“And now?” Myranda finally asked once the story had been laid out to her.
“Now…” Brandon replied, “I am kind of in this limbo here.”
“Limbo?” she asked.
“It’s hard to explain. What is your understanding and belief level of the supernatural and lives between lives?” he asked.
“Well, Brandon.” Myranda replied, “Until this experience, I would have to say I would have not given any of it much credence. Do you know what that means?”
“You thought it was all a bunch of hooey?” he said.
She laughed appreciating his intelligence and the ability to put her college-level language into the blunt and easy-comprehensible language of a teenager.
“Well put.”
“Often when a person has a violent or unexpected death in the mortal world, they can get…how do I put this…stuck maybe? Yeah…that seems right. They get stuck in between the mortal world and the next phase of life. That make sense?”
Myranda just nodded.
“So, I think this is what has happened to me. Until I can remove or get some help from someone else out there to remove the blockage that exists for me, I am attached to this place unable to move on.”
Myranda was getting quite an education. For someone who six months ago might have laughed at such a story and a wild explanation of the situation, now it all seemed to feel right. Despite her inability to conceive a child in her life, Myranda was feeling a strong and loving bond with Brandon. He had been forced to endure a horrific and dreadful time as a mortal child…in fact had been, in her opinion, cheated out of a normal loving childhood, Myranda began to wonder if she could step into that role now for him. It was unconventional, for sure, but as Myranda looked back on her life thus far, there was little of any of her life that did not fall into that category anyway. She had, through actions on her own, isolated herself from friends and potential romantic relationships. At least there would be no one out there she would have to explain this to.
As well, she now realized that Debra Williams had played loose and fast with her own ethical behavior not filling Myranda in on the backstory of the Ashley Mansion. If circumstances had been different, or if things had gone worse, she supposed she might come back at her for professional improprieties, but as it was, that seemed to be a waste of time and energy. She had gotten to the bottom of the whole Ashley fiasco on her own…all was fine so she just let any thoughts in this regard go. As she sat with Brandon in her lap, his head resting peacefully on her shoulder, Myranda dared to propose a solution. A solution not only for him but for her as well. Brandon had had his childhood cut short, his mother’s twisted, drug-addled brain making him develop an intense dislike, even hatred of women. And for her, Myranda had longed deeply for a child of her own. Was this a situation to solve both of those blocks?
She was not sure how Brandon might respond to this proposal, one where she could act as his mother, her on this side of the plane and him on the other. But from his response to her kindness and warmth now, it seemed likely. The only way she would know for sure would be to run it by him. She gently aroused the dozing boy and pitched the idea to him, trying to frame it in words that a youngster might comprehend…another new feat for her to master, she realized. She could see his appreciation and approval as she talked and was thrilled that he had not thrown even one vocal objection up. However, there was still something in his eyes that gave Myranda pause.
“You still seem bothered about something, Brandon…” Myranda said.
He looked away.
“Something else going on that you are worried about?”
“My Mom, I guess…”
“Are you saying like yourself she is attached here as well…unable to move on?”
He nodded.
“Despite all she has done to me, I still feel bad for her…”
Myranda felt her eyes well up with tears at Brandon’s compassion.
“If I could get someone to help her along…maybe explain to her that you forgive her. If that would relive her own guilt and shame, then everything else sounds good to you?”
Brandon nodded enthusiastically and hugged Myranda tight. She had never in her life expected to have the one piece of her life that was missing get fixed, even in this unusual manner, but right that moment, Myranda felt complete as a human being.
Epilogue
New Orleans, Louisiana
1978-2018
Time had passed and Dr. Myranda Black was feeling fantastic. Her position at the Tulane Medical Center, that she had seen as her ultimate dream job as a physician had been that and more. Scout and Violet were thriving, and despite her still having a hole in her heart over the loss of her beloved Blondie, Myranda’s little family unit was the light of her life. As promised, she found an open-minded priest in town who was able to believe her somewhat fantastical tale of the Ashley Mansion, and he stepped in to clear her house of the energy and spirit of the troubled Ellen Ashley. Once his blessings and clearing treatments were complete, Myranda could honestly say the atmosphere and aura of her home felt lighter and more peaceful.
And then there was Brandon. Despite the unconventional nature of this mother-son relationship, it was to them the best either of them could have hoped for. It was, obviously, not something Myranda ever discussed openly with anyone, but there was never a time that she felt any need to do so anyway. Brandon’s presence was welcomed by her as well as Scout and Violet until she lost her long-time companion Scout in 1992 and then Violet in 1995. The pain of their loss was intense but knowing they had lived long and content lives with her damped the blow. And having Brandon around had helped as well. He assured her that one day, she would be reunited with them as well as Blondie…he couldn’t tell her how or why, as it was beyond her mortal capability to understand just then…but she would have to take it on faith and trust him.
“I’m over here now with them all…who knows better than me?’ Brandon told her when Myranda was having one of her darker moments regarding their deaths.
She laughed as she looked into the eyes of this child that had changed her life forever, the crinkle of laugh lines etched into his young face. And so it was to be. Myranda lived long and well until an unexpected fatal stroke in 2018 felled her as well. As she passed along to the other side, she exited from a long spiraling tunnel to find a welcoming committee: Bandon holding Violet in his arms, as Blondie sat calmly on his right, and Scout on his left. She raced to be rejoined with her whole family and it was a deeper and more fulfilling connection than she had ever had with any of them on earth. Brandon stepped back to let her have private time with the animals.
She hugged them to her and looked up at him as he stood and beamed at her.
“What did I tell you?” he asked.
“No one likes a ‘know-it-all’, Brandon…”
They both laughed.
The Haunting of Drummond-Evans Mansion
By Riley Amitrani
Prologue
Savannah, Georgia, 1885
While much attention and focus is often centered on the New Orleans area for supernatural and ghostly activity, all of the southeastern United States is awash in such things. From Charleston, South Carolina down the coast through Beaufort and into Georgia, the coastal regions there rival almost anywhere in the country for tales of the supernatural. In Savannah, most people are well-acquainted with the Mercer-Williams House from the film based on the house in the 1997 Kevin Spacey film, “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil”. The house, even before the exploits of Jim Williams, as depicted in the film and the book it is based on, has a rich and colorful reputation for being haunted.
And much like in New Orleans and other hotspots for such topics, a lesser known house, The Drummond-Evans Mansion, has a story worthy of recalling as well. And it is this locale that is the basis for what became known to long-time locals in Savannah as The Legend of Herbert von Kraken. The Drummond-Evans Mansion, renamed such in the mid-1900’s, was done to accom
modate new owners who wanted their own name immortalized in association with their new acquisition. The name was changed, but as one might imagine, it hardly had any success in eliminating what had gone on in the place previously.
The von Kraken family emigrated to the United States shortly after the end of the Civil War. Circumstances and other considerations caused them to flee their native Austria and they were looking for a place where they could live in relative obscurity. They arrived just after the majority of reconstruction from the war had been completed in Savannah, and found an old mansion that had been only slightly damaged from the conflict. The original owners had lost most everything during the war and were happy to find that the von Krakens wanted to assume their old estate. They had no desire to remain in the area, as most of their extended family had been killed or died from disease during the battle. They needed the funds to start over again in the north and a deal was struck to accommodate both parties.
Karl von Kraken and his wife, Hilde, used a portion of their sizeable fortune from Austria to bring the place back to its former regal status. They soon settled into their new home with their sons, Herbert and Michael. In an unexpected downturn of events, Karl and Hilde were killed while travelling from Savannah to Cumberland Island. It was shocking to the boys, but both Herbert and Michael carried on and assumed ownership of the mansion being of adult age at the time. Michael engaged in a new business in Savannah soon afterward, dealing in antiquities and other art pieces when he saw that the funds from what their parents had left them would soon no longer allow him to live in the style to which he had become accustomed.
Herbert, on the other hand, took a small bankroll and went away for a few years. From legend and oral histories that have been passed down over time, it is said that Herbert initially went away to pursue his interest in science. He seemed to have in fact gotten a formal education in that realm, but was also drawn toward the study of “black magic” from experiences he had and people he met while involved in his studies. Herbert was highly intelligent and he began upon a path in which he combined his scientific training and newfound interest in the occult. He returned home to Savannah upon hearing that Michael was in poor health. Indeed, when he arrived home, Michael was in dire straits suffering from some devastating, but as of yet undefined infection. In the interim, Michael’s business endeavors had amassed quite a small fortune and he signed over everything to Herbert fearing he did not have long to live and was afraid his mental faculties might soon deteriorate as his body already had.
In his time away, Herbert had become consumed with the idea of gaining control over life and death of the mortal body. It was not exactly the tale of Dr. Victor Frankenstein, created in the classic novel by Mary Shelley, but the similarities are obvious. Herbert cared for Michael as best he could while he concurrently continued his research on immortality, sure that if he could only find the right combination of ingredients he would be successful. In fact, as Michael’s condition continued to deteriorate, Herbert worked harder and slept less and less driven by a compulsion that he could prove his theories by saving his brother’s life.
Most people around Savannah at the time knew of Herbert’s work, but for the most part, just wrote him off as eccentric and gave him no more thought. The wealth and standing of the von Kraken brothers were well-known and respected, primarily due to Michael’s business dealings in town, so no one interfered even if they suspected something amiss in the mind of Herbert. The basement of the mansion was cluttered and covered in hundreds of bottles and vials and other scientific apparatus as Herbert toiled ceaselessly for his potion to cheat death. Then one day, he was sure he had it. All his research and education indicated this had to be the right one. Just as Herbert was about to collapse from exhaustion from the near non-stop treadmill he had put himself on in his effort, he heard a huge thud from above.
Herbert rushed to the living area just above where he had been in the basement to find Michael, still breathing, but prone on the floor next to the bed they had set up for him there. He apparently had been on his way to the bathroom when his legs just gave out and he fell. Herbert carried his brother back to the bed and got him secured while he sat utterly fatigued in a nearby chair watching Michael’s slow and irregular breaths. It was painful to watch and Herbert had this sinking feeling that Michael might be very close to the end. It was a gamble, but in Herbert’s taxed and fevered mind, he immediately thought of his most recent concoction. He had not had the time to fully test the solution yet, but all his research and other trials indicated that this would work.
He looked again on Michael as his brother seemed to be struggling more and more with each inhalation and that was all that Herbert needed to take action. He leapt from his chair and raced down the rickety wooden stairs to the basement. In his rush, Herbert knocked over many of his ongoing experiments and glass and fluids dashed against the hard dirt floor. He reached his last creation and snatched the vial from the table as he wheeled and sped back upstairs. He administered a dose he thought would be appropriate based on Michael’s body weight and then say back to watch. Initially, Michael’s breathing became more regular and deeper and Herbert was filled with relief. But just a moment later, Michael gasped violently, his back arching severely and then he fell motionless…his breathing still.
Herbert ran to the bedside, aghast at what had just occurred and pressed his ear firmly to Michael’s chest. It was silent. He was not breathing and he seemed to have no heartbeat or pulse elsewhere. Herbert fell back in utter despair, completely baffled that his remedy had failed. Then he looked at the vial in his hand. In his haste, he had grabbed the wrong vial. He had carefully labelled each iteration of his work below, and the vial in his hand was not the final potion he had meant to use. The vial in his hand was, in fact, one of the utter failures that Herbert had planned on discarding. It seemed that in his haste and panic at Michael’s condition he had picked the wrong container. Herbert was devastated. It was not like the potion was primarily responsible for Michael’s death, but he was afraid that it might have hastened his demise. In his manic and disturbed mental state, Herbert had one last desperate thought: bring Michael back from the dead using the correct potion.
After all, he thought to himself, that is what my goal was all along: to revive the dead to the living. He collected himself and returned to the basement as quickly as possible, not wanting to delay this experiment. He found the correct vial and came back to Michael’s bedside. He injected a comparable dose to the inert body of his brother and then sat back and waited. And waited. But nothing changed. Michael remained dead. Herbert was inconsolable at his failure to revive Michael. Not being able to think of any other option, Herbert reverted to what he had learned from the occult masters he had met during his time away from Savannah. To any outsider, Herbert’s next action was nothing short of insanity.
Herbert sat back and recalled what he had learned. He then uttered an ancient spell that was well-known in the Cajun and Bayou world of black magic to transfer the soul of one being to another. In his demented state, Herbert was sure he could come up with a successful antidote in time. He just needed to have Michael’s soul in a living creature while he worked. And with that, as utterly mad as it sounds, Herbert performed the ritual with the intent of transferring Michael’s soul to the family cat, Spangles. Afterword, Spangles seemed no worse from the procedure, and Herbert went back to his lab in the basement.
……….
Time went by and little was seen of the von Kraken brothers by anyone in town. No one thought much of it as they often went for long periods of time sequestered in the mansion. However, all that changed when a distant relative of the family came to America. Johann Ludick, though not closely related to Herbert and Michael, had stayed in regular contact with them over the years. He kept them up to date on the goings on back in Austria as well as always being anxious to hear of what life was like in the United States. But when his letters and other communication had gone unanswered for almost
a year, Johann became concerned and decided it was time to come to Savannah just to check up on the brothers. What Johann found when he arrived filled him with disgust and guilt for not having come sooner.
The mansion was in utter disarray. It looked as if nothing had been cleaned in a long time and piles of journals and newspapers and bags of garbage filled the living areas. As Johann arrived inside, it was difficult to even maneuver between the towering and teetering stacks, not to mention the overwhelming stench of refuse. He called out to both Michael and Herbert but got no response. He searched all over the mansion, but it seemed empty and deserted and it left Johann confused. Then he heard sounds from the basement. It was a combination of bustling around and like a conversation was taking place. He stopped and cocked his head. Sure enough, he recognized the voice of Herbert coming from below. Perhaps, Johann thought as he moved to the basement door, the brothers were below and Herbert was “holding court”, lecturing about his research as was common from Michael’s letters to him.
However, as Johann made his way down the stairs and into the open expanse of Herbert’s lab, those thoughts vanished. As he peered across the room, there was no doubt that Herbert had gone completely mad. His clothes were soiled and it looked as if he had not bathed in some time. The lab itself was littered with papers with row after row of calculations, none of which were comprehensible to Johann, even though he had a strong background in physics. But Herbert’s appearance and lack of tidiness here was just the beginning of the nightmare that Johann discovered.
In one corner, secured to a chair with ropes and other ties, was the rotting corpse of Michael. The stench here was just as overpowering as above, but the odor of death somehow made Johann yearn for just the smell of the rotting organic garbage in the living areas. On top of that, the thing that made Johann nearly turn and run with dread and fear was seeing who Herbert was talking to. It was this emaciated house cat. The poor thing looked as if it had not eaten well in a long time, its’ ribs quite visible as it sat and looked into Herbert’s face as he carried on this long-winded conversation with the neglected feline.
Haunted House Tales Page 76
