The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  By the time they finished, it was sundown. Evelyn put the guns back downstairs and noticed a black spot on the ceiling. Terrence and Evelyn went upstairs and tried to find the room that had a leak. It seemed like it was beyond the hallway with the paintings, but there was no room behind that wall.

  Terrence’s stomach growled. They decided to head out.

  On their way to dinner, Evelyn reached out to the local power company. The worker was a kind man with a Southern twang.

  “Please, call me Jimmy.”

  It was dark when they rolled into town. “My husband and I recently moved into the plantation on Quenby.”

  “Maxwell’s place. I know it.”

  “You knew my father?”

  “I sure did. My family knew most of the Quenbys. They always paid for electricity years in advance. It ain’t the smartest business decision in my opinion, but it kept us loyal to them.”

  “What can you tell me about Maxwell?”

  “He was a reclusive man. Kind, though. Sad he went out the way he did.”

  They pulled into a mom-and-pop restaurant parking lot. “What do you mean?”

  “Folks say he had enough. Went out to the woods one day and killed himself. No evidence of that, but it makes the most sense. I wish I knew more.”

  “Well, Jimmy, I’m his daughter. You think you can spot me a month's worth of power, just until my husband and I decide what to do with the house?”

  “Daughter? I thought… never mind. I’ll take care of you. Tonight hopefully. For Maxwell’s sake.”

  “Thank you, Jimmy. You’re really going above and beyond.”

  “I wouldn’t treat a Quenby any other way.”

  Evelyn said her goodbyes and hung up, noticing that Terrence was staring at her with his handsome dark eyes.

  “You get a lot done when you’re nice.” Terrence smiled.

  “There’s a time for war and a time for peace,” Evelyn replied.

  That night, they enjoyed some Southern deep-fried food, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Terrence nodded along with a Southern blues band playing in the corner and joked about buying a cowboy hat. After they finished eating, he purchased a seventy-dollar white cowboy hat from the shop next door.

  “Howdy, partner,” he said when they climbed into the van.

  “I don’t mean to ruin your hootenanny, but shouldn’t we be saving our money?” Evelyn said as they drove to the plantation for their first night.

  “Eve, baby, it’s all good. We own a mansion. We should live like it.”

  “That’s what I call flawed logic,” Evelyn replied.

  “Come on now, girl,” Terrence said in his best redneck accent. It was comically bad.

  Evelyn laughed. “Fine. You can keep the hat. Only because it makes you look like a sexy cowboy.”

  “They call me the Black Stallion.”

  Evelyn couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard. Terrence chuckled too, but it was clear he thought the name was much cooler than it was.

  As the car rumbled down the red brick road flanked by symmetrical trees, light streamed from the mansion’s upstairs windows.

  “That was quick,” Evelyn said, eyeing the house cautiously.

  “I thought things moved as slow as molasses in the south,” Terrence said and parked the car. “I guess they must’ve really liked your father.”

  “I guess.” They stepped out on the circular brick driveway next to a stable house fit for a carriage and an accompanying hitching post. The grass around the brick was unruly and sprinkled with wild flowers just like the vines that climbed the dirty white walls. They pushed through the groaning double doors and flipped the switch. After flickering once or twice, the chandelier and various stained-glass covered lamps glowed with light and gave the house an elegant glow. By the dimmed shading, the chandelier’s creator was going after the illusion of natural candlelight.

  Evelyn tried out the sink. Water gushed from the faucet. It was dirty and brown for a few seconds and then became clear like crystal.

  “This Jimmy guy, he’s something else,” Terrence said.

  “I’m going to call him. Make sure he knows how grateful we are.”

  Evelyn left a voicemail and traveled upstairs to where the light streamed through the window. She couldn’t find its source. Odd.

  It was way past dark and Evelyn was tired. She climbed into the bathtub and washed her scarred body. The water was hot and steamy, filling the room in fog. How many elegant ladies had bathed in this tub? Evelyn felt giddy to think herself as one of them.

  Suddenly, the faucet stopped and the power cut out. Evelyn soaked in hot water, with the room completely shrouded in darkness.

  “Terrence?” Evelyn called out, letting water slosh out the side of the tub. She stood and felt her way to a towel. Wrapping it around herself, she tiptoed into the hall, careful not to slip.

  “Terrence? Are you there?”

  The hall light switch didn’t work, either. The house was a black void. Evelyn felt her way to an oil lamp stand she’d seen earlier in the day, shook it to see if it still had oil, and then lit it up with the match set next to it. Being able to see about six feet in front of her, she navigated to the bedroom and pushed open the door. Terrence wasn’t there.

  “Terrence?” Her call echoed through the house.

  “Down here!”

  “Where are you!” Evelyn shouted back, heart pounding.

  Using the lamplight, she carefully trekked through the creaking halls, by the odd vases and sculptures, and down to the foyer. She looked around, spotting the open basement door.

  “Baby? Are you down there?” Evelyn said into the abyss before her.

  No reply.

  Carefully, she inched downstairs. Her light shined over the shotguns on the bed. She heard something through the adjacent red brick wall. It was a faint scratching noise.

  Evelyn put her ear against the cold brick.

  Scratch.

  Scratch.

  Scratch.

  There was something behind the wall much bigger than a rat.

  3

  Cool Down

  It sounded like someone was clawing on the other side of the wall. Evelyn couldn’t bring herself to stop listening. The clawing was mesmerizing. Calming. Evelyn felt the scratching getting closer, like it was burrowing through the wall and toward her.

  “Evelyn!” Terrence yelled from upstairs.

  The lights flickered back on. The power returned to the house.

  The scratching noise silenced. Evelyn pulled away from the brick wall. Her head was throbbing. She took inventory of herself. She still held the lamp. She was still wet from her bath. Hurrying upstairs and away from the long shadows of the basement clutter, Evelyn blew out the lamp and rested it on a nearby vase stand.

  Terrence, dressed in his briefs and white t-shirt, looked back and forth through the hall until he spotted Evelyn.

  “What were you doing down there?” Terrence asked

  “Looking for you,” Evelyn replied, holding her towel in place with her free hand.

  “I went searching for the breaker box,” Terrence admitted.

  “I guess you found it,” Evelyn replied, glancing at the lightbulbs illuminating the hall and foyer beyond.

  “Yeah,” Terrence replied “Still, we should get an inspector in here tomorrow. I don’t want to be living in a house with faulty electricity. Even for a month.”

  “I heard something down on the other side of the basement,” Evelyn confessed.

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know it. An animal maybe. It’s hard to describe.”

  Evelyn led Terrence back down to the wall in the basement where she heard the noise. “Here?”

  With pursed lips, Evelyn nodded.

  Terrence knocked on the brick. “It feels solid.” He put his ear against it. “Weird. I don’t hear anything.”

  Always a little superstitious, Evelyn decided to give the basement a wide berth for the rem
ainder of her visit. She reminded herself that she was an adult and should not be scared of such things. Nonetheless, she jogged up the stairs upon leaving the basement. She got dressed into her fitted but comfortable pajamas. As she put on her top, she studied her scars in the bedroom mirror. The deep etchings curved around her ribs just beneath her breast. She could shut her eyes and see the hazy fog lights of the semi-truck blasting toward her. The truck’s horn blared like death’s toll.

  “You shouldn’t be alive,” the EMT said when they pulled her from the car that was crushed like a soda can. Terrence, a handsome stranger who stumbled upon the wreckage and called the ambulance, smiled genuinely at Evelyn as the EMTs took her away.

  Evelyn curled in next to Terrence on the massive king-sized bed. She didn’t know how old it was, but the mattress was more comfortable than anything she’d ever slept on. Terrence’s snores slowly filled the silent house. Wind rattled the windows. Every time she closed her eyes, she could hear the soft scratching in her ear canal. Before Evelyn knew it, morning birds sang outside the window.

  She twisted out of bed and opened the blinds to the acres of rolling land. It was all hers now. From a dingy P.I. office to living like Vivien Leigh, Evelyn could barely make sense of it all. With a house this big, it made Evelyn wonder why her father put her up for adoption. Surely he could’ve hired a nanny.

  She took a morning run down the red brick road. The air here was clean and crisp, something that was foreign to Evelyn in the big city. If not for the years of wear and tear, the house would’ve been perfect.

  Evelyn jogged under the shadows of the large oaks that ran parallel to the private road. She could imagine planters nurturing small seeds in the surrounding ground nearly two centuries ago. Now, the trees were mammoths. Evelyn reached Quenby Avenue and took a breather. A street named after my ancestors, now that’s a story to tell, Evelyn thought with a smile. She didn’t realize how badly she needed a vacation until now. No more cases. No more stresses. Only a big private house, at the end of a private street, where she was completely free.

  On her way back, Evelyn thought about Terrence and how he might be feeling. With the cabins and cotton field in the back, Evelyn wondered if that made him uneasy. Terrence was of African-American descent but from the north. Most of his family were musicians, entertainers, and later factory workers. Like Evelyn, Terrence never had much money growing up. That was probably why both of them didn’t fret scraping by every now and then. As Evelyn jogged back to the monumental three-story house, she wondered if she’d be spoiled by the extra space. At the moment, she was still inclined to sell the mansion for boocoo bucks and get a nice house in Birmington, outside of Detroit.

  At Terrence’s behest, the inspector made the drive over. He was a Georgia boy through and through with meaty muscles, scraggly beard, and a bent bill ball cap. Evelyn and Terrence traded looks, trying not to judge a book by its cover but hoping for a studious-looking person to inspect their electricity.

  Stepping out of his white van, Inspector Hanson made a whistling noise at the sight of the mansion. “This is what we call a Twinkie.”

  “A what?” Evelyn asked, unsure if she heard him correctly.

  “Like the treat,” Hanson replied. “Clean on the outside. Messy on the outside. See, houses like this were never built for the twentieth century or any century beyond their own.”

  “Well, you could at least see the place before making an accusation,” Evelyn replied. To rewire the house would be very costly.

  They walked under the massive colonnades and into the foyer. Hands in his pockets, Hanson stared up at the mural. “Tell me what your issue is.”

  “Last night the power went out,” Terrence explained. “I was able to restart the breaker, but we want to make sure the electricity is sound before we run into any more issues. Evelyn can state that I’m much better with instruments than electric stuff.”

  Hanson cracked an unassuming smile. They hiked down to the basement. Hanson flashed his small flashlight over the wiring on the ceiling. He mumbled a little bit and continued touring through the house until he found an outlet.

  “Let’s see,” he said, and unscrewed the outlet casing. Crouching low, he flashed his light through into the hole in the wall. He did this at a few more locations before finally turning back to Terrence and Evelyn.

  “Y’all got quite the house. The electric setup here. It’s not just functional, it’s neat. That’s a rare thing for many houses,” Hanson said.

  “Can you tell us when it was last upgraded?”

  Hanson thought for a moment. “Just looking by the wiring and set-up technique, possibly in the last twenty or twenty-five years.”

  Terrence wrapped his arm around Evelyn, pulling her closer to his side. “Maybe your father redid it.”

  “Seems logical,” Evelyn said.

  The inspector stayed for a few more hours, checking out the foundation, plumbing, and the rest of the house’s essentials. “It’s old, but as solid as any house. I’ll say this, y’all found yourself a treasure. Touch up the paint, replace a few tiles, and clean up the clutter and this house could be ready to be put on the market.”

  Terrence paid him in cash, and they waved goodbye from the exterior second-floor balcony. They pulled up old metal chairs and scooted in front of the railing. They could see the tall oaks and red brick road that branched into Quenby Avenue. At one point, horses and carriages walked this path. Some were guests to parties, others transported servants. Evelyn found it cool to think about.

  “It seems like a dream, don’t it?” Terrence leaned back and rested his feet on the railing. “I mean this place, it’s gorgeous.”

  “Once we get it cleaned up, we can start looking for a realtor,” Evelyn said.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I thought it’s what we both wanted.”

  “Sure, but when are we ever going to live in a place like this?” Terrence asked. “I mean how many of these houses are still around and habitable? I could clear out the shed and set up my workshop. Blue grass is a big deal here. I’m sure it won’t take long to get established. You can get an office in town, that way work and home don’t get mixed together.”

  Evelyn sighed. “It is dreamy, I’ll give you that, but… I don’t know. How are the two of us going to take care of a place this big? If we sell, we can get a nice cozy home that’s roomy but not overbearing. Do we really need a mansion to be happy?”

  Terrence squeezed her hand. “As long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy. But to live in a mansion--isn’t that what people work hard for? One just fell in our laps. I can see it now, little Terrence and little Evelyn running through the front yard. Our own private chef in the kitchen. Cold beers under the starry night. Shotgun shooting. Horseback riding. County fried steak.”

  Evelyn smiled at her husband’s positivity. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. My father didn’t leave us any money. He only left us the property. We’re still dirt poor.”

  “I prefer the term financially challenged. We sell half the stuff in that basement, and that will change. ‘Sides, aren’t you interested in learning more about your father?”

  Evelyn felt that. “He’s dead, Terrence. I track living people.” She got up. “We can make a decision after we clean the place up.”

  Evelyn put on some old stained clothes and got to work. She grabbed her dust mop, broom, and box of trash bags and started in the bathrooms, knowing they would be the worst. Getting the leaves out of the bathtub, scrubbing away the mold with a sponge, and running the water until all of the dark gunk was out of the faucet, she realized that the cleaning would take much longer than she thought. She grabbed her tablet from the master bedroom and took pictures of the rooms. Using a picture-taking app to draw colorful circles of various damages of the room, she was able to take inventory of every nook that needed cleaning and tile that needed to be replaced.

  Terrence headed outside to see what needed to be rebuilt or repainted. It didn’t loo
k like all of the paint was original, so another few touch-ups shouldn’t hurt the resale value.

  As Evelyn traveled between two upstairs rooms, she got a sudden chill. Her skin crawled like she was blanketed with baby spiders. Slowly, carefully, she followed the cold breeze to a closed door down the hall. It was a room she’d yet to explore. She gave the knob a twist. It didn’t budge. She felt the breeze escaping through the cracks, pushing her away.

  Evelyn put her shoulder into the door. It slung open into… a nursery. It wasn’t what Evelyn expected to find. The wall paint was pink and chipped. The bed was tiny and broken in on itself. The mattress had no blanket and was stained. Toys and dolls from a bygone era littered the floor. They were posed in odd ways. A doll faced the corner of the room. Another had both of its arms folded behind its back. Set off to the table was a massive dollhouse, reminiscent of the plantation where Evelyn stood. There were a number of hand-sewn dolls positioned through the miniature replica. However, the tiny replica of the nursery appeared to empty.

  Evelyn approached the open window at the end of the room. Did Terrence open it, had it been open since they moved in? Using the tips of her fingers, Evelyn dropped the window like a guillotine. She stared at the cotton field beyond. It was acres of weeds and cotton plants that tangled into one another like a rat’s nest. In the center of the field was a massive scorch mark.

  Evelyn set aside her cleaning supplies and headed outside. A number of blackbirds cawed at Evelyn from the tops of cabins. Terrence smiled at her from atop his ladder as he sprayed down a hornet’s nest.

  The cotton field was just far away from the house that it made it an unpleasant journey. Evelyn stepped through the tangle of weeds and thorns, catching a few in her elbow. Why was there a scorch mark? No one had any reason to start a fire here. The question buzzed inside of Evelyn’s head as she pulled a thorn from her arm. A teardrop of blood trickled down her forearm as she stepped onto the burnt earth. Lying in the center of blackened dirt and weeds was a doll of a little girl. It had no legs and was made of fabric. The eyes had been carved out, leaving beneath plooms of dirty cotton on the sockets. Its dress was white and red plaid, reminiscent of the Antebellum era.