by Sharon Hays
Her decision was to go straight to the Manor now, in broad daylight. She had plenty of time to visit the Manor and see Mario before taking her car in, so she hurried off toward Valencia Drive. She drove slowly, still wondering if someone had been playing sick jokes on her, but it seemed highly unlikely. She had no mad boyfriends on the loose and no spats with friends. Then again, it could be just a random break-in; Perhaps, just a few kids trying to shake somebody up. At any rate, she was trying to persuade herself these were explainable events and not blame it all on supernatural phenomenon. She approached the Manor and there it stood in its antiquated splendor, the Valencia Manor. Overgrown with unkempt bushes, oak and maple trees, the house seemed to be inviting her inside, and she was actually looking forward to it. She took the lantern from her trunk and made sure the batteries were still working. The gloomy house, even in the day needed some illumination, from what Joan had told her.
“I’m back!” She chuckled, and pulled into the side drive, making sure to park on the left to avoid the swinging gate. She had one ding already from the last unfortunate visit to this house. Looking up at the mysterious old Manor, she anxiously approached the gate, pulling it open as it creaked out familiar sounds. She made her way up the crumbling, stone, stairs and under the overhang that covered the entryway. Taking caution for her footing, she walked carefully to the double-entry doors. Reaching into her brown leather bag, she took the oversized skeleton key from a small pocket, and slipped it into the keyhole. At first it would not budge, but with a little coaxing, it opened with a quiet click.
Maryanne pushed on the handle, and the heavy door opened slowly, squeaks reverberating against the walls of the great room. Thankful for the daylight and the lantern, she entered the massive room, looking around in awe at the amazing sculptures and a design of exquisite elegance. Her decision to be here at daylight was ideal, she thought. It would improve the quality of her photos, and she planned on taking plenty of them. Removing the digital camera from her bag, she began photographing this unbelievable domain. Italian balustrade lined the winding staircases. The artistically sculpted ceilings were at least twenty feet high, with two enormous crystal chandeliers hanging strategically from the center of the room. Even with the clinging cobwebs, the chandeliers were incredible. Four Italian sculptures protruded from tattered walls. Italian balustrade surrounded a well on the second story, leaving the ceiling open all the way to the floor. It was spectacular! Maryanne paused shortly, staring at one of the sculptures and flashed on the horrible experience Mario must have encountered when he visited this house. She tried not to envision the picture of him hanging, almost lifeless from the rope someone had viciously tied around him, before throwing him over the balcony and leaving him to die.
She began ascending the staircase carefully, its uncanny groans echoing in unison as she took each step. Halfway up, she photographed all angles of the captivating room, and then one cautious step at a time, she climbed until she reached the top landing. Her anxiety was peaking as she relished every inch of the antiquated manor, photographing as much of its exceptional charm as she could. She flashed back on her dreams. The interior of the house was almost like what she had envisioned.
She took more pictures, savoring every moment of the enlightening excursion. She photographed the marble and oak-wood floors, and the mahogany doors along the balcony. She moved warily, pushing against the first door. Old hinges wailed curious sounds, and she peeked into the room. A rusty iron bed frame with wire springs seemed to whisper stories of many a visitor. Through a single clouded window, dim sunlight painted streams of ominous rays against the floor and walls of the forgotten bedroom. No other furniture remained.
Maryanne left the room after capturing several photos and headed toward the next room. The aged, wood floor creaked beneath her as she crept slowly along the balcony. She pushed the tarnished brass handle on the door and opened it, bravely entering. Through a tall, narrow window, light seeped into the room revealing more than she expected. There was a beautiful antique brass bed, turned dark with age near the window. Covered with a pile of tattered, grungy blankets and pillows, again she envisioned how it must have looked when the house was in full bloom, children playing up and down the winding staircases. Lovers making mad passionate love on the antique, brass, bed. The room had a musty odor, and a large dresser stood against the wall on her right. The enormous piece of furniture had to be at least a hundred years old. A beautifully carved, wood-framed mirror adorned the stunning dresser. Maryanne appreciated the handcrafted furniture. She captured everything on camera, thankful she remembered to bring it.
She reached out and touched the soiled mirror, staring into it, barely seeing her reflection. Taking a tissue from her bag, she began rubbing a circle; cleaning a space. She moved closer, studying her reflection. She smiled and pulled her hair back. At that instant, another face appeared over hers.
Heart pounding, she spun around, but saw only shadows against the wall, moving as she scanned the empty room. Taking deep breaths, trying to remain calm, she forced herself to glance again into the mirror. The reflection was gone. “I think it’s time to leave,” she rambled. She had an eerie feeling that she was not alone, but she was convinced it was something supernatural, and not from this world. Maryanne pulled the handle, closed the door securely, and looked down the balcony toward the next door. She wanted to complete all the photographs while daylight still prevailed. This could take some time, but she was willing to spend all the time she needed to complete her search, and photograph all of its quaint beauty and mystery, before she left. The lantern she was carrying gave just enough light, and the added light from windows that lined the walls of the great room seemed to enhance the quality of the photos. Beautiful sun rays showed across the room, giving it an exceptional setting.
Windows were cloudy from years of neglect, but still allowed faded streams of light to reach through and add their magic. She knew these photographs would be stunning.
Checking the time on her cell, she had just enough daylight left to photograph the rest of the manor, since it was only one o’clock. It would take a few hours, but she was up for the task. She loved this house and its captivating magnificence. Even though she had experienced unrealistic and possibly, supernatural phenomenon, she was compelled to continue her plight. Apprehensive at first, and feeling the presence of a possible visitor, she pushed aside her fears, and as usual, curiosity won over. She moved stealthily down the balcony toward the end, near the corner where another door, slightly open, waited for her to converge. By this time, Maryanne felt much more confident, and she convinced herself the apparition was nothing more than her own imaginative interpretations.
“I must be crazy to keep coming back,” she chanted to herself in a whisper. “I can’t seem to leave well enough alone.” Moving toward her destination, she noticed a light; perhaps a candle flicker, from the room ahead. Remembering the layout of the property; that end of the house was overrun with large trees. Sun was more than likely stealing its way into the room interrupted by the branches of hanging willow trees. She was sure there had to be an explanation and continued, taking slow and careful steps, each one echoing against the walls, like a quiet drummer from a ethereal band. As she approached the door, she bravely pushed her way in, where eerie shadows crept along the walls from long, hanging branches, waving past the windows outside.
A large, antique mahogany desk, next to the window, drew her attention. It was a marvelous eighteenth century work of art, all dusty and worn, but still in fairly pristine condition, considering its age. She stood next to the desk, running her hand over the dust-covered antique, marveling at its magnificence. Hand-carved legs and carefully crafted drawers were just a few of the wonders of this unique piece of furniture she had discovered. Pulling drawers out, one, and then another…and then she reached into its abyss, pulling out a set of skeleton keys. Underneath the keys, she found a rare poetry book with a slightly worn, red-velvet jacket and a beautiful brass emb
lem on the front. She carefully removed the delicate book from its tomb inside the drawer, and upon inspection, she found it to be the works of William Cullen Bryant. One page slipped out and fell to the floor. Maryanne picked it up and realized that it was the poem, “Thanatopsis”, known as Bryant’s eloquent description of death. Maryanne had studied his works in college. The poem seemed to fit right in with the scenario at the Valencia Manor, and to the current status as far as she had discovered. This rare book must have been here for many years, but why had no one cared about any of these exquisite works of art? She took a handkerchief from her bag and carefully wrapped it around the fragile book, placing it into her purse, taking extra care not to disturb the beautiful gold edged pages. She would take it to Joan, when she was finished here. Joan would keep the treasure within the estate and properly take care of the assets for the owner, Mrs. Dirkshire. There were some papers and other items on the desk, and inside the drawers, but she could return at a later time, perhaps with Joan, to collect the rest of these special treasures. She wanted to research more, and hopefully find out much more about this incredible Manor. In her excitement, she almost forgot to photograph the dresser. Quickly taking her camera from inside her bag and completing her work, she left the room.
Closing the door carefully behind her, she moved across the balcony to the east wall. She went from one room to the other, carefully photographing everything she saw. She came to the end of a hall, and saw a smaller door, which she had missed earlier. She approached it and turned the handle, finding it opened quite easily, but made eerie squeaks that resounded through the hallway echoing through the house. There was a flight of wooden steps that must lead to the attic room, she decided. Her excitement grew, and she started up the stairs, while squeaks and groans seemed to call out to her. The stairs were worn and unsteady but she would continue. Reaching the top, another door blocked the entry, so she pushed in with some force, and it opened to a small room with one window, sending light onto the worn, wooden floor. She had to watch every step. Carefully entering the room she noticed an antique baby basinet near the wall by the window. Tattered white curtains, similar to another room adorned the four pane window. She touched the dingy curtains and pushed them aside. There was not much left of the tattered shreds of what used to be a sheer white, now grey fabric. The window opened from the side and when she pushed on it, it was already unlatched and opened freely. Maryanne looked out across the lawn into the old oaks that hovered around the left side of the house. She could see the street clearly from here. She gently shut the window and tried the latch, but could not close it. Rust and years of tarnish had taken its toll. She went to the basinet and felt the dusty baby blanket that was left behind. It was in considerably good shape, considering the age and time. When she completed photographing, she started to leave the small room when the basinet began to rock. Maryanne stood frozen in her tracks, momentarily, but bravely took her camera and put it on video, capturing the aberration for several seconds. The cradle stopped almost immediately but she was positive she captured some of its unnatural exhibition.
“Time to get out of here,” she whispered to herself. The more she explored the house, the more she seemed to become almost complacent to its many oddities and noises. A distant crying became more apparent when she started to leave the room. She turned around to see that the cradle had begun to rock again. Though it gave her chills, she managed to keep her cool and almost relish in her discovery. The crying subsided, and she left the room, closing the door behind her. There was only a small distance now to the end of the balcony, and she made sure to capture every inch of this thrilling exploration. Walking toward the end of the hall, two more rooms were waiting. Time had gotten away from her, and the glowing, red sun was closing in on its resting place, so Maryanne had to hurry. Pushing in on another door which remained locked, she tried the skeleton keys she had discovered earlier. One, two and there it goes, the third key was a charm. When the door opened, it was completely dark, and no windows at all were in the room. She held the lantern close and scanned the walls. Ominous inscriptions covered the walls with nothing like she had seen before. In the middle of the room, a table with several half-burned candles had been placed strategically, as though it was the centerpiece for some kind of meeting, or ceremony, she imagined. She picked two candles, one at a time, and then replaced them. Dust was very evident, but something had made several patterns in the dust. She got an excessive cold chill, and felt a presence again. This time she was sure it was a man breathing, and not a woman. It was low and harsh. It almost sounded like someone with Asthma. The feeling became less friendly and more fearful, so she quickly took some pictures and left the room. The next room was open so she went inside, and it revealed a cot, with some cans and bottles of food, like someone had been recently using the room for sanctuary. She picked up a few of the cans and packages to find they were of fairly recent dates, and someone surely had access to this house. There was one more room she had not entered. She glanced at her watch, and still some time was left to finish this ever boding, and worrisome project. Opening the last door, she saw someone dart across the room, and into the closet.
“Who’s in there? I know someone is in there. Come out, I’m not going to hurt you. She held the lantern in front of her and walked slowly to the closet. Ready for anything at this time, she opened her pepper spray, with more guts than brains, she thought to herself.
“Hello, answer me! I am not here to hurt you. Please come out. I just want to talk to you.” With that she entered the closet, lantern and pepper spray in hand, expecting someone to jump out at her. Unfortunately no one did; or perhaps fortunately. Photographing the room, she quickly left, a little apprehensive and scared. She closed the door and started toward the landing to the staircase. Behind her, cries became apparent and louder. A child and perhaps an older woman were making sorrowful moans. Then they faded away into the abyss. She neared the staircase at the end of the long, narrow balcony. Looking over the room from her perch at the top of the stairs, she stood pondering this eventful day with a smile of satisfaction on her slightly smudged face. The dust and grime from many years of neglect had left their mark on her today. She looked down at her beige jacket, which was covered with smudges and spots, reminders of this aged landmark. Thinking out loud, “It’s a good thing I didn’t get any pictures of myself, in this unsightly state.”
Descending the staircase, she held tight to the railing. Suddenly, a loud, shrill cry resonated from the upper balcony. Some kind of animal, she thought. She became frightened, hurrying down the stairs, stumbling. Trying to keep her balance, she grabbed onto the railing, but it gave way, sending her tumbling down to the floor below where she hit her head and became somewhat disoriented. Extreme pain was emanating from her ankle as she sprawled out on the cold wood floor. She had lost grip of her leather bag, leaving it on the staircase above her. Trying to move, the pain was too intense, and she fell against the wall, losing consciousness.
Night consumed the evening sky, leaving the dark house cold and uncanny.
13
Maryanne opened her eyes into the darkness. Fear had suddenly taken over, where curiosity had prevailed. It crawled through her like an icy, winter storm. The moon was out, but the night sky did not offer much solace in the cold, empty room. The headache she felt was debilitating, making it impossible to get up without feeling dizzy and unstable. She laid at the base of the stairs in the dark, in and out of consciousness. Maryanne fell into a deep sleep that seemed to last for hours.
When Maryanne opened her eyes to the darkness again, a foul smell filled the air, and someone grabbed at her ankles and started pulling her away from the landing where she had fallen. The moon had disappeared, leaving very little light in the room. She could not see who was pulling her, and she fell back again into a deep void.
When Maryanne started to regain consciousness, she smelled a rancid, foul odor even stronger, mixed with what she presumed could be dead carcasses or worse. As sh
e regained awareness, she found herself laying on bedsprings with a blanket covering her. Images of the room upstairs flashed in her thoughts.
Who could have carried her up here and for what purpose? Mind racing, she tried to speak. “Is anyone here? Who brought me here? What is your name?” Her voice was weak and shaken. No one answered. It was quiet. The foul smell made her queasy. “Hello, please answer me. I am sorry if I bothered you. Please let me go. Help me. I am not feeling well,” she pleaded. A shuffling sound came closer and a foul, rancid smell accompanied the visitor.
“Can you speak?” Maryanne pleaded again. “Please just tell me who you are, and why you brought me here. I want to go home. Talk to me, please.”
Again…there was no answer. There was only the smell, shuffle, and a hot breath across her face. Looking up, Maryanne tried to identify the visitor, whose intense eyes stared into hers. It was uncanny. They had a red cast which reflected into the darkness, their evil intensity. She turned her gaze away. A hot, foul breath rushed across her face, like an animal panting, but somehow Maryanne knew it was more human than animal. A rush of fear engulfed her. She tried to get up and away from this evil creature; from this den of horrors.
Strong arms pushed her back down into the musty bedding. Though it spoke no words, Maryanne was well aware she had little chance of warding off this strange visitor. Falling back again, she pleaded for her life. “I will give you whatever you want, just let me go!”
