Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Plus, danger wasn’t my middle name.
I preferred keeping my feet on the ground . . . which made this awful flight even worse.
The flight attendant was still seated and strapped in up front as she reached to grab the receiver for the announcement system. “We’ve begun our descent into Edinburgh,” she said, “so at this time I’ll ask you to please return your tray tables and seat backs to their upright position. We should be on the ground shortly.”
Hopefully not too shortly.
I picked up my iPad, closed my tray table, and attempted once more to finish the forms I’d been working on because I needed to email them to Void as soon as possible. The medical questionnaire and consent form were . . . intense.
It went beyond just my height and weight and age, asking about my clothing and shoe size. The deeper I went on the form, the more my unease grew. I had to confirm I was healthy enough both physically and mentally to withstand high-stress situations. On a scale of one to five, it asked me to list my tolerance to heat and cold, to smoke and strobe lights, my ability to swim and crawl and lift a box weighing up to forty pounds.
It asked about my food and medical allergies and if I consumed drugs and alcohol.
I had to circle anything I had anxiety about, ranging from claustrophobia and bondage to—
Jesus. Public nudity?
You may encounter sexually suggestive situations, it warned.
I swallowed thickly. It’d been hard to focus when we’d hit the turbulence, but the feeling of trepidation in my stomach shifted like a bag of rocks. Void was famed to be the most intense, most real experience of horror money could buy.
What the fuck would I do if it was too much for me?
I was picked up from the airport by the innkeeper himself.
“Tyler?” he asked.
When I nodded, he insisted on loading my rolling luggage into his tiny car, even though he looked fifty years older than I was. He was one of those guys with bright eyes, a bushy beard, and a mouth fixed in a permanent half smile as if he found everything around him amusing.
While he drove, I had to split my focus between what he was saying and the ancient forest of pine the car wove its way through. He spent the first twenty minutes of the trip talking aloud rather than conversing with me; he mused about the production crew for Void who’d arrived months ago to begin prep work, much to the delight and dismay of the small town nearby. They weren’t thrilled with the increased traffic but were now enjoying the influx of tourist cash.
Void had leased Castle Docherty for their location, but other than a quick read of its tiny Wikipedia entry, I hadn’t been able to do much research on the place yet. Built in the late fourteenth century, the castle had been sieged and damaged by fire more than a few times during its over six-hundred-year life. Some of the outer buildings had gone to ruin, but the main structure and fortress wall had been rebuilt and maintained.
“The castle,” I said casually. “Did I read it was a hotel?”
“Aye. Last forty years or so, but it closed for good after the summer season.”
“Yeah? Why was that?”
The innkeeper paused. “After his wife’s disappearance, I guess Mr. Seton couldn’t be there anymore.”
I sat up straighter in my seat. “His wife disappeared?”
“Last year. Didn’t take a car or anything with her either. She just”—he searched for the right word—“vanished.” His gaze was fixed on the road, but I noticed how his jaw tightened. “Some folks say she took a boat out and got lost at sea, but none of the family’s boats were missing.”
There was more there. “What about you? What do you say?”
He lifted a shoulder, uncomfortable. “I say it’s not the first time tragedy has struck the Setons.” He tacked on under his breath, “Or the castle.”
The stunning landscape surrounding us was no longer the thing grabbing my attention. I sharpened my eyes on him. “Meaning?”
For a moment, he looked unsure whether to go any further. “Their only son died a few weeks after they took over the hotel. Slipped and hit his head on the stairs in a freak accident.” He let out a resigned breath. “The castle has history, and a lot of it is dark enough for people to say it’s haunted or cursed or . . . whatever. That’s sort of the nature of castles, isn’t it? When you’re around long enough, you’re bound to collect some odd stories.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I said.
“It’s why I wasn’t surprised that”—he made a face like the word was distasteful—“Void picked this spot. Castle Docherty claims to be the most haunted spot in Scotland.”
The skeptical side of me was instantly wary. I believed in science—not the supernatural. “Oh yeah?”