Taking a bit of a leap here, but a very sweet and dear friend read this chapter and has encouraged me to share this new story. The chapters will become longer in length and the rating may change, but we are going to start here. It will very much be Elsie's story, but most of the DA characters will take part.

Fic is set not long after the 2016 Christmas Special ends, so spoilers abound for you guys watching the PBS airing now.

Thank you on the outset for taking the time to try this one on. I am cautiously optimistic... XO Jen

For the most part they are peaceful souls.

Even as a child Elsie Hughes had known this to be true. The dares and challenges issued over the years among her playmates as they took the shortcut through the churchyard on their way towards the various lanes that led to their family homes and farms on the outskirts of Argyle had been proof enough of this. No other child, male or female, had come close to meeting the bravery that the small, freckled faced lass had exhibited the many times she had gamely laid down on top of a fresh grave or ventured alone into one of the three small mausoleums that resided on the sacred and consecrated ground. Wide eyes and unbelieving faces greeted her after each accomplishment; her nonchalance dazzling and bewildering her young friends. What Maude McCowan, Hester Douglas, Melvin MacTavish and the other children failed to understand was that Elsie was never truly alone in her endeavors.

"Ye wee mongrel. Making quite a show of yourself, are you?" Bertram Phillips had laughed as he leaned against his own headstone looking down at Michael Hughes' oldest girl who laid on the grown a foot beneath where his transparent feet dangled. "Your grandfather MacDougall would take a switch to you if he saw such antics going on. You're lucky he's on yonder hill and his grave faces the east."

Elsie had lifted an eyebrow and merely grinned up at the specter whom only she could see.

Others had passed around her. Women in gowns from various time periods and men with hair in varying lengths, some of whom wore tartan kilts celebrating their clans, but they were no more menacing than any of the living humans she might have passed in the village on a Saturday morning doing a bit of shopping with her mother. Cemeteries were full of those who had been cared for enough by the living to be ushered into a chosen and remembered place among their ancestors, more recently perished family members, and departed friends. The care and love they had experienced as life had ebbed away inspired most of their energies to remain in a passive and peaceful state in the earthly realm.

Her small body had grown cold in its position upon the Scottish soil, Elsie had risen to her feet and merely shrugged her shoulders in response to her mates' admiring eyes before turning to find a young boy had floated up next to her. Turning her back to her friends, she smiled and whispered, "I'll come back and see you another day, Tommy." The ghost returned her grin before slinking back behind a large nearby headstone. Skipping back towards her flesh and bone friends, she had bid a silent goodbye to those who remained within the stone borders of the churchyard.

Her maternal grandmother had cottoned to Elsie's sensitivities and other talents when the child was barely three. The summer sun kissing her nose with freckles and pinking her little cheeks still full of the bloom and fullness of an infancy spent at her mother's breast, little Elsie had wandered into the shade of the large rowan near her grandparent's barn and was deep in conversation when her grandmother approached, her own gifts divining an other-worldly presence, but the form going unseen.

"Elsie?"

The little girl turned around with a sweet smile for her grandmother, but the grin fell from her face as she turned back to find her conversational companion had disappeared.

"Who were you talking to, lamb?" Her grandmother reached out and brushed her fingers over the warm cheek of the wee one.

"Martha, but she went way."

Gasping, Beatrice MacDougall lifted her hand to her heart as she digested her granddaughter's mention of her own child who had perished when she had drowned twenty-four years before at the age of six after falling through the ice of the pond situated one hundred yards from where they stood. "Tell me about Martha, Elsie."

"Wet, but she not cold. She has mittens. She loves you and Grandpa Mac."

Turning her head away briefly as she fought to contain her emotion, Beatrice bent down and wrapped her arms around the girl as she whispered, "You are a good, sweet lass, Elsie May, and a special one at that." Pulling back, she regarded her granddaughter's mildly alarmed face. "Nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart, but the next time you see Martha or someone else like her, will you let me know?"

Elsie tightened her grip around her grandmother's neck. "I will."

Waiting until her granddaughter's small body relaxed fully against her own, the matriarch whispered in her ear, "You are special, lamb. Very special. Now, may Gran see your hands?"

Leaning back against her grandmother's supportive arm, Elsie presented her small hands, fingers splayed.

"Do your fingers ever tingle or feel like there is a little tickle in the tip?"

The little head nodded in the affirmative as she whispered, "Tickle finger," lifting her right index finger.

"Have you ever made anything move without touching it?"

Looking up into Beatrice's searching eyes, Elsie bit her bottom lip before turning to the ground and spotting a few rowanberries. Directing her finger towards the four small pieces of fruit, she fixed her gaze and lifted her right eyebrow.

Beatrice's stomach flipped over as she watched the four berries begin to rise a few inches off the ground, the fruit rotating in a smooth loop as though they were moons orbiting an invisible planet. "Good, my darling. Very good."

The fruit fell to the ground as Elsie returned her gaze to her grandmother's face. "I'm a good girl, Gran?"

"A very good girl, little lamb, but for now, you mustn't do this sort of thing in front of anyone but Gran. Do you understand? You mustn't use your tickle finger for anything like this if you aren't with Gran. Some people won't understand and Grand needs to teach you many things. So no tickle finger unless you are with me. Just Elsie and Gran. Alright? Can you promise Gran?"

Her little face serious, Elsie nodded.

"My good girl. My smart, bright, special lass."

The day would have been memorable enough given it was the first in which she had left the cottage en route for the Abbey without her husband at her side, but the crisp October Monday would also be stored in her memory as the the day the demon made itself known.

Mr. Barrow had patiently shadowed Charles for the previous month and with the former butler's blessing, the younger man was waiting near the chair at the head of the servant's table as the housekeeper joined the slowly assembling members of staff for the morning's breakfast.

"Good morning, Mr. Barrow."

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes."

She felt a small ache in her chest as a result of the absence of the large presence who had resided to her left for more than twenty years, but she managed to quell her melancholia as she assured herself it would be that very presence resting to her left in their large, soft bed later that evening.

"Big day, Mr. Barrow. I was asked to offer my best wishes on behalf of Mr. Carson, but you will get none from me."

The new butler looked at her with shock.

A grin from his elder soon soothed his worry. "You don't need my good wishes. You're ready and you have my full confidence."

"That means a great deal, Mrs. Hughes."

Elsie glanced down the length of the table to assure that each seat was ready to be filled before returning to him with a knowing look. "We follow your lead."

With a nod and small smile, Downton Abbey's new leader took his seat at the end of the table.

Young George, Sybbie, and a visiting Marigold were being led from their afternoon visit with their parents and grandparents in the library as Elsie made her way into the foyer from the green baize door. Offering a kind nod to Lady Sybil who hovered just outside the library door, she turned to return a wave from Sybbie when a sudden movement caught her eye. Little more than a shadow, the form shifted shape and size as it alternated between gently floating to making quick, sudden jettisoned trips over the ground, along the walls, and off of pieces of furniture. Elsie's hand covered her mouth as she watched the entity take the shape of a ball and bounce unfelt back and forth among the heads of the three children who were slowly ascending the stairs. Her steps almost a run, she had opened her mouth to call out when the dark spirit suddenly disappeared.

Turning in the direction of the housekeeper, Nanny called out, "Did you need something, Mrs. Hughes?"

Finding herself without an answer, Elsie glanced up to find a worried Sybil hovering at her side, but managed to force a smile as she turned back to the four faces looking down at her from the landing. "No. No. Nothing."

Returning the kind look, Nanny was beginning to lead the children on when she suddenly stopped to pick up a cloth doll that lay on the floor in front of her. "This must be yours, Miss Marigold. You don't have a doll like this, do you, Miss Sybbie?"

"It's not mine," Sybbie confirmed.

Pulling the offered doll to her chest, Marigold smiled happily as the foursome continued on towards the nursery.

Elsie waited until the children and Nanny were out of sight before turning back in the direction of the green baize door where the youngest Crawley daughter waited for her.

The beautiful spirit's voice was little more than a whisper, but Elsie's keen hearing understood the words: "It was a bad thing wasn't it, Mrs. Hughes?"

"It was, but I'll keep them safe lass, I promise," she whispered with a smile before passing into the stairwell, her finger pulsing and twitching as her mind spun.

The housekeeping would wait, the witch had much to prepare.