The freezing wind swept up the dry fallen oak leaves, rustling them along the path as the young doctor stepped off the carriage. Tipping his top hat to the driver, he pulled his overcoat around him and walked towards the ancient looking castle. The moon hung brightly in the night sky, illuminating the lake next to his destination.

Watching the man disappear down the stone path, the wizened old driver sighed.

“May the heavens protect you in that accursed place” he muttered, urging the horse forward.

Doctor Feraz gripped the rusty iron ring on the door. Pulling it, he heard the sound of a cracked bell ringing a solemn note deep inside castle. The great wooden door creaked as the castle steward opened it. Bowing slightly, the doctor entered into the darkness, taking off his coat and hat. His eyes adjusted to the gloomy candle lit corridor quickly.

“Thanks for coming at this time of night Doctor Feraz.” the castle steward uttered anxiously. He led the way down the damp corridor, a dim lantern in hand, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Doctor Feraz was amazed at the place, even more so at the numerous massive portraits hanging on the wall that seemed to glance coldly at him.

“You must have an army of people just to keep Berry Pomeroy Castle clean for His Lordship Mr Harris!” Feraz exclaimed, surprised. “I suppose the damp keeps them away at this time of year!”

“Aye. But none will stay the night and it’s not the damp that keeps them away.” The castle steward answered through a mouth of rotten teeth, hastily shuffling along.

Just then, the doctor stopped abruptly. At one point, the line of portraits broke off, leaving just a damp imprint of one. As he opened his mouth to inquire about the missing picture, the castle steward tugged him along quickly.

In the castle steward’s room, his wife lay on her sickbed, pale and shivering. Doctor Feraz opened his black leather bag and started to examine her…

“She’ll be fine, it’s just a severe case of influenza, and she’s recovering already. I gave her a sleeping draught to pass the night” Feraz said, stepping out into the chilly night. The castle door shut behind him…


The next day, Feraz again arrived at the castle. This time a country girl answered the door.

“Mr Harris is out; you’ll have to wait Sir.” She squeaked timidly.

“Not a problem, I’ll just stay in Lord Ruthven’s library. If anything’s wrong call me.”

The library was dusty; no one had entered for quite awhile. Rows and rows of shelves with books untouched for ages stood there. Weak rays of light shone in through the windows. Feraz picked up an old medical journal and lowered himself onto a dusty plum colored armchair.

As the afternoon went by, dark clouds swarmed the skies; a storm brewed, showering the castle’s towers and battlements with torrents of icy rain. Thunder rocked the sky like cannon on a battlefield; lightning seemed to cross bright swords with each other. Feraz remained engrossed…

The ancient grandfather clock struck a somber note as the fire in the hearth died out. Startled Feraz arose from his reading and sat up. As he did so, he saw a woman gliding across the shelves. A pure white gown trailed behind her, ancient design on her dress. From her dress, he guessed it was in fashion 400 years ago.

“Excuse me madam.” He stood up. “Nice to…” The lady ignored him, silently continuing to move towards a flight of steps at a corner. As she past one of the windows, a flash of lightning lighted up her face. Feraz gasped. Her beautiful pale face was wracked in anguish, anger, sadness. Her long dark hair draped to her waist, covering most of her face. But her eyes, alas, they frightened him the most. They were steel grey, no soul behind them. A dead person’s eyes. A tortured being. There was a dark stain forming on the dress. Blood dripped from her mouth’s corners. The splashing of the droplets echoed, magnified a hundred times on the cracked stone walls…

She continued noiselessly, at one point passing within a few feet of the shocked doctor. Still she gave no sign of seeing him. The only sound in the room was the swishing of her long dress. He felt a cold breath play across his face, like the sudden draught of a sheathing sword. A bead of sweat dripped to the floor, Feraz’s mouth twitched. As the woman reached the top of the stairs, she turned around a corner and disappeared.

Feraz straightened his tie, exited the library hurriedly and went to the castle steward. He found him in one of the billiard rooms, dusting the pool sticks.

“A party. Yes, has His Lordship been hosting a fancy dress party?” Feraz mumbled weakly, licking his dry lips.

“No sir, it’s been some years since His Lordship held a party at Berry Pomeroy Castle… Are you alright doctor?”

“Then who was that lady in the old dress in the library? She looked so miserable…”

The steward turned ashen-faced, teeth chattering. He collapsed into an armchair, hands turning bone white. “Oh my poor Isabel!” he wailed.

“Your wife? No that wasn’t your wife I saw!”

The old man’s eyes were washed with tears. “I mean my wife will die. The thing you saw is the phantom of the castle. She led a sinful life in this castle 400 years ago. During the English Civil War, His Lordship’s ancestor had supported the King. As the Parliament’s attacked this castle, the woman led the enemy in. Years later, when the King returned, she was executed by His Lordship’s ancestor. Her tongue was cut out for the crime of betrayal and she was burned at stake. She was doomed to wander the castle forever. Her’s was the portrait that was removed and destroyed.”

“But what has this got to do with your wife?”

Old Harris brushed his tears away, looking at the young man. “She only appears when there is a death in the castle.”

Feraz jumped to his feet, opening the door. “But your wife is fine! She’s in no danger!” he called as he rushed up the stairs, three at a time.

When he reached the bedroom door, he cleared it clumsily, stumbling to the woman’s bed. A mysterious wind rushed out as he slammed the door open. The curtains flapped wildly at the open swinging window. He touched her icy hand. The woman lay peacefully beneath the sheets. Nothing moved in the room. But forever, Doctor Feraz swore he heard the soft rustling of a silk dress…