Lost in the Scottish Highlands? Wait till you see what they found!

Ashrafi Antia spins a chilling tale of a road trip gone wrong in the misty Scottish Highlands

Steve and Sara were enjoying their scenic road trip through the Scottish Highlands. Sara took in the picture-postcard view of autumn trees with red and orange leaves, standing tall against the backdrop of the mountain slopes. 

Suddenly, they heard a loud bang. Spirals of steam rose from the bonnet, fogging the windscreen, as their car coughed and spluttered to a halt. Steve got out to take a look under the hood. Something seemed to have burnt out. No matter how much he tried, the car wouldn’t restart.  

He took out his phone to call the Automobile Association but found that there was no network. Sara’s phone had no signal too. What were they supposed to do stranded on this lonely, winding road in the Scottish wilderness? 

Scanning the horizon, they spied a turret peeping through the tall trees in the distance. Steve took out his binoculars and zoomed in. He saw the imposing façade of an old castle amidst the forest trees.  

“Perhaps we can get some help or make a call if they have a landline,” said Steve. He looked at his map. There it was — Dunmacloud castle.

Locking the car, they trudged through the forest towards the castle. Dried leaves crackled underfoot. Suddenly, a sound like a rifle-shot broke the silence of the woods. Steve ducked instinctively. Sara laughed. “That was just me stepping on a twig of dried wood. Don’t be so jumpy,” she giggled. 

After a long trek, they came upon the castle, surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. “Anybody there?” shouted Steve. His voice echoed back, but there was no reply. It seemed like there was no one at home.  

They ducked under the fencing to get closer to the building and realised that it was just the facade that was standing. Parts of the tower were crumbling. Rafters and beams were strewn on the floor. There was no roof — it lay open to the elements. Plants sprouted from the mossy walls. The castle was an abandoned ruin. A board nailed to the wall read ‘Dunmacloud castle’. It looked like the castle had burnt down. Sara muttered under her breath, “I wonder what ghosts wander through these crumbling hallways?”  

Just then, the skies rumbled and opened up, pelting them with heavy rain. Sara and Steve ran to take shelter in the tower that still had part of its roof. Cobwebs brushed against their faces in the dark. Gradually, their eyes adjusted to the dim light.

A ghostly screech rang through the tower, whilst a shadow fell across its charred walls and disappeared in a flash. They heard a rustling noise, accompanied by another piercing wail. Through chattering teeth, Sara cried out, “G..gh..ghost!”. 

Just then, an owl fluttered past them and out the open window. “Oh! It’s just a barn owl. Did you know that they’re also called ghost owls or screech owls?” Steve said knowledgeably. “An apt description,” mumbled Sara who had been scared out of her wits.

The room they were in, resembled a dungeon with iron bars across the doorway and manacle-like metal rings on the walls. Sara shuddered and moved backwards involuntarily. Her foot splashed into a puddle of reddish liquid on the muddy floor. Sara stepped back, bumping into Steve and pointed at the pool of liquid. “Blood,” she said, quaveringly. Mustering up his courage, Steve stuck a finger in it. It was thin; not viscous like blood. Swirling his finger around in the pool, he saw red moss beneath the surface. That explained the reddish tinge. “It’s probably just a rainwater puddle,” he reassured Sara.

As night fell, it turned pitch dark. At least, their phone torches would work until the batteries died. There was no sign of the rain stopping. “Looks like we’ll have to spend the night here,” said Steve. Rummaging in the pockets of his overcoat, he found some biscuits and chocolate that would serve as their meagre meal.

At midnight, they were woken by bats flying in and out of the tower. Sara screamed, “What if there is a vampire and that really was a pool of blood?” “Don’t let your imagination go wild,” Steve said, but felt a shiver run down his spine, at the thought of vampires. Steve decided to keep vigil and stayed up all night. He was relieved when daylight finally broke.   

Once the rains ceased and the mist cleared, they stepped out and saw a road winding its way past the castle. To their luck, a car was approaching. They ran towards it, hands waving and asked for help. The kind driver took them to the nearest town garage and arranged a tow truck for their car.

Whilst waiting for their car to be repaired, Steve and Sara learnt about the castle’s history from the local innkeeper. “Dunmacloud was burnt down by rebels in an uprising about 200 years ago. Some townsfolk believe that the ghost of Sir Reginald Macloud still roams the castle’s halls. They say he’s turned into a blood-thirsty vampire,” he said with a wink. Sara turned pale, recalling their eerie night at the abandoned castle. Did she really have a wild imagination, who could say? What a strange, spooky tale, they had to tell!