Chapter 3 - The First Night

Charlie settles down after his long journey only to have a rather disturbing night time visitor.

By the time Charlie had consumed the entirety of his drink, he had also managed to unpack his small travelcase. With its contents neatly organised into the small chest of drawers he threw himself across his bed, feeling the full relief of arriving in Alloway at last. He closed his eyes and emptied his lungs of all air held within, an activity he found oddly satisfying. Finally I can get on with the investigation, he thought, no more bullshitting people, travelling or strange old women can get in the way now.

  Inspired by his optimism, he snapped his eyes back open and reached over to his laptop bag that had been sitting on top of the chest of drawers. Removing his laptop, he fired it up and connected to the internet, ready to begin his research on Robert Burns.

  Instantly Charlie was overwhelmed with the sheer mass of information on Burns, it was like a digital tidal wave had come thundering out of his laptop to drown him. Refusing to be overwhelmed, he opened up a fresh word document and started the introductory piece on the public's knowledge of Burns:

Born in Alloway on the 25th of January 1759, Robert Burns became one of the most significant figures in Scottish history, having penned around 500 poems and 300 songs during his life. These included popular classics such as To A Mouse, Auld Lang Syne and Address To The Toothache. Originally he came from a very humble farming background; spending every day working on his family's farm. Eventually he put the life of labour aside to pursue his passion for writing and women, and was even given the title of the Ploughman Poet for his work. After many years of fame, literacy prowess and debauchery carried out in Edinburgh, Burns retired to Dumfries with his wife Jean and his two children. However, the luxurious years in Edinburgh left him penniless to the point where he had to resume the hardworking life he had abandoned. The work was too much for him in the end and he died on the 21st of July 1796 at the mere age of 37.

  Leaning back against his propped up pillow, Charlie scanned over the summary with a light smirk on his face. It was detailed enough for readers that had never heard of Robert Burns to get all the necessary information; yet short enough for those familiar with him to not get bored or choose to skip past it to the main story. Most likely he would make improvements here and there just to polish it off but for the most part he was happy with his opening paragraph.

  Now he had that done, he decided it was time to have a quick search for any information on Mary Campbell. What he found however, was downright impossible. The very first result for Mary Campbell was a  website detailing the life of a woman who was alive at the time of Robert Burns. She had had an affair with him when his wife grown tired of his unfaithfulness and they were even going to run away together to the West Indies until she mysteriously dropped dead. Somewhere around the same time Burns had also become successful with his poetry. He had even written a poem about her called Highland Mary.

  It couldn't be the same Mary Campbell that had controlled him over the phone, it just couldn't, yet there was no other Mary Campbell that had any sort of connection to Robert Burns. If it somehow was her, how was she alive and capable of controlling people via phone calls? How did she know that Burns was a liar?

  Slapping his laptop lid shut irritably, he closed his eyes, embracing his need for sleep at last. He could not answer these questions without more information and there was no point dwelling on it now. Instead he allowed the heavy, murky sludge of exhaustion to ooze its way through his mind, ready to slump over and engulf his consciousness.

  Then, abruptly, he woke. Something was wrong. He could sense it.

  A penetrating chill bit brutally at his mind, insisting that he stayed awake. But why? What was causing this uncontrollable and inexplicable dread? His neck had hardened into an immovable beam from his anxiety, holding him back from looking for the cause.

  Then he heard it. A tiny, almost inaudible whisper of a word, gently feathering its way through the air. It took him a few moments to realise what it was he had heard, then it sunk in with the worst level of trepidation. "Liar".

  Sweat had started to seep out of his every pore, gathering great pools by his nostrils that he unsteadily wiped away. There was no denying it now. Someone was in the room with him. Just out of his field of vision. He simply had to look.

  With his breath unsteady and his body quivering in terrible anticipation, he viciously forced his neck to turn to the left where he believed was the source of the menacing voice. Nothing. 

  Which meant it had to be on the other side.

  Dragging in the air between his teeth, he craned his neck painfully slowly to the other side, forcing himself to remain calm. He knew he would see whatever it was in a matter of seconds but the sensation of his heart palpitating frenziedly in his chest was making him light headed - he had to get it over with now. When his eyes finally found what he had been looking for his heart, his mind, his everything stopped.

  There, in the far corner of the room stood the transparent figure of a woman. All colour seemed to have been sapped from her, leaving a translucent silvery shadow in her stead. She did not appear hostile as Charlie had anticipated however; she simply stood in the corner partly turned away from him, trembling. One hand was lifted to her face in an attempt to hide her identity or perhaps to protect herself from Charlie, he could not conceive what her intentions were. Despite this he could see that she bore some semblance of beauty in her features, though they were contorted by the fear drawn across her face

  She must have sensed his gaze, as moments after he looked at her she lowered her hand slightly so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye. She did not utter a word - instead staring at him with her wispy eyes that appeared to be welling up with insubstantial tears.

"Wh-Who are you?" Charlie stammered, the words falling out of his mouth against his command.

"You're not supposed to be here. You aren't who I wanted," the woman murmured dimly, her voice as intangible as her body.

"I-I...Wait...I know your voice," Charlie stuttered, in completely disbelief over the recognition. "You're Mary Campbell. The ghost of Mary Campbell, Robert Burns' ex-lover. How are you doing this? And why?!"

"Get out. Get out! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" Mary screeched like a wild banshee, her misty figure suddenly igniting into a red inferno of fury. She turned to face him directly, all docility consumed by her raw rage. Charlie could do nothing - he just simply lay in bed and gawked at the horror in front of him.

"YOU ARE NOT SAFE HERE. LEAVE!" The moment after she shrieked these final words she pounced at him, leaping across the bed directly into his face, her hands held outward like weapons. Charlie could not help but scream - he yelled and bawled and cried with all his might until his throat was raw.

  Then suddenly he was sitting upright with his hands covering his face in his empty room, panting frantically from stress. Mary was gone, in fact there was no evidence to suggest she had even been there at all. 

  Had he dreamt her? Had he fallen asleep and conjured her up from the information he had gathered online? He didn't feel like he had but what other explanation could there be for what he just experienced? 

  No, denying it was foolish. He had just come face to face with the spirit of Mary Campbell, the one who had controlled him on the phone and who had sent him on this impossible mission for the truth. To make matters worse, she was furious at him for not bringing the right person. He had to find evidence to prove Burns' guilt faster than ever or she would return to punish him again. This had been little more than a warning, a demonstration of her power and the consequences if he proved himself incapable of the job she wanted him to do.

  Altogether ill at ease, he laid his head back against his pillow in a desperate attempt to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Considering what had just happened however, he expected he was in for a long, long night.