In the blood.

When I was a young man I secured my first position with an old firm in Edinburgh. The MacDougall family had been one of the premier accountancy firms in Scotland for generations and my peers were grudging but clearly jealous in their congratulations on my appointment. I graduated in early July and Mr MacDougall insisted I take a month to rest before beginning my job in the second week of August.

I was surprised at how archaic the practices were in the offices of MacDougalls. In fact at times I felt like I was unlearning much of the last few years of hard earned knowledge. Nonetheless working in an office where the history poured from the walls for a company of such renowned was intoxicating and to be able to watch someone like David MacDougall, the latest incumbent at the head of the company was unmatched experience. By the end of September I felt I was beginning to settle and knew the company and my role within it.

I rarely had to interact directly with Mr MacDougall, but I saw him every day, his habits were so precise, from his timings to which tie and matching pocket handkerchief he wore on which day. He was an older gentleman in his late sixties, he could have retired at any point but it was well known that he loved his daily routine in Edinburgh. Arrrive at ten, lunch at the club from one till half two then back into his office until seven when he had supper at the club before retiring to his townhouse. The only time we ever interacted was as he walked past my desk on his way to the door at lunchtime. He would give me a warm smile and touch his forehead as way of a salute and so it was a surprise when one day he stopped at my desk.

“Mr Foster, I would be grateful if you joined me for lunch today, my treat.” He said with his customary fatherly warmth before handing me my coat from the hook behind me and gesturing to the door.

A taxi was sitting outside waiting and we were carried away to the traditional looking gentleman’s club where we were greeted by a uniformed steward who took our coats, drink orders and then ushered us into the lounge. It was a different world, every bit like I was there to meet Phileas Fogg or Sherlock Holmes. It took me a while to take everything in. Mr MacDougall clearly saw this was a culture shock for me and gave me time to take it in before starting conversation. He explained that he liked to take the opportunity to get to know the staff and it was important to him that I was happy in my new position. He then spent time asking about me and my time at university before we were seated for lunch.

We spoke little over lunch but as the waiter brought over coffee Mr MacDougall lit his pipe and patted me on the shoulder.

“We have something of a tradition, new members of our family are invited to stay at our ancestral home during our celebration week in October. I will have Carol make all the arrangements, you just need to bring yourself some clothes, walking boots and waterproofs perhaps but everything else will be provided.”

I was taken aback and agreed without thinking. I didn’t really grasp what I’d agreed to u til the following day when Mr MacDougsll’s PA Carol came to me to plan train bookings to the highlands. I managed to get more information from her than I had dared from Mr MacDougall. The whole company shut down for one week every year. All staff had paid leave on top of their holiday allowance to celebrate some sort of family anniversary. Any new staff were expected to join the family for the week and this year it meant that I was.

A taxi had been arranged to take me to Waverley Station where I got into a train and seemed to go past all of the real train stations and into those that trains usually just shot through. The scenery went from picturesque to intimidating as the signs of civilisation gradually disappeared behind the monstrous, dark mountains. At the tiny station I finally arrived at I stepped onto the empty platform holding my bag at the same time as another young man wrapped in a bright blue scarf looking similarly lost. Before I could think a smartly dressed middle aged hurried towards me waving.

“Mr Apsley I presume, oh and you must be Mr Price. Please let me take your bags and follow me.”

The other young man joined us, handed over his bag and the pair of us followed the man in silence. We soon discovered this was Vasey, Mr MacDougall’s ‘man’. He ran the house like a butler but it was quite a reduced household as the house was only partially occupied so he did a lot of the additional tasks like driving. Mr Price and I introduced ourselves and found that we had both been invited as new staff by a Mr MacDougall, he was a solicitor who worked for Mr MacDougall’s younger brother’s firm. Neither of us knew much more than the other about why we were here and got little more from Vasey than it being an important family anniversary that predated himself and he believed either of our employers.

We arrived as the sun was setting behind the beautiful old hall. It was far grander than I had anticipated with four floors, two round towers and a grand covered entrance where illuminated by the warm orange light from inside stood our two hosts. Vasey told us to leave our bags and he would put them in our rooms so we climbed out of the car and made our way across the shingled driveway.

The older brother greeted us warmly stood in his tweed country finery. He ushered us quickly into the house and I immediately felt as though I had been transported back decades. Each stunning item of furniture seemed to be a priceless antique and they were filled with equally impressive museum pieces. There were paintings that appeared to be of former incumbents at the hall and a roaring fire completed the scene. We were relieved of our coats and taken on a whistle stop tour of the incredible home. There were reception rooms on the ground floor, the family had their chambers on the first, the guest rooms were on the second where our bags were already in place but this is where the tour stopped.

“We don’t use the fourth floor much. Great Uncle Enoch has his study up there when he is around. I’d appreciate it if you did not disturb him up there.” Young Mr MacDougall said as he headed back down the stairs hurrying us towards the dining room.

We had already seen the dining room on the tour, it was grand and covered with crystal glasses and heavy silver cutlery. It was now filled with chattering guests who fell silent as the door opened. We were introduced and seated. In all there were 11 of us. The two older men, their wives they had 3 sons between them two of whom were married. Confusingly there were 12 places set, the empty one was at the end of the table. As dinner was brought out each course saw the empty place was served and then the food taken away, eventually Price and my confusion was clearly noted.

“That place is set for Uncle Enoch in case he arrives and wishes to join us. He has his ways” One of the sons pointed out with a chuckle that the rest of the group join in with.

Dinner was pleasant and after brandys in the lounge Price and I retired to the fourth floor. As we walked through the hall I noticed a cabinet I had not spotted earlier. It was o clearly valuable but all it displayed were snapped keys. There were dozens, in rows. All but the very last one were completely broken in half. Tired and with a warm fuzz from the rich food and expensive brandy I dismissed it and carried up the stairs with Price. When we reached the foot of the fourth floor staircase we both looked up to see a light coming from along the darkened corridor.

“That must be Uncle Enoch. Anyway, good night” Price said as he made his way to his room.

I spent a terrible night. I dreamt wildly and in my fits of waking I was sure I heard banging noises from above me and occasionally a cackling laugh. I am sure at one point I heard the handle of my door move and a shadow flicker under the bottom of the door but I was far too tired to get up to check.

Price knocked on my door at 8am and we headed down for breakfast. He was quick to ask me if I had heard the noises in the night. I was relieved to hear that it was not simply my imagination and we put it down to it being an old house and maybe Great Uncle Enoch was working late.

Our day was taken up with a tour of the estate led by both of the Mr MacDougalls. We were taken through their woodland, round part of the loch and finally back to the more formal part of the estate where there was a small stone chapel that sat surrounded by the family cemetery. We were taken into a quaint room with three rows of pews and a small apse at the back above which there was a curious stained glass window of an angel prostrate on the floor looking up to the heavens. We lingered briefly before leaving through the gravestones. As I walked along the path I noticed an old grave covered in an iron cage locked with a very new looking padlock. My interest was piqued but we hurried past and I did not glimpse the name of the occupant. Though it did not take long to find out, as soon as we had been left to prepare for our evening meal Price took his opportunity, “It was Enoch MacDougall’s grave, died in October 1797, perhaps that’s why he was late for dinner.” He chuckled as he opened the door to his room, I smiled and nodded in response before heading into my room to change.

Dinner went in a similar way to the night before and Great Uncle Enoch chose not to join us. Price and I both retired around ten and as a result of the fresh air and rich dinner I fell asleep quickly. I was woken abruptly with a rap on my door. I clumsily loped across the room and saw Price in the corridor.

“That noise from upstairs, can you hear it? I can’t sleep.”

I listened and like the night before there was banging and shuffling coming from the rooms on the fourth floor.

“I might go up and ask them if they could tone it down, it’s three am.”

I reminded him that we had been asked not to head up to the fourth floor, he nodded and went to back to his room. I did the same and tried to drift back off to sleep. I drifted in and out of sleep for a while until I was jolted by a loud thud from above me followed by the unusual cackling laugh again. I sat up, my heart racing, it was nearly half past three. The room was dark other than the light from the corridor under my door. Then I heard footsteps slowly making their way down the corridor and towards my room, then a shadow appeared under my door and the footsteps stopped. For a moment I held my breath daring not to breathe before the footsteps began again and were gone.

I had managed to return to sleep but was out of sorts at breakfast where it became clear that Price had not arrived on time. I asked Vasey if I should go and wake him.

“Oh, Mr Price left early this morning. He was called back to his home suddenly.”

I suppressed my suspicions that the previous night had caused him such disturbance that he had made an excuse to leave and continued with my coffee.

After breakfast I dressed and joined the family as they headed to the chapel for the service. We gathered in the entrance of the house to walk down together, Vasey was stood under the cover of the porch opening umbrellas and handing them to us as we stepped out into the hammering rain, as I stood waiting I noticed the key display had changed, now all of the keys were broken. I paused looking at it and momentarily considered asking about it but I caught Vasey’s eye and somehow felt I should not. In the end I found I did not have time as we moved off down the shingled path to the chapel. It was dark and the grey sky felt heavy so we hustled our way down moving swiftly through the graveyard. The narrow door into the church caused a bottleneck compounded by the umbrellas. As I stood waiting for my turn to get through the door something caught my eye, the locked grave wasn’t locked any more, the padlock had gone, again this curious state of affairs led me to pause and like before it was a glance from Vasey that put me off. I didn’t have long to ponder on this as I was ushered into the chapel and towards my seat at the back.

There was already an elderly clergyman stood at the front and as we all took our seats he greeted us to begin his service. I noticed that there was a spare seat left in the front row which I assumed was for Great Uncle Enoch, similarly the empty space to my right seemed clearly to have been left in the hope Price would return and join us. I found now real clues as to the nature of the anniversary from the demon, indeed I could not make any sense of whether this was a celebration or remembrance. The bible references were obscure and confusing, though there were comments about the displays around the chapel. There were mentions of the freeze above the door and its links to the doom painting in the nearby parish church and some reference of thanks to the fallen angel in the stained glass window for their sacrifice. Not being a religious man I mumbled my way through the prayers and songs and feigned sincere interest when the clergyman spoke. During one of his more lengthy anecdotes I noticed right at the front, tucked just behind the alter was something blue. I strained my eyes to see it. It was only sticking out a little but it was clearly out of place. I squinted hard, and then it struck me. It was undoubtedly Price’s scarf.

The rest of the day was spent indoors with a glorious feast before games of billiards and cards and then we retired to the lounge for drinks. For the first time I had been in the grand old house I began to feel more welcome, more like family, but at the same time I was feeling slightly uneasy, there seemed to be a secret, or maybe a cruel joke that I was not party to. The odd look, the occasional whisper, maybe I was being paranoid but above everything a strange fog hovered.

“It is gift time. Great Uncle Enoch has left us all a present.” Mr MacDougall announced as he walked over to a side table laden with parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He turned and picked one up, read the tag out and up rose the person named to collect their gift. Everyone took their gift and sat down without opening it, I did the same when it was my turn and sat with the small box in my hands resting on my knees.

On Mr MacDougall’s signal everyone opened their present, each was exactly the same. A very expensive fountain pen and a small bottle of ink. I looked at the pen in its box, it was clearly a high end luxury brand, worth more than anything I owned at that time. I was taken aback by the generosity and dwelled on the pen. It wasn’t long though that my eyes shifted to the bottle of ink. It was only two inches in height and it’s square base was an inch wide. It had a waxed cork stopping it and on the side was a handwritten label which read ‘Ink of prosperity’.

I held the bottle between my fingers and inspected it. The ink was clearly quite thick and when the light caught it I could see it had a reddish colour. The more I looked at it, the more uncomfortable it made me feel. It just didn’t run like ink. I was relieved when the MacDougall brothers declared that they wanted to take me to see a local waterfall the next day and were going to retire early in order that they were fresh in the morning. I did not need to be asked twice and followed their example.

The rest of the week felt uneasy and on the Friday morning after thanking my hosts I climbed into the car and Vasey drove me to the station. We barely spoke for the entire journey until we arrived when he handed me my bag.

“I see you passed the approval, good for you.” He said with a serious nod.

He said nothing more and returned to the car as I walked to the platform.

I sat for most of the train ride home staring at my bag worried about what that horrible bottle in my bag contained. Even when I arrived at home the bag didn’t move from the hallway. I did not want to unpack it but it nagged at me and when I did the ink was placed on a bookshelf. It was the darkest place I could put it so the light wouldn’t hint at its contents.

A few days later my curiosity got the better of me and during my lunch I took a walk to the offices of the MacDougall Solicitors. I walked towards the door and was about to walk in when something told me to stop. In my mind I sensed Vasey looking at me and shaking his head. I crossed the road and walked to the telephone box opposite. The receptionist answered my call promptly and without hesitation I inquired about Mr Price. To my surprise I was told they had never heard of him, to compound this it was claimed they had never had an employee of that name. I returned to my office and never thought of it again. As for the ink, it still sits on my bookshelf, gathering dust.