by Sharon Hays
This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2010 by Sharon Hays
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1450503160
Kindle ISBN: 978-1-61550-761-0
EAN-13: 9781450503167
LCCN: 2010900092
DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I dedicate this book to my family.
Gratitude to my friend Wendy, whose support gave me the confidence to complete this project.
Thanks to my Editor, Carol Givner, for her help during the editing process.
My sincere appreciation to talented Artist Daniele Montello, for his perfect cover illustration.
Thanks to Patricia Griffin Ress; Writer, Author and Radio Show Co-Host for Night Search Radio.
This is purely a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
EPILOGUE
1
In the beautiful city of Boulder, Colorado, Maryanne O’Donnell was rushing to get ready for the event she had been anticipating since she moved from Denver. The Valencia Manor was always on her list of places to visit and possibly invest in, should the occasion arise. Her friend Joan, informed her that the magnificent Manor had come up for sale recently and Maryanne was anxious to take the first peek.
Of Irish decent, Maryanne looked every bit of it, from her auburn hair to her stunning green eyes and alabaster skin. She had the temper to go with the hair as well, and she worked on keeping it under control most of the time. Her looks had been a stepping stone when it came to achievements as she was growing up and in college. She had been the winner of a talent and beauty contest while attending school in Denver, which helped pay for college expenses during her last year in school. Though she was an accomplished musician, she did not use it for monetary gain, but enjoyed singing and piano since the age of eight. Guitar playing managed to sneak in later on, for amusement only; she confessed a time or two. She studied music through-out college, and her mother would have loved nothing better, had she chosen a career in music, rather than the field of anthropology and history. However, it was those interests that led her to her current business; dealing in antiquities. She began freelancing and then started her own business soon after college. She usually contracted one job at a time, and had developed her business to include several high-end clients. That seemed to keep her living at a comfortable status. She liked to travel and contract specific clients when, and if she wanted to, giving her time to travel or both, for that matter.
When Maryanne’s friend Joan Bishop, a real estate broker, mentioned to her that she recently signed a contract to list the manor on Valencia Lane, Maryanne jumped at the chance to see the Manor before the listing came out. Joan was quite an opposite personality from Maryanne, but they had been friends since college and got along famously most of the time. There had been a few spats along the way, but they remained close friends. Joan had a darker complexion with blonde hair. She was an attractive woman in her five foot two frame. Her hazel eyes were always sparkling and she was hardly ever in a down mood. She could handle Maryanne well with the anger issues, and knew exactly what to say when Maryanne was on the edge of her patience. Well accomplished in the real estate market, Joan started her own business when she moved to Boulder after college. Since then she became a broker and was very successful. Not as flamboyant as Maryanne, they were a perfect pair of opposite personalities. Joan was sometimes too patient, to hear Maryanne tell it, but she always got the job done well in the long run. Maryanne swore they should have been sisters, as they are inseparable to this day. When one had a problem, the other was always included, in either helping solve it, or edging the other with good intended advice.
Joan had not shown the house to anyone yet because the power had not been turned on, and the house was not in any condition to see. An open house was planned in the near future, but it was still far from ready for viewing. Joan decided to let Maryanne go inside for an early peek, since they had known each other for many years, and she could certainly trust her.
The amazing Manor was more than a hundred years old. Maryanne always thought the Manor would be a great restoration investment. She had been eyeing it for years. It would be perfect for a bed and breakfast. Restored, it would have a tremendous resale value. What had first and most interested her in the Manor, was its history. Mysterious stories surrounded its past. She had always hoped it may become available for sale. Mystery aside, it could turn out to be a very profitable investment, either way.
The temperature was in the low sixties, and a cool spring breeze was blowing in from the west when she picked up a set of keys from Joan. It was already five o’clock in the afternoon, a bit late to be starting, but she was anxious to take a peek. Maryanne took a deep breath as she stepped onto the broken curb and made her way very carefully across the crumbled walkway. She felt small as she stood by the tall, iron fence, holding on to its cold, rusted iron. As she looked up at the finials, the fence gave way, falling across the shattered walk in front of her with a vociferous bang. Losing her balance, she managed to contain her fall by reaching for a lamppost that leaned aimlessly like a withering flower, its dull, yellow lamp flickering. The deteriorated metal atrocity made her wonder just how long, even the city had disregarded this property. She imagined how incredible the massive, two story rock structure must have been in its prime, and wondered how anyone could have simply let it go for so long. The tall windows were framed with dark, hand-carved wood, and it had a large overhang on the front, and the hand-carved pillars were amazing. Though it was run down, she could visualize the beauty of its original design. She couldn’t wait to get inside and explore its many wonders. Her hair had fallen loose from the clip and across her face. Brushing it aside, she continued, even though she had an eerie feeling that she was not alone. Her senses were peaking, and she had an unusual compulsion to go inside, even though her gut feeling was urging her to leave. She brushed off the admonition.
She moved ca
utiously forward to the wrought iron gate that hung out like a high wire acrobat, holding on for dear life. A single hinge creaked as she pushed against the broken metal, subtly warning her its time had passed, and to be extra vigilant at what possibly lay ahead. The reasons that compelled her to investigate this property in the beginning were not just curiosity and profit, but her serious interest in antiquities. She wasn’t sure what else drew her to this place, but as she moved ahead, compulsion was added into the mix. A feeling of uncertainty surrounded her and she felt an obscure presence, which seemed to be enticing her on as she made her way toward the concrete pillars at the front of the yard. They stood guard like old, devoted soldiers, as if to ward off any undesirable intruder, she imagined. Though, this was an uneasy effort, nothing was going to get in the way of her mounting curiosity. Slowly, she took chary steps, easing past the pillars. She saluted them in military fashion and climbed the deteriorating stairs to the front entrance. Fixing her eyes on the ominous door, crafted with solid hand carved wood planks that formed the extra wide portal; she felt a subliminal, ominous feeling that was taunting her to enter the manor. She could not resist its calling, yet she knew it didn’t feel right. Carved framing of dark, solid wood was carefully placed around the antiquated door at the front entry, and she admired it as she moved closer. This door must have been shipped in from Italy. It came from a house much older than two hundred years, she thought. Someone had taken great care to protect its craftsmanship since that time.
She felt uneasy, like an unknown presence hung over her, and her awareness was rising. Near the peak of the roof, engraved into the stone were the name “Valencia Manor” and the year “1889.” Gables and dormers had been added to the roof, which made the design more spacious and architecturally charming.
The sun began to hide behind ethereal clouds over the Colorado Rockies, reminding her that she must decide whether to go inside, using her small flashlight as the only means of illumination, or return at morning light to finish this disconcerting, but thrilling enterprise.
“Stairway to Heaven” echoed against the limestone rock exterior when her cell-phone rang out, breaking dead silence of the approaching night. Startled, she took hold of the tarnished, brass doorknob, maintaining her balance while holding the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Maryanne?” Joan was on the other end, sounding a bit worried.
“Yes Joan, sorry. I’ve been busy and was going to call you, but I got distracted here at the Manor.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for over two hours. I would like to talk to you. It’s important. Can you come over when you are done?”
“Yes. Is anything wrong? I can come over…now?” she questioned, wondering how urgent it was.
“No Maryanne. You can wait until you’re finished. Nothing is wrong, but stop by afterwards. I uncovered some information you will definitely want to look at concerning the property. I talked to the owner of the Valencia Manor, and she gave me some updates on the previous owner and current documentation pertaining to it. There has been some new and unsettling information.”
“Okay. I’ll come over as soon as I’m finished here.” She looked up at the massive door, gave it a few loving pats, and dropped the cell phone into her purse. She started to walk away, but when the door creaked, she looked back and noticed it had opened slightly. Surprised at first, she then remembered grabbing the handle when her phone rang. She quickly dismissed straying thoughts of the unexplained. Her curiosity got the best of her though, and she gently pushed on the door. It groaned and squeaked, sending haunting echoes throughout the empty house. Reluctantly, she stepped just one foot inside and poked her head into the room to get a glimpse of the extraordinary interior. Cobwebs clung to her hair as she moved in closer. “Yuk,” she blurted, sweeping them away with her hand as she moved a little further inside. With the sun close to setting, the space was muted, and a few lingering rays of light were streaming through tall, clouded windows. She could see a grandiose Villanueva limestone mantel with a cleanly sculpted breast. It was supported by scrolled foliate corbels that boldly surrounded the fireplace at the back of the room. A large, framed mirror reflected light from tall windows and illuminated its spectacular design. Movement near a window across the room startled her, but she told herself it was only shadows caused from a tree branch, perhaps, being pushed by the wind. At first she thought it was an aberration, but that was the fault of her primed imagination. She tried to rationalize its appearance, moving her unnatural thoughts back to reality.
Joan pulled the door closed and started cautiously down the stairway, when she noticed a door at the lower level of the house, perhaps a basement, she thought. Reasoning to herself, she decided to take a quick peek, and started toward the door that was partially hidden by overgrown bushes. Pushing her way through, she stumbled, stepping on a swollen, dead rodent. Gasping and jumping back, her eyes were glued on its carcass. The hairy, long-tailed creature’s beady eyes were gaping, and seemed to be looking straight at her. “Ugggg.” The abhorrent sight made her queasy, and she stood frozen for a moment staring at its decaying flesh. Then she reasoned to herself. It’s dead for crying out loud, it sure can’t hurt me now. Maryanne laughed, mostly at herself and decided to check the basement out anyway. Her curiosity, for some unknown reason, took over where common sense should be. Taking a few more steps beyond the foliage, she pushed through until the door was visible. Several rotting wood stairs held in place with small rocks and dirt, led down to the door. Half the door was above ground level. She took careful steps, holding onto the decomposing wood wall that had been placed there to keep the earth from caving. When she reached the bottom, she could see a black iron handle that slipped into a metal strap. She pulled it up and out of the niche and pushed inward. The door moved with some effort and groaned every inch of its journey. She stepped inside the basement’s darkness, and the smell of mildew, old discarded furniture, and who knows what else, hung in the air. She took out a small flashlight from her keyring, not big enough to do much good, but nonetheless better than naught. She held it out, moving it back and forth. She couldn’t see much, but it looked as if the room could be rather large. She saw old pieces of furniture and miscellaneous items that were probably put here for storage, she imagined, or simply discarded. It was time to leave. She backed up and edged her way toward the door when she felt a presence and coldness, making her shiver. Someone was here! She turned and tried to reach the door, falling onto the floor, and her keys went flying out of her hand as she landed in a pile of debris. The small flashlight automatically turned off, so her hand began feeling around on the floor, wondering if she would touch a spider or a rodent, hoping the keys would come up, first. She let out a big sigh of relief when she felt the keys and picked them up, dust and dirt clinging to her hand. She hoped that was all, thinking that spiders and bugs of all sorts inhabited basements that were left for years. She didn’t want to start a collection now, she chided to her unconscious. Heart racing, she quickly pulled herself up and clumsily made her way toward the door, where some early evening light still shown through. Stumbling over miscellaneous items, she tried hard not to imagine what could be there. Dead animals had flashed through her mind. Someone or something moved on the opposite side of the dark room as she made an effort to reach the exit. The light from the door helped to guide her out of the room. She was about to reach the door when it suddenly slammed shut, and then the room became pitch black. Maryanne reached out and pulled on the door, and to her surprise, it opened with not much effort. It must have been the wind, she continued to rationalize. Taking in a deep breath, she could feel her heart in her throat as she yanked on the door and made her way around it. Maryanne crawled ineptly, halfway on her hands and knees up the stairs to the yard and kept on going, not looking back. She forced her way through the bushes and back to the sidewalk, wiping off cobwebs and the like from her clothes. She would wait until daylight to continue this exploration…
Maryanne returned to
the deteriorating pathway leading away from the Valencia. She offered another quick military salute as she rushed passed the pillars, making her way beyond the leaning fence and out of the yard to her car. She would call Joan right away, knowing how worried she could get. The only light near her car were momentary flickers from the tired street-lamp. Struggling with the ignition, she finally started up her old but dependable Chevrolet and flipped on the overhead light. Palpitations in her chest were still raging, and she began taking in several deep breaths until she calmed down. Turning back for one last look, she began to realize that her imagination had played a huge role in her curious venture under the house. Her friend, Joan, the owner of Bishop Realty, said she had already contacted Aspen Electrical to repair the faulty wiring. Had Maryanne not been insistent and her best friend, Joan never would have given her the keys in the first place, but Maryanne was going to use every chance to explore this strange and mysterious structure before it came out for public viewing. Had Maryanne been earlier upon arriving, she would have had more time to go through the interior, and a little more light would have helped. There really wasn’t a rush, though and she would return at a more suitable time for the next excursion. Preferably, it would be first thing in the morning on the next go-around.
Her phone reception was poor in that area, but finally there was a ring, which made her unusually happy as she sat in the darkness outside the dark edifice. A voice of any kind right now would be a welcome sound. However, the machine picked it up. “You have reached the office of Joan Bishop at Bishop Real Estate. Please leave a message…”
She didn’t leave a message. Being only a few minutes away, she would soon be driving by, so there was no need for that. The night was sullen as darkness rolled in, causing shadows to play along the poorly lit street. Maryanne got a cold chill, thinking that someone might have been in the basement. Looking back for one final glimpse of the deserted Manor, she drove off toward Pearl Street and Joan’s office. Not sure Joan was still at work, she would drive by the office just in case she was working late. There was a slight possibility Joan was still there.
