Page 36 of Rock Paper Scissors
The original features include several carved stones, which are dated between 820–840, and it is one of the oldest Scottish chapels on record. We know that the chapel has not been used for its original purpose since the last priest, Father Douglas Dalton, left in 1948. There are no surviving accounts of his time here, only local (unsubstantiated) rumors that he fell to his death from the bell tower.
According to other records, the chapel’s congregation dwindled down to almost nothing as the local population aged, and that was why it was left abandoned. Not much was known about the chapel’s true history, until building work began to convert what was by then a crumbling wreck into a livable space.
Excavations in the crypt, to make a stronger foundation, revealed that the chapel had been used as a witch’s prison in the 1500s. Iron rings were found in the crypt’s walls, where women and children convicted of witchcraft were chained before being burned at the stake. The bones of more than one hundred suspected witches were found buried in the floor, along with their offspring. Tests revealed that one skeleton was that of a five-year-old girl.
A collection of local anecdotes and urban legends all share similar stories about Blackwater Chapel. Most include tales of ghostly figures that can be seen floating over the loch at night. There are several accounts of women dressed as witches, with burned faces and singed clothes. Rumor has it they walk around the chapel after sundown, peering in through the stained-glass windows, searching for their murdered children. There have been several reports of such sightings in the local press over the years, before people got so scared that they stayed away.
Almost all of the builders involved in the renovation of theproperty said they felt inexplicably cold in the crypt, and some claim they heard their own names being whispered when they were down there. But it’s important to note that not everybody who visits Blackwater Chapel witnesses paranormal activity or ghostly apparitions.
We hope you enjoy your stay.
AMELIA
“We need to find Bob, and get out of here,” I say, as soon as I’ve finished reading.
Adam puts the pamphlet and newspaper clippings about October O’Brien in a kitchen drawer, then closes it firmly, as if making them disappear might help. I’m not sure what the link is yet between October and this place, but he can’t seem to look me in the eye.
“I didn’t want to scare you—”
“I’m notscared. I’m angry,” I interrupt. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Someone is trying to frighten us. I don’t know who yet or why—”
“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions.”
“I agree. We should find Bob, pack up, and jump in the car instead.”
We’re dressed less than five minutes later. After searching the whole chapel again for the dog, there’s nowhere left to look except outside.
Now that the snow has stopped falling, it feels like stepping into a painting. The sky has turned from black to gray to pale blue since I woke up, and I can see so much more than when we arrived in thedark last night. There are snow-covered mountains and dense forests in the distance. A handful of white clouds are reflected on the still, glassy surface of the vast loch, and the old white chapel seems to shine in the early morning sun. Then I notice the bell tower and remember last night. The part of the wall that collapsed is impossible to miss. No wonder the sign on the door readDANGER.
“Adam…”
“What?”
“The fallen wall.”
“What about it?”
“What if Bob somehow got up to the bell tower, and the damaged wall… and fell?”
“Then he’d be lying broken in the snow.”
I don’t like the way he answered the question, but I know Adam is right. We start searching outside in silence. This is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful and unspoiled corners of the world, but I can’t wait to leave.
I didn’t bring the best clothes or shoes for this weather. The snow is so high we have no choice but to wade through it in our trainers. My socks and feet are wet within seconds, and the bottom half of my jeans are soaking and heavy with freezing cold water. I’m so worried about the dog, I barely notice. Seeing the place in daylight, we can now truly appreciate the isolation and scale of the vast valley we’re in. We don’t find what we are looking for, but we soon discover what happened to all the missing bathtubs in the property. Three claw-foot roll top baths are hidden around the back, and have been filled with plants—heather by the looks of it, in various shades of pink and purple.
They aren’t the only unexpected discoveries.
We stumble across a small graveyard—as I suppose might be expected behind an ancient church—with a collection of elderly looking headstones almost completely hidden by the snow. There are also a series of dark wooden sculptures dotted around outside the chapel, at least two or three in every direction that I look.Hand-carved rabbits that appear to be leaping out of the frozen ground, an enormous tortoise, and giant wooden owls, perched on the tree stumps they have been fashioned from. They all have huge, hand-chiseled eyes, which seem to stare in our direction, as though they are as cold and scared as we are. Even the trees have faces carved into them, so it’s impossible not to feel watched.
I call Bob’s name over and over, but after twenty minutes of walking in circles, I don’t know what to do. A non–dog person wouldn’t understand, but it’s just as distressing as losing a child.
“Do you think someone has taken him?” I ask, when we seem to have run out of all other ideas.
“Why would anyone do that?” Adam says.
“Why does anyone do anything?”
“Who then? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
