It looked like a scene from a film, a grand and magnificent structure. Castle Stone stood surrounded by a sea of evergreen trees that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Charlotte's eyes widened as she stepped out of the car. The soft breeze blew her dark chestnut-coloured hair, which she tucked back behind her ear. Sweet birds sang in the trees around her and the skies above. She took a deep breath and stood for a moment, in silence, gazing up at the sight before her. Something deep inside her felt strange, as if unnerving, and the anxiety twisted inside her like an angry snake.

Pretty pale green ivy climbed up the side of the huge palatial grey stone building. Its four towers were so high they almost tickled the clouds, as each flew a flag at full mast in the colours of Clan Greyson. Charlotte looked the castle up and down. The old casement windows were partially lined with lead and heavy, light-coloured curtains hung within. A bouquet sat in a vase on the windowsill. She counted six windows on the top floor and five on the ground. Then something caught her attention. A subtle twitch of a curtain high on the attic floor. As far as she was aware her family were the castle's only occupants, so who, or what, was that? For a moment, Charlotte wondered if there wasn't staff working there like there would have been in times long since past.

She could easily imagine herself lounging around on a velvet rouge chaise lounge, a little bell sitting on a coffee table in front of her, which she could ring if she wanted something. No matter how silly. Prawn cocktail with caviar and escargot, whatever they were, and a side order of chips. Lots of chips, hot and smothered with mayonnaise and heaped with glorious quantities of cheese. Just thinking about it made her stomach rumble. What if there wasn't a proper chef?

The hard sound of Dad's smart black shoes, against the cold flagstone courtyard, echoed through the silence as he headed towards the shimmering black front door. He reached out his hand and gave a loud knock. The girls stood close by, and Charlotte waited. Her heart pounded inside her chest. Her forehead began to feel wet and clammy.  She breathed in the fresh air and the heavenly floral scent of the beautiful flowers that bloomed brightly in the sizable flower beds under the downstairs windows.

Standing outside the castle, waiting for the door to open, felt like ages. Every second felt like a minute had passed, and every minute, like an hour. In reality, it was no longer than perhaps five minutes, maybe a minute or two more, but in Charlotte's mind, she'd been there for a house. The loud rumbling sound of vans heading down the driveway towards the house caught her attention. At least, fingers crossed, she'd have somewhere to sleep. As the vehicles headed around the side of the property, the creaking sounds of an old door could be heard. She looked straight ahead and watched as the huge heavy front door of the castle began to creak open.

Charlotte jumped back. A bald head, not home to a single hair, peered out from behind the door. Her father stepped forward and the man opened the door wider.

"Good evening," said Charles, "I do hope you've prepared the Castle for our arrival."

A strange pale figure stood in the doorway, his crisp white shirt partially concealed by a tartan waistcoat, with a fur sporran around his waist that slightly hung over his dark navy tartan kilt. Long woollen socks were pulled up over his knees and Charlotte couldn't help but wonder whether or not he was a true Scotsman.

"Aye. Everything's been done to ya request sire." He spoke in one of the strongest Scottish accents the girl had ever heard and unfortunately for the gentleman at the door, she'd heard a voice similar to that before.

The young girl's mouth gradually began to turn up at the corners, and a silly sound like a squeaky little mouth escaped her voice. The more he spoke, the less control she felt over her sense of humour,  and the more she thought he sounded like a character from her favourite film.

"Becky, why don't you take your sisters upstairs and go and pick your room?" Her father quickly requested.

Charlotte grabbed hold of the wheeled suitcase and pulled it through the large front door, its wheels squeaked across the polished mahogany flooring. Outside the castle felt like a cold and desolate place, but the minute she stepped through its doors and entered the hallway, a feeling of warmth came over her. She breathed deeply, as the welcoming smell of the roaring log fires drifted up her nose. She looked around the grand hallway and felt her attention be drawn to the huge exquisite staircase. It looked like something fresh out of a fairytale and for a second she imagined herself wearing a stunning gold gown, sauntering down the stairs where her gorgeous boyfriend waited, his sparkling blue eyes transfixed upon her beauty.

Several hand-painted pieces of art hung on the wall, each encased within an elaborately engraved frame. A few were of the glorious Highland scenery of hills and mountains, with a handful of pretty white sheep and huge ginger Highland cattle with their long shaggy coat and enormous horns. The details were so lifelike, it was as if the images were windows into the great outdoors.

However, there was one in particular that caught the curious girl's gaze. It was a portrait of a young lady.  She looked not much older than Charlotte herself and was dressed in the finest of clothes. The longer the girl looked at the image, the more she noticed visible similarities between them.  Tiny freckles of a soft brown hint were dotted around her petite flawless face. A hint of a sparkle twinkled in her deep-set green eyes. Her long auburn hair twisted into a lengthy fishtail plait that hung down her left shoulder, and the corners of her slim lips turned. The painting was signed by C A Broun and dated July 1800, a plaque underneath read 'Miss Gracie Greyson.'

Charlotte couldn't help but wonder whether the young woman in the portrait was one of her long-past relatives, and if so, how were they related?

The touch of a hand on her shoulder was all it took to snap the young girl out of her daydream and bring her straight back to reality. Charlotte turned to see Bethany, standing nearby, as both of the girls looked up at the paintings that hung on the wall.

"Char? Are you coming" she said, a huge heavy suitcase sat on the floor at her side.

"Yes of course," Charlotte replied, as she turned to head upstairs.

For as long as Charlotte Olivia Greyson could remember, she never really had anything that truly belonged to her. For most of her life, excluding the time she spent in the hospital, she had always had to share her bedroom with her slightly older sister, Bethany. Although the girls were only eighteen months apart and attended the same school, their tastes in music, celebrities, friends and food, were very different. This meant sharing a small room, difficult for the girls and their arguing often caused a migraine for their mother. The move brought freedom for both Charlotte and Bethany and with twelve bedrooms at Castle Stone, Mum Sally hoped the fighting of the past, stayed in the past. With the master suite taken by Mum and Dad, of course, there were eleven bedrooms for the three girls to choose from.

Doors opened and the sound of heavy footsteps against the castle landing echoed through its ancient walls as Bethany and Bella ran from room to room. Charlotte, on the other hand, didn't feel like rushing. She thought it would be better if she took her time to find a room, and not decide until she'd looked at all of them.

She pulled her suitcase up the rest of the stairs and dragged it onto the landing. Charlotte stood and found herself drawn to an open door. She reached forward and placed her hand upon the dull brass knob. But as her fingers touched the metal, a sight flashed before her eyes. It was only visible for a second, no more, no less, and it showed a young woman laying in a grand four-poster bed, the crisp white sheets dripping with what looked like fresh blood.  A bundle of blankets and towels lay inside a Moses basket that stood at the end of the bed, not moving an inch or wailing a single note.

As quick as Charlotte blinked, the second the scene vanished from her eyes. Her heart began to slam inside her chest, sweat dripped from her forehead. What on Earth was that?
People assumed creepy old castles were full of ghosts and ghouls, and that werewolves ran through the forests on the night of a full moon. However, Castle Stone felt different, it lacked the creepy atmosphere and the deathly whispers of those from the past. Something about the place made Charlotte feel like she belonged.

There were two ways Charlotte could take what happened. She could run screaming around the castle like someone possessed, force her parents to sell up and go back to their last address, or she could not let it bother her.

'I think I've been reading too many books.' She thought and opened the white door into what she hoped might be her new room.

Charlotte walked into the room and rested her suitcase upon the sizable four-poster bed. She sat for a moment and her body sunk into the soft mattress. To her surprise, the room was bright and airy, not old and stuffy as she thought rooms in the castle would be. She looked across at the roaring fire that warmed the chill out of the room, as she began to consider which of her many items she could place upon the grey stone mantelpiece.

During the week before the family moved house, Charlotte busied herself with taking as many photographs of everything and everyone she loved as she tried to make happy memories she'd never forget. She reached into her suitcase and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a fun frame in the shape of a fluffy white cat, in which there was a photo of herself with all her best friends, including Emily.

Determined not to let what happened to get her down, Charlotte turned the frame around and carefully opened up the back. She peeled the photograph out, folded the image of her former best friend around to rid the picture of Emily, and then placed it back inside. It looked like Maria had a strange hand growing out of her shoulder, but that didn't matter. What mattered was what the image meant, and seeing herself with Maria and Anna, made her smile. That moment she decided that she'd send them a photo of her new home later, or maybe when the wifi had been installed in a day or two.

Charlotte spent the next couple of hours sorting out her new room and organising where everything should go. The pictures she placed nearly onto the mantelpiece, and her clothes hung nicely inside the sizable triple wardrobe. She looked at all her clothes and shoes and the space still inside. She couldn't help but wonder if her parents would give her money to help fill it.

Her bedroom floor was fitted with a deep pile of soft pale blue carpet that she'd chosen a few days before the move. Although at the time she hadn't picked the room, Mum and Dad let her have a say in how she wanted it decorated.

She knelt on the carpet as she carefully put her books in order. She'd never had a proper bookshelf all to herself before, as the one in her room at her old house was always full of Bethany's junk. Over the years Charlotte had managed to collect at least one hundred books last time she counted. If she brought a book and loved it, she'd keep it, if not she would donate it to either the local bookshop or perhaps a charity. She decided to keep her best reads, the books she knew she'd read again and again on the top shelf, with the second for those that she loved but not as much as she did her favourites, and the last of the four shelves, the bottom shelf, she reserved for those that were destined for the charity shop. Although she kept much more than she donated, the bookshop and the cleaner of the charity shops were always very grateful for her donations.

It was a pretty cold early winter's afternoon, Charlotte was busy sorting out her books and the other things in her room. The windows were closed and the sizable room was heated by a coal fire that cracked in the fireplace. As she placed her final book on the shelf a strange noise echoed through the hallway. She stood for a moment and walked across to the door. She heard that noise again, only this time it was louder, closer, and it came from round the room above. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Charlotte opened the door and quickly leant down to pick up an ornament that she'd knocked on the ground, before leaving her room and heading down into the wide spacious corridor. With her family all settled in their new bedrooms that were all on the same floor, Charlotte couldn't work out what the noise was. It sounded like heavy footsteps walking on the floor above. But that couldn't be right. She stood outside her bedroom door, to the left were her parent's room and the family bathroom, and to her right, where the stairs to the attic, and Bethany's room. She crept down the corridor, her footsteps creeped against the old floorboards and the more she moved, the louder they became. There was that noise again. Someone was definitely up there, but who.