Dawn Berkoski

To understand another person, a fictional character, a new place, and myself, I return to the beginning. An old house, a graveyard, a hut carved into a mountain side, a barn. Any insight is valuable, even if that beginning isn’t the true origin story, it’s a place to start.

I wanted to learn more about Mary, Queen of Scots, and not just what I’d read. I wanted to walk in the spaces she’d lived in. The name Mary, which was whispered in my dream, was my only clue to find my mystery castle. By following the Marys, I’d come this far. Little did I know, I was about to meet one more.

After passing the beautiful St. Michael’s Parish Church with its gold crown of thorns. I entered the gates of Linlithgow Palace. The first thing I noticed was the sixteen foot fountain towering over the courtyard, with its hauntingly beautiful carvings of mermaids, unicorns, griffins, and human heads. Built in the 16th century, it remains one of the oldest fountains in Scotland. A century later, red wine would flow from the spouts instead of water when Bonnie Prince Charlie visited. The day I went, it leaked odd energy.

I didn’t linger. I felt pulled in a certain direction, and I swiftly headed through a narrow doorway and up a spiral staircase, weaving my way higher through a maze of corridors and walkways. This is where I learned about Mary of Guise.

Born in France, Mary of Guise escaped marriage to Henry VIII by marrying King James V. Some say the fountain was James’ way of impressing his bride. Others say it was a vanity project dedicated to pride. In any case, it was at Linlithgow Palace, where their daughter, Mary Queen of Scots, was born. James never met his daughter. He died shortly after. And this is where the story turns supernatural.

Rumors say that the ghost of Mary of Guise can be seen in the tower, staring out the window of Margaret’s Bower, searching for her husband. Others say the ghost is Queen Margaret, waiting for her husband who died during a battle. But it wasn’t ghosts that captured my attention. It was odd coincidences and repetition. Just like Mary Shelley and Mary, Queen of Scots, here was another Mary who lost her husband at a young age. Widows, all of them, like me.

I sat gazing out the window of the tower, thinking of the past, remembering how the news of my husband’s death hit like a bullet wound to the chest. And later, uncertainty, anguish, and fear. A bright future collapsing like a house of cards.

Worse, unlike me, the three Marys had infant children to protect while their lives were being rewritten and torn apart. What went through their minds? What happened to them next?

Mary Shelley wound up writing Frankenstein, a tale filled with grief. But what about the other Marys? What did they do? Where did they go? And in the silence of the chamber, I heard the answer, clear as a bell.

“Stirling.”

I slowly rose. It seemed I had my next destination. Hopefully it would lead to the castle in my dream. But first… If the ladies were still hanging around, I would have to do something.

“I know,” I said. “But you won’t find what you seek staying locked up in a room, staring out a window. It’s time to leave now. Come with me if you want. I’ll take you out of here.”

I don’t know if anyone followed me. But descending the stairs, my feet felt light. Everything seemed to stand out more. I noticed things I hadn’t seen earlier. Writing on walls, uneven steps, the color of various stones. Most of all, I knew which way to go.

And then I reached the last stair, and everything changed. Like a cloud passing over the sun, a coldness enveloped the courtyard. Seeping out of the walls, flowing towards the King’s Fountain in the middle. The mermaid’s faces turned sinister. The unicorn’s eyes narrowed. And the human heads…

I frowned as the temperature dropped further. I looked around, suddenly realizing I was surrounded by doors, hundreds of them in every wall. Why? For what purpose? I started to wonder about this home and its strange architecture. I thought of the Winchester Mystery House in California, with doors that led to ten-foot drops and stairs that went nowhere. Designed, some say, by Mrs. Winchester to confuse the spirits that were killed by her husband’s riffles.

I kept this in mind as I crossed the courtyard of Linlithgow Palace, the stone figures watching my every move. I hadn’t ventured to the other sections of the palace yet. Now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. But, as I’d told the Marys, nothing changes unless you will it to. To find my dream castle, I had to put my fears aside. My pride was on the line.

Walk the talk. That’s what I told myself as I took a deep breath and headed through a doorway into the labyrinth beneath the fountain.

Dawn B~