If These Walls Could Only Talk

By Bill Corsar

The Trossachs in Scotland are a riot of colourful beauty. Amidst all this colour there is a decades-old ugly black secret. Robert Spence, Fraser Alexander and Duncan Watson are taking one of their short annual walking holidays. They shelter from a storm in an abandoned decrepit farmhouse.
Learning the dark history of murder in this house Robert, a recovering alcoholic and sound engineer, unites two random pieces of conversation that are separated by nine years. He becomes obsessed with the thought that the house might have recorded its history. As a sound engineer, he is sure that he can replay that history. His two friends wonder if he is back on the booze and dismiss that crazy idea. Robert won’t let go. In exasperation, his friends tell him to do it. They will have nothing to do with his idea unless he produces a machine that will replay history.
To their astonishment, Robert eventually claims to have invented a machine that can do what he wants. During an expedition to the old house, the three think that they might have uncovered a miscarriage of justice. Sucked in by Robert’s enthusiasm, the three try to identify a new suspect.
What they eventually uncover taxes the legal system and leads to unforeseen consequences for two people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Corsar
• Release date: Nov 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370974603

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If These Walls Could Only Talk

Copyright 2019 Bill Corsar

Published by Bill Corsar at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

1 A Derelict House

2 The Next Day

3 Inn Keepers Story

4 We Three Friends

5 Trial and Error

6 Testing

7 Planning Meeting

8 Wilson House

9 Discovery

10 Steven Ramage

11 What to do Now?

12 Examining Maxwell

13 Family Meeting

14 New Suspect

15 Unofficial, Official Advice

16 New Evidence Emerges

17 More Unofficial Advice

18 Fiscal’s Dilemma

19 Jamie Wilson

20 An Inspector Calls

21 Seeking Legal Advice

22 Options Explored

23 Jamie’s Decision

24 Distant Relations

Acknowledgements

About Author

Author Notes

1 A Derelict House

Since you’re an alcoholic Robert, maybe it’s just as well we’re not heading south to Loch Drunkie today, said Duncan Watson.

Ha bloody ha, said Robert Spence. At least that’s one place I could have a few drinks, and it would only affect my bladder.

Come now, Duncan, said Fraser Alexander. Stop taking the piss out of Robert.

That’s right you two, mock the afflicted, said Robert feigning mock hurt with his hand on his heart. Just you wait, I’ll get my own back.

What are you going to do, pee into the wind? said Duncan. That’s a sure way of getting your own back.

I hope your mum and dad get married one day.

Right. Let’s get started, said Fraser. Waving his hands in a display of whipping an imaginary team of horses, he called, Wagons westward Ho. With that, he strode off west towards the north shore of Loch Achray.

Jesus, muttered Robert. It’s going to be one of those days. Little did he know, or that he would be the catalyst.

Duncan grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. He strode off with Robert behind Fraser.

Robert, Fraser and Duncan had been taking short annual walking holidays in the Scottish countryside for seven years. This had started after Robert was discharged from the rehabilitation centre, where he had been treated for alcoholism.

After school and university, Robert had started work on the trading floor of a large London bank. He soon became ensnared by the City drinking culture. Duncan and Fraser were also at university. They were both in Scotland so could stay in close touch.

Robert, meanwhile, drifted away and into alcoholism in London. His visits north became infrequent. The close relationship they had at school became as distant as the start and end of the A1 road.

Robert’s parents had forced him into rehabilitation near to them in Edinburgh. Ann Spence, Robert’s mother, became very worried about what might happen to her son when he was discharged. She called his two old pals and asked for their help. Neither was particularly enthusiastic. After all, it was Robert who moved away and rarely called. After talking it over together, the two agreed to visit Robert in hospital. It was during this visit that the idea of the walking holidays arose. The three had always enjoyed the annual school trekking holidays together. Out in the Scottish countryside, away from the temptation of drink, seemed a good idea. Better than holidays to Mediterranean beaches.

Today was the third day of four. This was their planned autumn tour. The weather on the first two days had been fair. There had been a mixture of sun, high broken clouds and a gentle breeze. There had been no rain. This was as good as they hoped. The Trossachs in the autumn was a riot of colour.

On the previous two days, they had completed the Lennach Forest Circuit and Lendrick and Dam Loop. Today they were going to walk around the very small, but picturesque Loch Achray. This was about a nine-mile walk. It was estimated to take between four and five hours.

The weather forecast for the day was mixed. They expected a sunny day with some clouds. A forecast storm was expected in the late evening. The three expected to be back at their B&B well before the storm arrived.

They started the walk by heading west along the north shore of the Loch. As on the two previous days, the scenery was breath-taking. The riot of colour was reflected in the blue ripples of the water in the loch. There were still a few wisps of mist hanging in the trees. The light grey mist contrasted with the cardinal red, russets, citrus yellows and chartreuse greens of the landscape.

There was the constant stopping and click of cameras as the three sought to capture the view. What might be missing from their photographs was the emotion they felt. The scenery and occasional wildlife lit up their walk and lifted their spirits. They were in their mid-thirties now. Their holidays were spent walking in the Scottish countryside. Nature still had a way of evoking awe and pride in all three.

I’ll get my photographs downloaded, tarted up and sent to you when we get back, said Duncan.

Are you suggesting that our photographs will be no good then? asked Robert.

Given our experience, you two and your smartphones tend to make a hash of photography. I, at least, have a proper Panasonic camera.

Our photographs are OK, said Robert.

Are they? After every walk, you always ask me to forward mine. If yours are so good, why take mine?

Maybe we just want to make that all the money you spent on that camera was worth it, said Robert.

Remember, I’ve seen your efforts. You two get a new all-singing-all-dancing smartphone every year. It takes you a year to find out how it works, just in time to get a new one. The phones might be smart, but the operators are… Duncan’s hand gave the shaky signal for dodgy.

Are you saying we’re a pair of clowns? asked Fraser.

Look Beppo and Coco, if the lens cap fits, wear it, said Duncan.

Did you hear that, Fraser? David bloody Bailey there called us a pair of clowns.

I don’t know about clowns, but our photographic efforts leave much to be desired. Look at this, said Fraser. He proffered his smartphone to the other two. He wanted to show them his latest effort at scenic photography. It had the colours of the surrounding landscape on the screen, but the scene was a blur. Looks like an impressionist painting, rather than a photograph. I’m sure the phone’s lens is broken.

OK. Yours might be bad, but I’m sure mine’s fine. Robert held his phone out.

What’s this supposed to be? the other two laughed.

It’s a video of the hillside as we walked.

It’s a rubbish picture of you as you walk. You have the camera on the phone pointing the wrong way, scoffed Duncan.

Oh, bollocks. I was sure I had sorted it out.

Need I say more, said Duncan in a very superior tone. I’ll send you mine when we get back.

Nobody loves a smart arse, said Robert.

Isobel does.

That wife of yours is a saint, said Robert.

We’re near the end of the north shore. What do you say we stop for some drink and food? There's a nice open stretch of ground over there. Fraser was pointing to an open piece of ground around the corner on the south side of the Loch.

Turning east, the three stopped for some refreshment. Sitting drinking coffee and eating oat bars and fruit by the water’s edge, Duncan spoke. The forecast was for the storm to hit tonight. Look over there. He was pointing to the west. Is it just me, or is that weather front early?

I didn’t notice that, said Robert. We should be OK but let’s not hang around, just in case.

They packed their rucksacks and headed off.

By mid-afternoon, they had covered about than half of the distance on the south side of the Loch. They were heading towards Brig O’Turk.

The weather system coming in from the west, behind them, seemed to be moving much faster than they could walk. As they were now very experienced walkers, they were not particularly worried. Rain and wind were a common feature of Scottish weather, at any time of the year. They were still ahead of the weather. The blue skies and white clouds of the morning had been replaced. They were dark grey rain clouds. The light breeze had become a wind. It started to become a significant feature, driving the storm east towards the three. They knew that the weather would overtake them before they reached the shelter of their B&B. There was now a light rain. The heavy clouds coming their way signalled that this rain was a light aperitif. The main course was not far behind.

We’re in for a drookin’, said Duncan. Best get ready, while we still can. The three stopped to don their wet weather gear. Suited up, they moved on.

The rain was smirr. It did not take long for it to change and become dreich. Dreich is a word that truly describes the misery of Scottish cold, wet weather.

There was a snell wind driving in from the west. The temperature change from the warm morning was significant. Soon the three were well and truly drookit. They were frozen by the lazy wind, that took a shortcut through, rather than around their bodies.

Bloody weather forecasters need sacking, cursed Robert.

The clouds got appreciably darker and lower. The three were now only just below the level of the clouds. They were having difficulty seeing where they were going in the heavy rain.

Landmarks were almost impossible to identify. In the distance, they could see what looked like a small hill.

That might be Creag Dhubh, said Fraser, who was trying to navigate with a map that flapped wildly in the wind. The supposed hill was just a darkish blob rising into in the dark grey clouds.

The map does not show this to be a tall hill. The clouds must be very low if it’s already hidden by them.

He paused for a few seconds as he looked around. There looks to be another hill over on the left. I think we have strayed from our route. We seem to be between two hills. We should be passed the tree line by now.

They hurried on. They passed the hill on their right. Now they had difficulty seeing the one on their left as the clouds had descended even further. They were down to ground level and had become a dark foreboding grey-black colour. It was raining very hard now. They were beginning to have some difficulty even seeing the path they were supposed to be walking on.

They were heading for the little stone bridge called Brig O’Michael. The bridge would take them over the Black Water and into Brig O’Turk. Fraser thought they might have about a mile left to walk.

The clouds were so low that they were almost a fog. Are we still on the path? asked Robert.

I’m not sure. We are on a track of some kind, said Fraser. My compass tells me we’re heading in roughly the right direction. I can’t see any landmarks now to get an accurate picture of where we are.

This is getting dangerous, said a nervous Robert. We should stop and shelter until it passes.

Could be quite a while, said Fraser. The forecast said it would take several hours to pass. We might be out all night. The three knew that they would not make their B&B in Brig O’ Turk.

Best pitch our tents somewhere level and sheltered. See if we can find anywhere. Have you got the B&B phone number, Duncan? asked Robert.

Aye. I’ll give them a wee call to say we’re OK just in case they call out the mountain rescue.

He managed to get through to the B&B. We’re having difficulty seeing where we are. We’re going to set up a tent for the night so don’t wait up for us.

There was something said at the other end of the telephone. "We’ll be alright.

They walked on a little while looking for a suitable spot to camp.

There’s a wee cottage over there, called Fraser. He was pointing to the dark shadowy outline in the slate grey gloom on left just beyond the trees. Let’s see if there’s anybody home?

The three-headed towards what looked like a single-storey farmhouse. In the gathering gloom, it was difficult to see. They hoped its inhabitants would help. The building seemed to be set back from the track they were on. As they got nearer, they could see that there would be no inhabitants. The place looked derelict and deserted.

They could see a doorway, but no door. There was a rectangular gap to the left of the door. It was a window opening. They just made out a rotting timber frame around the opening but no glass. As they closed on the open doorway, the derelict state of the building became clear to them. Part of the front door was still attached to its frame by a rusty bottom hinge. It was lying askew outside the building. It was the first sign of the decay of the place. The remains of the door now flapped in the wind. A wind that was getting stronger. They could also see that the broken guttering had become filled with moss and grass.

To enter the house, they had to navigate past a small sapling. It was on the opposite side to the rotting door. Without leaves, it looked like a sad brown and green twig.

First to enter was Fraser. Duncan and then Robert followed him. When each crossed the threshold, they unconsciously pulled their jackets and hoods tighter. They shivered, and not only from the cold. Even with the missing door and window, they had expected to feel warmer inside. The opposite was what they felt. The place had a smell of musty dampness that hung in the air like a disease. There was a cold, eerie malevolent feel to this building.

The wind was blowing in through the open door and window. This did not account for the shivers that all three felt. Instead, they felt colder inside the building than they had outside. They pulled out their torches and lit the place up.

The three beams from the torches scanned the room. The beams looked like searchlights scanning for enemy planes. They could see the dust and dampness hanging and swirling in the air.

This place gee’s me the heebie-jeebies. Fraser was well into the room, scanning as followed the light from his torch.

It’s as black as the earl o’ hell’s waistcoat, whispered Duncan.

Both were speaking quietly. It was as if they were afraid that the noise would wake some evil. The other two heard and murmured agreement.

There’s something no right about this place. Duncan was still speaking in a low whisper. I don’t want to stay here, but we haven’t any choice. We’re not going to find somewhere else in this foul weather.

You’re right we don’t have any choice, Fraser whispered. This place feels evil. I wonder what it is about it that gives it this evil sort of feel. If only these walls could talk, what might they tell us.

Whose idea was it to hole up here? asked Duncan.

We all made the decision, not that we had much of a choice. If you’ve got any better ideas, then let’s have them, said Fraser testily. If you want to set up the tent outside, be our guest. I don’t like this place any more than you, but I’m staying put until the weather clears.

Keep your hair on. I’m not going out there unless I have to.

They had entered the main room of the house. Bits of the wooden window frame were still in place. It was rotting like the door. The wind whistled in through the open spaces. With it came the rain falling like stair rods. A puddle had formed inside the door. There was another under the window. Weeds were growing between the joints of the flagstone floor.

There was an old rusty iron fireplace, covered in black soot and dust. It was set into the wall on their right as they had entered. Apart from the weeds, there was dust and cobwebs everywhere. The place showed years of neglect and decay. The oldest inhabitants of this place were the spiders and other crawling beasties. Fortunately, the roof in this room still appeared to be largely intact, so no rain seemed to be getting in that way.

We’re here for the night, best get ourselves sorted, said Robert. If you two will stop squabbling we should start a fire and get some hot drinks into our bodies. I, for one, am bloody cold and hungry. Robert was still talking quietly. Duncan, you said you wouldn’t go out there unless you had to. We need some wood for the fire, so you’ve volunteered. Fraser and I will see if there’s any water. We'll get the food and sleeping bags out of our rucksacks.

Rusted pipes were running along the foot of the wall opposite the door. They were broken, blackened and had green Verdigris. They were broken under holes in the wall. These might be the remains of where a sink once hung. If so, it was long gone. There was no water anywhere. Robert and Fraser unpacked the water bottles, sleeping mats and bags ready for the night. They pulled out a small pan to boil the water.

Looking around, the pair found two other rooms. Both led off from the main one. They were also devoid of furniture or fittings. There was no inside toilet.

Behind the building, Duncan found a small square stone room. The hole in the floor indicated that this once was an outside toilet. It had no roof. The appearance and build of the stone box shouted cludgie.

Duncan found some small twigs. These would help start a fire. After he deposited them in the house, he returned to find larger pieces of wood. They set about getting a fire going in the old fireplace.

Once lit, they heated the water from their packs. The wood in the fire was damp. That produced a lot of smoke and steam. This should have gone up the chimney, but it was blocked. The room filled with smoke and steam. It was blown about by the wind coming in through the door and window. This did nothing to ease their discomfort. The burning wood left a more pleasing smell. It did not quite drown out the musty dampness of the room.

When the pot eventually boiled, they made coffee. They pooled what was left of their rations after lunch. Then they used the coffee to wash it down. The rations were the standard fare for experienced walkers. There were oatcakes, chocolate, dried fruit and cereal bars. Hardly a feast, but enough to survive and replenish their bodies. They stoked the fire with larger pieces of wood from around the edge of the house.

The bright fire in the grate cast its light on the walls around them. The hellish orange-yellow colour lit up the wall. In the fiery orange glow were elongated black fuzzy figures. These were the shadows of the three as they moved about. It resembled a witches’ scene as portrayed by low budget filmmakers. The strange pictures on the wall behind, only served to heighten their unease.

As they sat around drinking hot coffee and eating their rations, the three tried to relax a bit.

Logically, inanimate objects like a stone house cannot be evil. Still, I know what you mean. Maybe something bad happened here in the past. Fraser was still whispering.

It was at this moment when something happened in Robert's brain. Deep in his subconscious, two comments Fraser had made fused. The comments were nine years apart, but that did not matter. Fraser made the first comment when Robert was in rehabilitation. It was an inconsequential comment, made to show off. The second occurred earlier that evening. The two ingredients mixed to make an idea. There was no logic to the process. Just as there was no logic to the final idea.

During his stay in the rehabilitation hospital, Fraser, Duncan and Robert had a walk in the nearby Moorfoot Hills. Talking about Fraser’s job as a geologist, Robert pointed to a large grey rock. "What’s that rock then