clue was that the tall, dark-haired woman who stood waiting for her on the sidewalk in front of the house was not the agent Selena had spoken with at the realtor’s office the previous day.
The woman had evidently parked on the street, leaving the driveway empty. Opting for caution, Selena did the same. She drove past the house and pulled up at the curb two doors away. There was probably a very reasonable explanation for this unexpected change of plans. Nonetheless, it didn’t feel right, and if the murder mystery weekend at Rafferty House the previous summer had taught Selena anything, it was to heed her instincts.
The walk from her car gave her a chance to size up this stranger. She was dressed all in green, right down to her shoes—a polished mannequin in a tailored pantsuit, with salon-sculpted hair, a picture-ready makeup job, and an imperious tilt to her head. The woman wore a smile that had probably been applied along with her lipstick. It was a perfect match for the coolly appraising stare that Selena could practically feel against her skin as her legs continued closing the distance between them.
Alarm bells now jangling like mad at the back of her brain, Selena halted an arm’s length away and said in a higher-pitched voice than she intended, “I thought I was meeting Brenda.”
“I thought you were too. I’m afraid Brenda has been… called away unexpectedly. Normally, we would simply have rescheduled your appointment for another day, but since you’ve come from out of town, I felt it was important not to waste any of your time. So, I’m filling in for her instead. I’m Tricia Vickery.”
Selena recognized that name. She’d seen it displayed on a wall plaque in the reception area of Hearth and Home Realty. So, Brenda’s boss was taking over this showing? Judging from the sharpness of her tone, she was no happier about the situation than Selena was.
Ah, well… Nodding stiffly in acknowledgement, Selena accepted the business card Vickery held out to her.
“Brenda was going to take me inside the house at Beech and Webber. She called it ‘the castle’. Is it still available?”
Vickery frowned as though deliberating how best to deliver bad news. Selena braced herself to hear it. Then, to her surprise, the other woman replied, “It is, and we will be going there eventually. First, however, I’ve read Brenda’s notes and selected two other properties that you might find suitable for your needs. To give you a basis for comparison, if nothing else.”
“I gather this is one of them?” Selena gestured in the direction of the two-storey brick house beside them.
Vickery unzipped her skinny leather briefcase, pulled out an information sheet, and thrust it into Selena’s hand. “The asking price is a little higher than the range you indicated, but as you can see, it has nearly everything you want, and it’s been on the market long enough that the seller might accept a reduced offer.”
Scanning the document, Selena knew without taking a step inside the building that this one would not do. “Nearly everything” wasn’t good enough. The location was wrong, it was a single family dwelling instead of a duplex, and even if the purchase price ended up within her means, the cost of converting the top floor into a separate apartment and putting in the necessary upgrades—not to mention the rent she would have to pay on another place while the work was being done—would simply boost it beyond her reach again.
“I don’t think so,” Selena said. She tried to return the sheet, but Vickery wouldn’t take it.
“Well, how about just going inside for a look around?” she coaxed, curving her lips into a practised smile. “Who knows? Maybe it will spark some decorating ideas.”
Selena gave a mental shrug. Sure, why not? Vickery wouldn’t want to waste her own time either after going to the trouble of setting up this showing, and it wasn’t as if her client had somewhere else to rush off to.
Fifteen minutes later, Selena had seen nothing that could change her mind about this place. The tile work in the bathroom was pretty, but not worth diving into debt over.
The second house on their itinerary was only marginally better. It did have two separate apartments, but one was in the basement, where Selena refused to either live or work, and it wasn’t walking distance to anything but a convenience store and a public elementary school.
Strike two.
Vickery’s smile dimmed noticeably as she handed Selena the third information sheet.
At last. The castle.
“This one has everything on your wish list and is in the middle of your preferred price range.”
Well, of course it was, Selena thought with some asperity. It was perfect. That was why she’d selected it to view in the first place. Still, the way Vickery’s features were puckering gave her pause.
“But there’s a reason the asking price is so low?”
Vickery drew a deep breath before replying. “The house has a history.”
“From what I’ve heard, half the buildings in Groverton have a history,” Selena countered. “I know it’s not a heritage property, not yet, anyway.” Not that it would have made a difference to her plans if it were. The interior had already been renovated, and she really liked what she’d seen of it in the photos on Brenda’s computer screen.
“It’s on the Historical Society’s monitoring list, but it has… shall we say, certain worrisome features…?”
This woman’s evasiveness was trying Selena’s patience. “Features? Like what? A moat?” Then, as a more practical concern occurred to her, “Or is it something to do with the construction? A problem with the foundation, maybe?”
“No. The building has been thoroughly inspected and determined to be sound. But there is talk—just rumours, really, nothing that can be proven… Never mind,” she decided, drawing herself up to her full height and giving off the air of a gladiator about to enter the arena. “We can discuss them later. You want to see the house, Ms. Watt? Follow me there.”
The building nicknamed “the castle” occupied a large corner lot, one block away from both cross-streets of a major intersection. As Selena made the turn from Beech onto Webber and brought her car to a stop at the foot of the driveway, her jaw dropped.
The exterior photo on the realtor’s web site did not do this place justice.
Stretching nearly the full width of the property and with hardly any front or back yard to speak of, the house looked for all the world like a red brick castle surrounded by a grassy green moat. A shaded veranda hugged the front and sides of the building, but instead of the standard gingerbread trim hanging down beneath the eaves, a shallow, crenellated barrier poked upward along the edges of the roof, creating the appearance of battlements.
“It really is a castle, isn’t it?” Selena murmured wonderingly.
“Built by someone who felt he belonged in one,” Vickery muttered in reply. She pulled a key out of her pocket. “Shall we go inside?” …and get this over with? said the tone of her voice.
“Sure.”
The second Selena stepped onto the veranda, a strange tingling started up inside her. It resonated in her core, as if her internal organs were humming in harmony, then broadcasting the music to every other part of her body. For a moment, her nerves danced maddeningly to the tune. Then the sensation ceased, leaving a ghostly impression of longing and sadness clinging to her thoughts, emotions without memory that settled over her mind like a web of spider’s silk.
If the sentience of Rafferty House hadn’t taught her better, she might have thought she was imagining things… but she knew deep down that she wasn’t. Selena Watt and this century-old building with the modernized interior were somehow on the same mysterious wavelength, just as Larry Holmes and Rafferty House had been nearly a year earlier, and what she had just experienced felt disturbingly like a cry for help.
Show me, she thought-called to the house.
There was no response.
Unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed, Selena tossed a final glance around the veranda and followed Vickery through the front door.
The images on Brenda’s computer had clearly been recorded earlier, while the house was still being lived in. Now it was unfurnished and the windows were bare, letting in splashes of late afternoon sunshine upstairs and down. Selena strolled from one large, empty room to another, hearing the slight echo of her footsteps and noticing the workmanship evident in what had been left behind. There was much to admire about this place: polished hardwood floors, pristine walls, crown mouldings, marble countertops, artfully wrought chandeliers that collected the light and scattered shards of it in every direction…
When the two women met up again in the foyer, Selena remarked, “This is impressive.” She nearly added, I shouldn’t even be able to afford it, but stopped herself in time.
“Everything is new and upgraded,” Vickery told her. “The current owner went all in on the renovations. Then he went away, instructing me to sell the property for whatever I could get for it. It’s been vacant for about three months now.”
“You’re saying he bought it to flip it?”
Vickery frowned. “That wasn’t the impression I got when we were finalizing his purchase of it a couple of years ago. It sounded as though he planned to live upstairs and host social events on the main level.”
…which would explain the presence of two full kitchens, one per floor.
“So, what happened to make him change his mind?”
“No idea. His wife may have had something to do with it, though. Prue Davidson. Apparently, she’s a well-known interior decorator in the Toronto area, although I must confess, I’d never heard of her before her husband bought the property. She stayed down there while he pretty much lived in town, clearing up some legalities and overseeing the renovations. When they were done, she came up to add the finishing touches. She was seen talking to some of our local artisans and home furnishing suppliers, giving the impression that she planned to turn part of the house into a showroom for their wares. However, a couple of weeks later, Mr. Davidson told me that she’d gone down to the city and wouldn’t be coming back, and that I should put the house on the market again. A day or two after that, he’d left as well.”
For Selena, this had a very familiar ring. Arthur Pyke’s plans to turn Rafferty House into a dinner theatre venue had also been thwarted. And something Larry had said back then rose unbidden to the surface of her memory: “Maybe the house is haunted. Or maybe any house with a history like this one’s is going to behave the same way and we just don’t realize it because there aren’t that many of them around.”
“You said the house had a history…?”
Vickery’s frown deepened into a scowl. “It’s just rumour,” she replied. “Some people believe that there may have been a murder committed on the property.”
“Recently?”
“Heavens, no! But when a string of new owners keep customizing a house, moving into it, and then walking away from it with no warning and for no apparent reason, people like to speculate. Some of them have very active imaginations, and their stories have spread. So, Loch Ness may contain a monster, and the old McFadyen residence might be haunted. There, I’ve disclosed it, even though it’s nothing but idle gossip,” she said disgustedly.
“Well, I happen to like ghost stories,” Selena informed her with a grin. “I also like everything else about this place, and I want to put in an offer, conditional on the sale of my current dwelling, a home inspection, of course, and the arrangement of financing. How soon can you have the paperwork ready?”
Vickery stared at her, surprise written all over her polished mannequin features. “You’re certain? There are several more properties I was planning to show you—”
“That’s not necessary,” Selena assured her. “I’ve got a feeling about this house. I think I belong here.”
There were four adults at Sara’s dinner table that evening: Sara, her brother Larry Holmes, Selena, and a short, rather quiet man who kept nervously adjusting his eyeglasses, whom Sara introduced as her friend, Curt Wakefield. Sara’s two boys had already eaten and were playing a video game in the rec room (formerly the kitchen, Selena recalled) downstairs. Apparently, teachers didn’t assign homework this late in June.
“You’re all guinea pigs tonight,” Sara announced, setting a steaming hot baking dish down on a placemat in the middle of the table. “I found a recipe online and decided to try it out. No promises, and if it’s a dud, we can always finish off the pizza that’s in the fridge.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be terrific, whether it’s edible or not,” Larry assured her.
Selena shot him a look. Unless the smoke inhalation had destroyed his sense of smell, he had to know how rich and tantalizing the aroma was that wafted off their main course.
“It’s moussaka,” Sara told him in a so there! voice, “and I’ve made a Greek salad to go with it.”
As she busied herself removing the clear wrap from the salad bowl, Curt cleared his throat, pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and ventured with a tentative smile, “Since there seems to be a theme to this meal, may I ask if there’s ambrosia to wash it down?”
Sara laughed. “The wine of the gods? ‘Fraid not,” she carolled back to him, “but I did pick up a bottle of retsina from the LCBO. I’ve never had it myself, but the clerk described it as dry and a little spicy, so I guess we’ll be finding out whether we like it. It’s chilling in the fridge. Larry, if you wouldn’t mind doing the honours…?”
“Sure,” he replied, rising from his chair. “I’ll be your sommelier for the evening.”
Soon, all four of their goblets were charged with the golden-coloured wine.
“Sara’s obviously done some research on this, so what’s the Greek word for ‘cheers’, little sis?” Larry asked.
Her cheeks dimpled. “You know me so well, big brother. It’s yamas.”
“Yamas!” he repeated loudly, raising his glass in a toast, and together, the others followed suit.
The moussaka and salad were both delicious. Evidently, Selena wasn’t alone in thinking that—for several minutes, everyone ate in silence. However, she couldn’t help noticing what was happening to Curt. Each additional sip of wine that he swallowed seemed to peel another layer of tension away from him, mellowing both his voice and his facial expression. By the time his glass was empty, he was leaning back in his chair, grinning and nodding as the conversation flowed around him.
Selena had also noticed the way Sara looked at him, and how quickly she blushed and looked away each time he met her gaze. Perhaps now was the time to ask the question that had immediately arisen in Selena’s mind.
“So, Curt, how did you and Sara meet up?” she inquired brightly.
“We did some research together,” came his reply. “For the past three years I’ve been the curator-slash-manager of the Groverton Historical Museum. Shortly after I got here, I went to the library to find out more about the train wreck of 1933, and Sara was the first person on staff who welcomed me and offered to help. After that, I looked for her whenever new artifacts arrived and I needed information about them for the catalogue. She’s quite the history buff, as it turns out.”
Actually, Selena suspected her friend was more of a Curt buff. And she had to admit, when he was loosened up like this, he was rather attractive. She could see what Sara saw in him—the sparkle of good humour in his blue eyes, the lock of sandy brown hair that fell so appealingly over his forehead…
Selena glanced automatically at Larry. Oops! He’d apparently noticed the byplay as well, and now his features were darkening. Best to change the subject before Sara’s protective older brother could ask any follow-up questions.
“Speaking of history,” Selena cut in, “I promised to tell you how my appointment with the realtor turned out.”
Seated across from her, Sara leaned closer, grinning in anticipation. “And…?” she prompted.
“I’m putting in an offer on a house. It begged me to buy it, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“That’s wonderful! Is it far from here? Where is it?”
“At the corner of Beech and Webber Streets. I’m buying the castle.”
Sara’s smile wilted. “No! Tell me you’re joking.”
“Listen, I know what I’m getting into—”
“No, you don’t! Curt, tell her!”
“Yes, Sara,” she countered patiently, “I do. Larry, tell her.”
Larry’s eyes widened with belated comprehension. “You meant that literally? The house spoke to you?”
“Not in words, but yes, it sent me a message. Just like when Rafferty House communicated with you. You were right about old houses with similar histories.”
“That house on the island communicated with you? You never told me that,” Sara said, giving her brother a reproving look.
He let out a sigh. “Because I knew you’d never believe me. You would dismiss it as a false memory, or as delirium resulting from not enough oxygen getting to my brain during the fire. And so would everyone else. But if we have a sentient house right here in Groverton—!”
“Not so fast, Mr. Fire Inspector,” Sara scolded him. “First I want to know all about Rafferty House. Then Curt and I will tell you what we found out about the McFadyen place. Then Selena can decide whether she really wants to go through with this purchase. You haven’t actually signed anything, have you?” she added, speaking rapidly to Selena.
“No. Vickery wants me to come into her office tomorrow so we can present the offer.”
“Oh, good,” said Sara. “You can still change your mind. Now, talk to us, Larry.”
“Okay, but there’s not that much to tell,” he replied, frowning. “The house had been in the Pyke family for generations, as a summer home. Then the family stopped going there. It sat vacant and neglected for about forty years, until Arthur Pyke inherited it and decided to restore it and turn it into a resort hotel.”
“To prostitute it, you mean,” Selena corrected him sharply. “And the poor thing must have hated the very idea of it. Rafferty House was aware of everything that went on inside it and was able to react to it. Don’t forget that it saved your life, Larry.”
“Technically that’s not true,” he countered. “Other humans were the ones who pulled me out of that fire. They saved my life.”
“Well, I’m sure the house did everything it could to keep you alive until they were able to rescue you,” said Selena, her chin rising. “Even Sergeant Brassard had to concede that you had a special connection with it, and she was a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic.”
“Okay, I’ll grant you that much. It did feel all along as if the house and I were in mental communication somehow.”
“Wow,” Sara murmured when they were done. “You’re going to be a hard act to follow, but here goes: according to public and archival records, Hugh McFadyen arrived in Groverton in 1924 with bagfuls of American money. Where he’d come from and how he’d made his fortune, nobody knew for sure, although the local newspaper floated the theory that it might have been ill-gotten gains from smuggling liquor into the U.S. Whether that was true or not, McFadyen never denied the story. What he did was spread his largesse around. He supported local charities, invested in businesses that boosted the town’s economy, sponsored cultural events… and the rumours eventually died down. Over the next few years, he became quite wealthy and influential.”
And believed he belonged in a castle. Selena nodded to herself, finally understanding the ironical tone of Vickery’s comment earlier that day.
“He had the home constructed in 1927, on what later became Beech Street,” Curt said, picking up the narrative. “In late 1932, McFadyen returned from an extended business trip, bringing with him his new wife, Gertrude, and her live-in nurse, Lillian Friendly. Gertrude was said to be in delicate health due to a childhood illness, and so she hardly ever went outside. Her nurse was constantly with her, which explains why there are so few photographs of these women in the archives.”
“It didn’t help that Gertrude came down with influenza the very next day after her arrival here,” said Sara. “A doctor was summoned. He ordered the house quarantined, and McFadyen was forced to lay off all his inside help until such time as the quarantine could be lifted. In her already-weakened state, it took months for Gertrude to make a full recovery, but she finally did, and she was given medical permission to travel. Evidently, that was what she and Hugh were about to do when a train jumped the tracks as it was pulling into Groverton Station on March 3rd, 1933. The derailed train demolished the boarding platform, killing nearly everyone on it, including both McFadyens.”
“That’s nice, but—”
“Surprisingly, Lillian wasn’t with them at the time,” she continued, talking over the rest of Larry’s objection. Once Sara warmed to a subject, she was uninterruptible. “Perhaps she’d left on her own well-earned vacation. Or maybe she’d gone ahead of them and they were supposed to meet up later. Either way, there’s no record of her ever returning here. Not that she would have had a reason to, of course, with Hugh and Gertrude dead.”
“Which is all very interesting, I’m sure,” Larry said impatiently, “but I thought you were telling Selena about the house…?”
“The house,” Curt cut in. “McFadyen died without a will, so the town took ownership of the property. It sat vacant for almost a year while the council argued over what to do with it. Eventually, they came to an agreement. They were going to repurpose the building as a boarding house, hire people as live-in staff, and rent out the rest of the rooms to transient workers—but there was a problem. They couldn’t keep a cook or building superintendent longer than a couple of days. People started saying that the place was haunted. Even after all their claims were disproven, they stuck to their stories.”
“Which were…?” said Selena.
“That they’d experienced sudden random drops in air temperature, shadows that mysteriously appeared and disappeared, with no visible source… mainly, though, it was the sensation that they were not alone, that some invisible presence was in the building with them, making them feel deeply anxious, even depressed.”
“At last, it was decided to knock the house down altogether and build something else on the site,” said Sara. “A contractor was selected, plans and permits were filed, and everything was set for demolition.”
“But…?” Selena prompted her.
“The contractor backed out. He let it be known that God had spoken to him, and God did not want that building destroyed. Well, this being a God-fearing town, his pronouncement apparently discouraged all the other contractors in the area from taking on the job. Tenders were put out, but no one would bid on them. The building sat for years. Eventually, the council was contacted by a wealthy gentleman in Toronto—obviously an atheist—who had heard about this ‘haunted house’ and offered to take it off their hands. The sale was finalized in 1949. Since then, the property has changed hands more times than anyone cares to count. The buyer moves in, lasts at most six months, and then packs up and leaves after putting it back on the market.”
Selena met Larry’s inquiring gaze. “Rafferty House was cursed,” she mused. “Maybe the castle is too.”
Sara uttered an exasperated syllable. “Maybe it is cursed. Or maybe it’s haunted, or even alive. Or—who knows?—maybe it’s all three. But for certain it’s like a black hole swallowing up people’s time and money, and that’s not what I would wish for anyone, especially not a friend. Selena, please don’t do this! I just know you’re going to regret it.”
Putting on her most patient smile, Selena reached across the table and took her hand. “When I was at Rafferty House with Larry, I could sense an emotion that pervaded the air inside that building. It was sadness. I felt exactly the same thing when I was standing on the castle’s front porch. And what you said about all the times it’s been abandoned…? That’s a reason for any living thing to feel depressed. Maybe I can help it. Maybe I can’t—but I won’t know that until I try.”
“But—”
“Listen, I’m not a first-time buyer, and this is not an overnight process. It could take days for the offer to be accepted, and weeks on top of that to meet its conditions. At a minimum, I’ll need to find a buyer for my current property, arrange for financing for the new one, and have a thorough home inspection done. So, at any time during that period—”
“I can help you,” Curt blurted out. “With the inspection. I can tell you whether the place is haunted.”
Three pairs of eyes now turned to stare curiously into his face.
Clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably on his chair, he went on, “There’s a reason I’ve taken an interest in the story of Gertrude McFadyen and her husband. I’ve met her—or rather, her ghost—at the museum. It’s housed in what used to be the Groverton train station. Apparently, she’s been haunting it since the derailment in 1933… and she’s madder than hell.”
© 2025 Arlene F. Marks
Purchase
