The curse of Gothsbow

Perched on top of a hill, overlooking a valley below, was the old laird's mansion house. Untouched and unloved for over a century it fell to the ravages of time and weather; it's roof caved in, its walls crumbled and its floor cleft open by stubborn birches growing through it. But this was the way of things on the sleepy island of Gothsbow. Nothing was allowed to survive. The island and everything on it was afflicted with an ancient Celtic curse; a death plague cast by the old island laird himself in a fit of bitter madness over the loss of his beloved Eleanor.
One by one its residents left, fled the parched and dry island for land that yielded crops and waters that offered fish, until all but one stubborn islander, Rufus Glint, remained. Rufus was the son of a farmer. He was a strong boy with an equally strong will. But he was all alone. His father, weakened with starvation, had passed the summer before, leaving Rufus to fend for himself. Rufus loved his island home and despite his struggle to survive on meagre rations of grain and a cow so thin she offered but a thimble of milk a day, he had no desire to leave. Rufus was determined to defeat the curse. He knew that if he could only find the laird's lost love and return her body to the old mansion, where once it belonged, the curse would lift and the land would once again thrive. It was a task that had been started by many before him but completed by none. The land held many secrets and it was for that reason that Eleanor disappeared.
Rufus knew of the legend. His father had told it to him many a time.
Eleanor was a greedy woman. She had heard tales of the mountains of Gothsbow harbouring riches beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Gothsbow was known to some as the 'pirate bank'. Because of it's prime location between two trading ports on the continents either side of it, Gothsbow was the perfect place to hoard booty of gold, silver and gleaming jewels. One day Eleanor set out to find the hidden treasures and was never seen or heard of again. The old laird was grief stricken. He sent all his land workers out to find her and they too were never heard of again. It seemed as though the land had just swallowed them up.
But Rufus was as wise as he was strong. He waited until the winter passed, the days were longer and he had stored sufficient supplies of berries, grain and nuts to see him through his journey across the highlands.
With his deerskin pack on his back he set out northward across the heath land toward the high mountain pass ahead. To conserve his energy he rested every couple of hours, a time he used to his advantage by reading his father's journal. His father, like him, was consumed with desire to see the island of Gothsbow restored and had devoted as much time to researching the legend of Eleanor and the pirate booty as he had to tilling the parched land. In the journal his father had narrowed his research down to two mountains that he thought Eleanor had ventured to; one with a sheer rock face and another just off the coast, surrounded by water.
Given the first was closer Rufus began the careful and delicate climb up to a cleft in the side; the only possible place that booty could be stashed. As the wind whipped around him he grasped at notched and footholds in the rock and heaved his body up, narrowly avoiding a fatal fall when one of the footholds crumbled beneath his weight. Breathless and tired he sat in the entrance to the cleft and caught his breath. Inside it was dark and musty smelling; the funk of thousands of years of ravage by the elements.
But at the end was nothing more than moss, bat droppings and broken stone.
Disappointed he climbed down and took stock of his quest. He needed to get across the inlet to the pinnacle rock just off the coast. With no boat to sail in, all he could do was wait for the tide to go out and give him safe passage.
By nightfall the tide was drawing further and further away. Guided only by the light of the silvery moon above him, Rufus ventured out toward the rock pinnacle. At the base of the pinnacle Rufus had to climb over shards of sharp rock. They slashed his clothes and scored his skin. Rufus couldn't imagine how Eleanor had faired against this giant, but it was clear to see why the pirates might have chosen it to store their plunder. Nobody in their right mind would venture to take it, unless they were so driven to. When Rufus reached the smooth white rock of the pinnacle he examined it, searching for an entrance inside. There was no way to climb up its completely smooth sides so no cleft could exist high up. It had to be at ground level. Rufus walked round it and when he reached the other side of the pinnacle he found not a entrance but the last remains of Eleanor. Her golden tresses long since given up to the sea, she lay in bones and cloth on the rock, a victim of her greedy desire. It seemed that the legend of 'pirate bank' was nothing more than a legend.
Carefully Rufus carried the remains of Eleanor back to the crumbling remains of the old laird's mansion and placed her in amongst the birches that grew within it. As Rufus stepped outside and looked back, as if by magic, the mansion instantly restored itself to its former glory. Its roof repaired, its doors fixed, its windows unbroken, the birches vanished and its brickwork solid and sound. Rufus smiled and clapped. Its over, its over. The land was rich once more. That summer Rufus spent night and day ploughing his moist fields, harvesting corn and vegetables and dining like a king.