Lana walked up the Mile after the cars had dropped them off, steering wide of people still out enjoying the night. She made her way to the junction beyond St Giles and stood on the corner. In her pocket she gripped her amulet, which she turned over and over as she peered down St Georges. A sickness rolled through her stomach.
Ten minutes down there to Greyfriars. That’s all. Ten minutes to the graveyard. People drifted passed her. There was a spot of rain in the air. Come on, girl. Go to the tree. Leave them the bloody amulet. It’s time to get out.
Churches are usually easy places to find. They sit prominently on main streets or announce their presence with steeples. Not so the Kirk of the Greyfriars. You have to work to find this place.
Located behind walls on the southern edge of the Old Town, the church is surrounded by Greyfriars Kirkyard. A place of contemplation. Somewhere to wander silently amongst the gravestones. There have been burials on this site for five hundred years.
Come after dark and you'll find tourist groups hunched in unexpected corners listening to ghost stories. Come very late at night and you might see a shadowy figure burying an amulet beneath a tree, then scurrying away.