A/N: I've been crazy busy and couldn't focus on writing. But now I have an easier schedule, so I went through my scribbling and, I don't know, maybe because it was Halloween and I binged on Penny Dreadful, but here is the story about ghosts. I hope it'll be different from Possession.

Scotland in summer was surprisingly warm.

Kim, who was chilly on the plane ride and had snagged a second blanket for herself just to keep her toes warm, quickly shed the light jacket. The Wasabi Gang boarded two cars and started the trek to the McKrupnick estate - the Turlann Castle. She was impressed by the name and was expecting a place similar to Hogwarts, with spiky turrets and impenetrable walls. Or maybe something like from Wuthering Heights - dark and imposing and desolate.

Milton was excited for this family reunion and, perhaps, enjoyed being the center of attention. He regaled them with stories of his extended clan and their history, which was storied and long. His family lived at the estate for generations and had plenty of family lore that sounded almost like tall tales and fairy fables. There were lairds, clansmen, bonny lasses; there were wars and skirmishes; there was a family feud with the neighbors... There was even a story about a curse and a ghost.

Milton was well equipped to tell a good story and spun a saga of the lovers long gone, the house haunted from time to time, mysterious noises, sightings, murmured words, shadowed figures, strange water marks where there should be none, and people sometimes going mad because of terrible dreams. It wasn't clear if it just a family lore or if it really happened. Milton milked the drama and suspense and wouldn't admit if it was just a legend or some distant past. Still, he sounded so skeptical, ever the logical one, that she brushed it off as an amusing anecdote with a hint of mockery for the outlandishness of the claims.

They were pretty tired after the flight and slowly the conversation petered out. She brought a Kindle with her and when the scenery outside became a little too dull, she turned to her reading and lost herself in the trials and tribulations of the doomed love of Cathy and Heathcliff.

She loved the story, the tension, the high melodrama... Sure, the characters were quite flawed and sometimes downright evil, but Kim could recognize the rarity of the emotion so strong, so undeniable that these same characters dove into it with few reservations. And, yes, love like this wasn't healthy, but it wasn't ordinary either.

What it would be like to experience something so strong and overwhelming? Being a young teen came with new awareness of oneself and others in ways that didn't exist before. Gone were exciting, but short lived, crushes on cute boys. Instead her eyes lingered on couples around her trying to figure what sort of story they shared, what made them chose one another, what made them stay...

She stole glance at Jack, who shared a ride with her and Milton. In years that she's known him, Jack both changed and yet remained the same. He was taller, stronger and more handsome than before. He also was less cocky and at times showed remarkable maturity. But he was still the same boy who loved to laugh and look his role of the informal leader or the Wasabi Gang with grumbling acceptance.

She was glad that her crush on him faded, leaving in it's stead a quiet regard and affection. She would always have a soft spot in her heart for Jack and the boys. They've been through so many adventures together and she knew him as the back of her hand. It was nice to have left the crush behind.

Almost.

She wasn't quite as jittery anymore at the prospect of being near him. She didn't get too jealous when he went on dates. She could watch him spar without drooling over his arms most of the times.

And yet... Sometimes, if she were honest, when he looked at her in certain way, or when he did something smart and noble, she'd admit that the butterflies in her belly weren't entirely gone.

His profile was chiseled and somehow his hair was still impressively bouncy after the flight. He saw her looking and gave her a quick smile that warmed the hazel eyes and she quickly averted her gaze. Better not have another butterflies-ridden moment, she thought and went back to Heathcliff, who wasn't warm or noble.

Soon the lack of sleep and a jetlag caught up with her and she drifted to sleep, her head falling on the shoulder of her companion.

She was inside a large room with painted plaster walls and crumbling molding all around. Through the slightly ajar door she could see a large claw-foot tub, with faded black of the iron body and worn bronze of the feet. It sounded like the tub was being filled and she thought she saw the steam of the vapor rising slowly.

She heard a noise and turned around, suddenly seeing a man sitting in huge wing back chair by a lit fireplace. He had longish wavy hair that was more silver that brown and his face had the weathered look of someone who enjoyed the outdoors. He was dressed in a robe and slippers. It would seem that he was asleep or dozing off and she thought that he must have been tired to have forgotten about the running water. Then she noticed a deep red chesterfield desk nearby with a decanter of dark amber liquid and an empty tumbler. Now it made sense that he was sleepy. She heard a noise again, a creak behind them, and she turned to find nothing. The noise woke the man up and he grumbled something about old bones, old houses. subtle shifting, clanging pipes, that loose board that even on still nights echoed something that sounded all too much like a footstep, that dripping tap that could never be found...

He shifted in his chair and passed a broad hand over his face. He took a healthy gulp of his drink, clearly savoring the flavor and she almost could taste the burn of alcohol on her own tongue. The picture before her was comforting: a man who lived a long life, a warm fireplace, a good drink, a hot bath waiting... But something felt wrong. Like the picture had the wrong focus or maybe something was missing... She shivered at the sudden cold and wondered why the fireplace wasn't making this room warm... The shivers grew as if the cold was seeping slowly into her very bones making her a little afraid... But there was nothing here to be frightened of... A feeling, like an old memory, long buried, scratched the back of her mind, lurking like a dream that one couldn't quite remember upon waking and that disappeared faster than the morning fog. She shook her head. It's nothing. Nothing at all.

A sudden loud creak made both her and the man start, making him slosh his drink onto his trousers. He cursed, half laughing at himself for his clumsiness, and blotted at the stain with his handkerchief. Another creak made him look up, and the smile froze onto his face.

The man spoke a single word-

"No."

And she turned around...

If Jack Brewer could have chosen one word to describe the Turlann estate, it would be... Sprawling. Two words? Sprawling and chaotic. As the car rounded the last corner of the winding, tree lined driveway and the manor (could you call it that?) came into view, Jack's first thought was that the photographs that Milton showed them came nowhere close to doing it justice. The photograph had shown only the central part of the building, with a great wall and a tower, hiding a large, grey stone mansion. However it had failed to take in what surrounded it.

Milton, next to a driver in the passenger seat, noticed John's expression and explained, "The tower and the wall was all that remained from the original main castle Turlann. The mansion part of the current estate was built in 1753 by Aibne McKrupnick as a country house for his family. Each generation that moved in added something else. They kept building extensions and features and what you see before you now..." Milton wrinkled his nose, "a proof that planning ahead is always advisable."

Jack thought it was glorious.

Flanking the house were later extensions, vast, extending beyond the mansion, fairy tale-like structures in red brick and glass. One had a turret. On the left side, another red brick building grew out of the Victorian one, long and small-windowed, crowned with a brass weathervane. A winding cast iron staircase led to the door, oddly located on the second floor. On the other side rose a neo-gothic tower covered in moss.

A fountain in front of the building pattered softly around the feet of the statue of a woman, bending, washing her bronze hair. More statues were scattered haphazardly around the entrance, their asymmetrical placing giving them an eerily naturalistic look, as though a group of revelers had been frozen where they stood. Outside the gothic tower, two tall pine trees swayed softly in the breeze.

As the car crunched over the gravel of the driveway and came to a stop beside the fountain, Jack caught sight of what looked like a pagoda about two hundred yards away from the main building. He shook his head with a smile as he climbed out of the car and stretched his cramped legs. This place was insane and impressive. Still, he had to admit there was something forbidding about it. Even in the bright warmth of a July day the stone facade radiated pure cold, and the sunlight glinting off the many windows only served to give the house a baleful look. Jack shook off the creeping feeling of apprehension and turned to open the back door to wake Kim.

She was folded over like a rag doll in the back seat, her head resting on an open book. Her light hair fanned out over the seat, hiding her face. Jack smiled fondly. As he leaned forward to pull the handle, Jerry pounded on the window with his fist and Kim awoke with a startled gasp.

"Wake up Kim, we're here!" he bellowed. Jack sighed and went around the back to help him with the bags.

Kim, wide eyed and disheveled, squeaked in fear and took several shaky breaths. Jerry laughed at having scared her, and Jack was about to join in when he saw a genuine fear in her eyes, which caused irritation with Jerry rise in him.

He hit Jerry upside the head and quickly came to her side and helped her out of the car. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

She smiled wanly, "Just a dream... I'm fine."

She climbed down from the landrover as the boys bickered over the luggage. Looking up at the manor before her, she looked as though she were still in a dream: eyes wide in awe and apprehension. She met the blank gaze of a statue and wrapped her light jacket tighter around herself, shivering in the summer heat.

A heavy brass bell-pull hung in the doorway, but as Milton reached for it it the door creaked open. In the doorway stood a pretty, dark haired girl with sallow skin and full, pouting rosebud lips. She was wearing a maid's uniform. Jack's jaw unhinged itself.

"Good afternoon," she said, her low voice tinged with the heavy dose of an accent that was somehow both similar and not to the Scottish brogue they've been hearing. "Mr. Krupnick and party? The Laird has been expecting you. Let me show you to the drawing room."

"She's not Scottish, is she? The accent- I mean, it sounds so different!" Kim muttered to Milton as they followed the maid through the gloomy entrance hall. "She's an actual maid! I didn't know they even still wore those uniforms!"

"She's from the islands. They retained a lot of Gaelic and therefore the brogue is far more pronounced there," Milton said absently, his eyes darting as he took in their surroundings, "And as for the uniform... This is a country estate of a Scottish laird. I guess it's traditional. Ah, Sir McKrupnick!" he exclaimed as they entered the vast drawing room. A tall, ruddy faced and red haired man, who was standing by the fireplace, turned to greet them. A thin, straight-backed woman rose from her chair as well. She was in her mid sixties, with a shrewd, wrinkled face and bright hazel eyes. Her steel grey hair was pulled back in a chignon. The man approached them in measured steps and pulled Milton into a brief embrace. The lady strode forward and shook Milton's outstretched hand firmly.

"Welcome, young Milton. I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

"Yes, thank you. These are my friends and dojo-mates. Jack Brewer, Kim Crawford, Jerry Martinez and our sensei Rudy Gillespie. My friends, this is Laird Alistair McKrupnick. He holds the title and will be hour host. This is Lady Fiona McKrupnick."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the lady of the house greeted them all in turn. Jack was disarmed by her strong handshake and grinned at her nervously.

"Do please take a seat, I shall have Isla fetch some tea."

Kim had been surprised when the tea arrived not in bone china, but in sturdy mismatched mugs. She wrapped her hands around hers gratefully. Despite the heat outside, the drawing room held a slight chill. She listened as laird (which was like a lord of the manor and an actual noble title!) regaled them with the stories of old glory days of McKrupnicks through history. Some of it was a repetition of Milton's stories, although they sounded far more interesting and compelling when told in the gentle brogue of the highlander.

"I do hope you will enjoy your stay here. We have a gathering every couple of years. Not just the family, but everyone who hails from these lands. There shall be games and merriment and hearty meals for all. We even have neighbors, who joins us for games and such."

"You mean the McCrarys? I thought you don't get along with them?" Milton quickly asked.

"Nay, 'tis a history now. We used to feud, long time ago. But enough time passed that old grudges don't matter any more."

"Why did you feud in the first place?" Jack asked.

"Oh, the usual. Goats that got lost, land that has gone fallow, some young people cross in love... The usual for neighbors. There was even talk of curses," here the laird winked at them clearly thinking this to be an amusing tale of the past.

"Laird McKrupnick," Rudy leaned forward in his chair, "Milton's been telling us tales, stories of this place being haunted-"

"I heard them from my folks! I suspected that they merely tried to entertain me," Milton interjected.

"- but could this be actually true?" Rudy finished despite interruption.

Alistair McKrupnick smiled a little.

"Ahh... Those tales do persist. There weren't any sightings for a long time. A cailleach told my mother that there shan't be any as the sgaile has to find it's twin here in this world. Last time it happened, a poor man was found drowned in a locked room while sitting near a fireplace."

Kim shuddered at the memory of her dream and gasped involuntarily, "D-drowned? How?"

Milton spoke before the laird and the lady could answer, "What are the kahlich and gale?"

Laird smiled merrily, "Lad, your father hadn't taught you that yet. Cailleach is a witch and sgaile is a spirit that appears after death of a woman. A ghost. As for how the man died-" he trailed off and shook his head. "There was a full tub of water in his bathroom. I reckon he was drowned there and then placed by the fireplace. Back then there was no police to investigate and people filled in the gaps. It was easier to blame the curse, a ghost and neighbors than to think that one of your own were criminals."

Milton visibly perked, "So it was just a common murder?"

Jack and Jerry mumbled 'common murder' between each other, half surprised by, half laughing at Milton's nonchalance.

Rudy looked relieved. Kim though... Kim was more cold than ever and couldn't quite shake the dream out of her head. How strange that her mind would go there...

Milton rose from his seat, "Anyhow. I think we better settle in our rooms now. We had a long flight and the ride was tiresome."

"Yes, lad. Your are right. Let me show you lads to your bedrooms. And you, young lass, Isla shall show your where you'll sleep."

By the time Kim reached her room she was afraid she forgot the way up there and was sure she'd need to call for a guide again. Her rooms had a beautiful window and overlooked a lake. The view was tranquil and picture perfect and Kim quickly went to the window to take in the scenery.

"Would that be all, miss?" the maid voice interrupted Kim's reverie and she turned around. It was only now that she took in the actual room. It was older and had plastered walls with faint faded pattern on them. Elaborate molding, with worn paint, decorated the high ceilings. A fireplace, unlit in the current heat of the summer, was to her right and she was sure she had her own en-suit bathroom.

She slowly walked to the left and peeked into the adjacent room. As she suspected, a large cast iron tub with claw feet dominated the airy room.

She shivered again in the light breeze...

A/N: yay? nay? so-so? Let me know...