Like most things in life, the girls were told there would be a wait for the results of their entrance exams. The family were informed on their departure that they should receive them by post within the next seven days.

In addition to reorganising her bedroom and making herself feel more at home, Charlotte spent the days constantly researching ghostly encounters and the paranormal. The question that floated around her mind was why? Why, when everyone else was busy, was she the only one who saw the girl at school? It was clear by her almost transparent state, that she was indeed a ghost or something that wasn't supposed to exist.

After dinner that evening, Charlotte sat in her room at the desk, her finger tapping across the keyboard of her new desktop computer as she busied herself with research on Lady Elizabeth's school. A notebook lay open nearby and she jotted down a few facts about the school and most importantly the building itself. But so far she failed to make an interesting discovery. She moved her mouse and clicked on the button that took her to the about page.

Charlotte scrolled through endless pages detailing the school's foundation from the late eighteen hundreds to now. It listed its teachers both past and present, and most contained a photograph. She clicked on a recent picture of the previous head teacher, Mr McAlistair, and began to read his sorry tale.

After the tragic death of his son Alistair, four years ago, the man found he could no longer teach at the school where his beloved son died. The further down Charlotte read, the more confused she became. And that's when she saw it. A photograph of something she never thought she'd see. There he was, dressed in his school uniform, his pale blond hair partially concealed by a dark-coloured cap. His piercing eyes stared out at whoever was taking the picture. It was him. But it couldn't possibly be. Could it? This boy, Alistair McAlistair died four years ago.

Charlotte thought back to the day of the exam and to that strange encounter. She remembered sitting there, confused and feeling rather stupid that she didn't know many of the answers. She heard a voice, like a calm whisper and as she listened, she found she was able to answer more questions. The vision of the girl, however, was nothing more than an awful side effect of stress caused by her father dropping an entrance exam on her with not even a second to prepare, of course.

Sometimes in life, the only way to fully find out about someone was to search for their name in an online search engine. Charlotte tapped her fingers on the keyboard as she brought up asked.com. Alistair McAlistair Larstone Village Scotland.

It took a few seconds. Slightly longer than it took before the move. Gradually the search results appeared on the screen in front of her. She scammed through the headlines, and then stopped once she found something that captured her interest.

There it was, written in bold, Son Killed by Father's Car.

Charlotte clicked on the headline. Her heartbeat quickened slightly, and the more she read, the stronger the beat became. A photograph of the previous headmaster at Lady Elizabeth's College appeared before her eyes. The image showed the same boy, standing slightly in front of a couple. The gentleman, who Charlotte thought was the boy's father, stood just behind him, his hand rested upon the child's shoulder while his other hand held his wife's.

The headline, written in a rather dramatic way, gave a sad and tragic explanation of what happened to him.

1st March 2018-
The devastating family of a twelve-year-old boy who was knocked down and killed by a car driven by his father, spoke yesterday of their heartbreak and anguish regarding the tragedy. Alistair McAlistair died in what police have described as a tragic accident on Thursday night. In a statement, the family described Alistair as a brilliantly shining star, with a voice of an Angel who was thrilled to have been accepted into a choir school in London. They revealed they would be respecting his wishes for organ donation to bring happiness to others to help them in their darkest hours...

Just those two words, organ donation was enough to bring a tear to her eye, for she knew first-hand what joy such a precious gift meant to families. To families like hers. Her thoughts drifted back several years to when life as she knew it, paused.

It all started in late 2017.

The hot sun beamed down on Charlotte and her friends during the end-of-year Sports Day. Charlotte clutched the spoon in her hands as she ran against the other children. If she completed this race she would be the first girl to win it three years in a row. No one had achieved that ever, not at St Allen's Primary. Her legs moved at speeds she never thought they could. The egg that was perched on the spoon, wobbled slightly as she ran, the finishing line was in sight and there was no one else in the front. But something wasn't right. Charlotte's speed began to slow, she started to feel as if someone had spun her around and around in circles. Her legs felt weak, and the egg slipped from the spoon and crashed onto the grass below. A cold sweat soaked her hair and covered her face in a sickly sheen. Her heart pounded inside her chest, so fast she felt sick to her stomach. A sharp pain raged through her arm and into her chest. She clutched her chest and as black filled her vision, her legs fell from under her and she lay still on the ground.

Charlotte remembered Sports Day as if it were yesterday. The roaring of the parents as they cheered for their children, hoping theirs would beat the others. The smell of the food stalls and the sun melting Bethany's ice cream all down the front of her new dress, and being on her marks, waiting for the race to begin. The next thing the young girl recalled was waking up in a strange and unusual place. She lay in a bed, a thin sheet covering her small frame, a machine beside her bleeping away, in a bland and terrifying room. Just thinking about the awful ward's mascot that was painted on the walls, still gave her the creeps. At twelve years old, Charlotte Greyson continued to wet the bed for months after discharge, and it was all that clown's fault!

His eyes were red and his hair was pink, and his skin was the colour of uncooked pastry. He wore garish shades of pink, green and yellow,  and hugely baggy clothes. When Charlotte was well enough to be transferred into a children's ward instead of in her room, the other kids would tell stories of Conrad the creepy clown, and what he did to children who left their beds at night. They told her, and anyone else who just so happened to be awake, that Conrad the clown left his painted house and crept down from the walls. He resized himself as a tiny dot and climbed inside the children's ears, there he tiptoed into their minds, his evil freaky cackle echoing through their ear canal. If a child was served his favourite food of cold, lumpy porridge, they knew they'd be next. Several years may have passed but her fear of clowns and her disgust of porridge would never leave her.

Charlotte took a sip of her hot chocolate, its warm temperature and soothing qualities were just what she needed, as she forced herself to think back to the worst months of her life.

A couple of days passed, and instead of spending time playing with her friends and going on family outings during the summer holidays, Charlotte lay in her bed. She remembered one early morning. The eerie sound of the breakfast trolley's screeching wheels echoed through the silent corridors as it left her room. Nurse Kellie placed the cloche back over the scrambled eggs on toast. The girl has been there for two whole days yet nothing but water passed her lips.

Large droplets of salty tears ran down her cheeks, where was her mum to comfort her? The painted clown's big reddish eyes stared down at the frightened child, where was her dad to protect her? As the door opened, a smile beamed across her face. In walked her father, a bright, yet synthetic smile plastered upon his face, but his eyes lacked emotion. A strict stiff upper lip, and a case of being a man but as soon as he saw his little girl, the youngest of his three, a small hint of moisture formed in his eye. His wife, Charlotte's Mum, stood a few feet behind him, it took all her strength to force a smile, but her makeup said it all. Black streaks stained around her eyes, slightly down her cheeks. She clung to the paw of a giant toy puppy, which she placed on her daughter's bed.

"Charlotte," her mum spoke calmly, but a quiver in her voice quickly gave away her emotions. A single tear slipped down the woman's face, she reached forward and took her daughter's hands in hers.

"I'm so sorry," she began and sniffed back the tears as they started to flow.

Dad rested his hand on Mum's shoulder, "You have a problem with your heart, darlin'. It's very poorly, and that's why you've been very poorly recently."

Charlotte looked up at him but remained silent.

"You're going to have to stay here for a wee while and the nice doctors and nurses here will look after you until they can find you a new heart."

The little girl sat quietly, not knowing what was happening, or why she was there and it would take a few days for her to fully understand. When her parents returned the next day, the questions finally started to come out. Like most children of her age, why ask the small questions when the huge ones were much more important?

"Where will my new heart come from?"

The tinny sound of her mobile phone pinging was enough to bring Charlotte Greyson away from her reminiscing and back to reality. There wasn't a hope in hell's chance that she could just sit there and wait for the answers. As far as she knew Mum kept a whole folder on her medical treatment and also the details of the heart donor. She remembered her mum telling her that when she was old enough and when she was ready, they would sit down and tell her all about the donor, who they were, how they died and maybe, just maybe, knowing that information would help her current situation.

She wiped away the chocolate stains from around her mouth and left the cup next to the computer on the desk. Charlotte opened the bedroom door and walked out onto the landing. Bethany's bedroom was open slightly and she could see her sister at her dressing table. The younger girl gently pushed the door open.

Bethany sat on a bright pink chair that used to be in their shared room at their previous address. Mountains of makeup scattered across the surface of the dressing table and what wasn't there, or hadn't fallen on the floor, was painted on Bethany's face.

Charlotte watched as her older sister carefully applied her heavy eye makeup and covered her lips with bright red lipstick.

"Dad's gonna go mad when he sees you! Is there any more makeup still left in Boots?"

"Ha! Ha! Very funny!" Bethany replied as she ran her hot straighteners through her long sleek hair. "Scotland isn't just this boring castle, Char. There's so much to explore here, there's a town nearby you know and bars."

"Yeah, and you're underaged."

"Always the killjoy! I'm eighteen in a matter of weeks. Who's going to know?"

"Err, everyone. When I tell Dad what you're planning to do." Charlotte looked at Bethany and sighed. As she noticed her sister's outfit, she shook her head. "If you go out in that much slap, and in that dress, anything could happen to you."

Bethany slipped her feet into a pair of knee-high platform boots. The six-inch heels were so high, she wobbled as she tried to stand. Charlotte looked again at her older sister's choice of clothes. The neckline of her dress plunged so far she almost exposed herself, its thin strap didn't appear strong enough to hold Bethany Greyson's ample cleavage, and the skirt barely covered her rear.

"What's wrong with it?"

"At least wear a jacket or something? I mean have you seen the temperature out there? You'll freeze your tits off!"

"Oh God Char, you're so much like Nana it's unreal. If you're so worried, come with me. You can point me in the direction of some sexy Scotsmen!"

Charlotte had her problems, but what Bethany planned was stupid. She could always question mum the next day. Right?

"Give me a few minutes," She sighed, "I'll go and get changed."

A huge grin appeared on Bethany's face, "Watch out Scotland, here come the Greyson Girls!"