The Haunting of Reindeer Manor

by Kevin Guest

After the eventful breakfast, Mary, who had slept the least, was spent. She turned to Anderson. “I’m going to take a nap.”

  He looked at her. “Screw off!” He was angry that his equipment had failed to capture the poltergeist activity. In his seething rage, had she pushed him any further with her intrusion, his attack would have made breakfast seem mild.

  She accepted his anger and decided it was best to disappear for awhile. She slowly made her way up the stairs. As she did, she glanced down at Anderson and mentally noted his behavior.

  As Mary reached the top of the stairs, she glided over to her bedroom. Upon entering, she closed the door. For the first time she got a truly detailed look at her bedroom. She had not noticed the beautiful décor of the wooden dresser. She walked over and rubbed her hands along its finished surface. It was smooth as glass, as if it was made the day before. The intricate carvings of Indians along its side were impressive. The handles on the drawers looked like real gold, with white pearls on the end. It was obviously handmade; the craftsmanship was far beyond store-bought quality.

  She stepped back and marveled at the maroon walls. The straight color was broken by a forest green border that curved into the ceiling. Her mouth was wide open as she marveled at the bonze-pressed ceiling. As her eyes trailed back down, she noticed within the border was a lighter green vine with sporadic leaves. Like the dining room, the maroon came down most of the way, until it met an oak panel that extended to the floor and ran the length of the room. The floor was like that of the rest of the house, a deep colored hardwood, cherry perhaps.

  She yawned, ready for a long nap, perhaps a hibernation filled with dreams of fancy, unreal possibilities, and a replenishment of the body.

  Mary slowly undressed, making as little effort as possible. Though she noticed the cameras and the sensors, in her giddy mood, she did not care. Her urges began to surface and she danced seductively for the camera, hoping someone--anyone--was watching. Unlike Amy, she was hoping for an interruption. However, to her disappointment, there was none. She became completely relaxed as she slipped into her nightgown.

  She spread her hands over the bed, feeling the softest material she had ever felt. No longer did she fear the dark; instead, she welcomed it. She was grateful the room was without windows. The daylight would impede a restful slumber, but now, a person could sleep anytime, and for much greater periods.

  She climbed into the massive bed and stretched her feet as far as she could. Such a lovely feeling to know she could not reach the end of the bed. She lay in the middle and stretched all of her limbs out, none of which came close to the edge. What a wonderful feeling, she thought, to sleep without the fear of an alarm clock. She curled up the pillow beneath her head and gave her mind away to dreams.

  Downstairs, Jessie and Amy busied themselves cleaning up the dining room. Fletcher stood off to the side smoking, appearing to be in deep thought and worry.

  Afterwards, Amy and Jessie moved into the study. It seemed to be the least affected of all the rooms. Its wood paneled walls, ornate furniture, and aristocratic smell were somewhat inviting. It reminded them of some of their favorite college professors. Sometimes, within the halls of the university, it seemed if the outside world did not matter. It was a club for the better segment of society. The room seemed to capture and enhance that fantasy.

  Amy pondered. Was it Sharp’s room or his sons? She nosily went about the business of inspecting the desk and its contents. “Such beautiful handwriting,” she said.

  Jessie curled up on one of the couches. “Handwriting is a lost art.”

  Amy handed a stack to her. Together they read the documents, none having any meaning to them.

  As Jessie was reading, she came across an order of burial. “The Maybrick funeral home.”

  Amy turned to her. “That’s the name of the man killed in the morgue.”

  Jessie handed the order to her. “Look, compare the handwriting. Perhaps he used this room to escape the children. Their living area was quite small and it couldn’t have been easy running a business while constantly being bothered.”

  Amy read over the order. Why it was on the desk was a mystery, but the handwriting for the other documents did seem to match. “I suppose it’s not such a stretch to think he made his way over here from time to time. If the house was sitting empty, it makes sense he might have created a use for it.”

  In the living room, Anderson was poring over his data. He found it difficult to believe that all of his equipment failed at the exact time they were being attacked. At other hauntings, spirits often showed a curiosity about the equipment left in the room, though none disrupted the signal. He thought, Perhaps the wireless signal could show some degradation, but the wired one? How could that be? His frustration grew as he realized he had no evidence to prove what happened.

  Fletcher was leaning against the wall, continuing to smoke. He seemed to find peace in his surroundings. Something was on his mind and though he found this to be a wretched place, he would rather be in here than in the real world.

  The credit he was promised for this project was not quite as important to him as the money. He was extremely low on funds, having only a few days of cash reserves remaining. He found comfort as he recalled his deal with Dean Schulz. Knowing this bonus, along with the job offer, was his, even in this place, he could find peace within himself.

  † † †

  Mary had drifted into dreamland. She found herself in the back of a church, dressed in white, feeling giddy. She looked at the people around her, none of whom she knew.

  As she walked down the aisle, people on both sides looked upon her with admiration. As she approached the front, the groom was like someone off a wedding cake. His clear olive complexion, thick dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, and smile would have melted any girl’s heart. His charm and magnetism were powers only God could give.

  He was a gentleman to a tee. His strong stance, large soft hands, and demeanor gave him the title of a man’s man. Men admired him, women adored him, but they were all set aside. On this day, he was hers, not to share or to adore, but to join as one, forever.

  Mary continued down the aisle, her eyes glued to the groom. Even from a distance, she could sense such love, as if it was enveloping her, pulling her in, but there was no need; she would go willingly.

  Her mind filled with memories, and though not her own, she was willing to own them nonetheless. She envisioned a beach, perhaps at a lake, or the ocean. The sun was just cresting over the horizon, resting from a long and arduous day. Her groom lay beside her as she lay on her back, staring into the ever-deepening blue sky. He twirled her hair, saying things of fancy and teasing her with outlandish romantic adventures.

  She sat up. “But what of children?”

  “I shall fill your house with a variety of both sexes, a haunting of the most splendid variety. A house so filled with love that it intoxicates the entire town!”

  She lay back and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sparkle, as if a new star had been born. Her eyes focused as her heart raced. Before her, within the grasp of his fingers, was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. She sat up in an instant.

  “My darling, such a pleasure it has been during our courtship, but let us end that; let us take a new step and embrace each other as one in God’s house. Let us be wed.”

  She accepted the ring on her finger. She thought, A wedding is but a formality. I have been wed to you since the first day I saw your beautiful eyes. She kissed him intensely, marveling at the fleshy feel of his perfect lips. She drew back, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yes, my darling, I shall marry you!”

  Instantly she was back in the church. She looked upon her groom’s face as she took his hand. The pastor said something, but she was too involved in the moment. Time seemed to stand still; no power on the earth was greater than this feeling.

  From behind her she heard, “Her mother and I do.”

  The pastor began to speak, but she could
n’t hear the words. It was as if she was in a trance. She said nothing, reacted to nothing, but the pastor looked at her as if she was speaking and responded accordingly.

  Moments later, she turned, almost robotically, as if she was programmed. The groom leaned in and kissed her, his soft lips like silk pillows upon hers. Such an embrace, a moment in time so great it could align the planets. She held fast to him, kissing him, ignoring all that surrounded her.

  To her dismay he drew back, smiling as if it was the first time he had seen her. She turned and found the congregation on their feet, applauding. Strange, she thought, she could not hear them.

  As they walked down the aisle, she felt as if she was floating, as if her movements were scripted. All around her, the lights began to fade, the scenery was changing, the chapel--Wait, she thought, the chapel…

  † † †

  Downstairs, as Mary slept, the group sat in the living room. A lull had fallen upon them. No longer were there any questions or curiosities. The events of the morning had taken hold; whatever was there was all around them.

  As the group sat silent, a loud shudder rocked the house. The group quickly rushed outside. Anderson, as usual, brought up the rear, unable to move as quickly. As he joined the rest near the hayride road, there in the distance he saw a large mass of black smoke billowing into the atmosphere.

  “Someone’s bound to be hurt,” Fletcher said, impressed by the growing cloud.

  Anderson knew they had to help. This far in the country, there was no guarantee anyone else had heard the explosion. “Look back in the yard; see if there is a four wheeler or something.”

  Fletcher walked into the side gate off the hayride road. It led back to the staging and prop construction area. All around him were tools, scattered wood, port-a-potties, a maze of paths, and overgrown bushes and trees. He slowly wound his way through until he came to a small shed. It did not look like the other houses; obviously, it was not a part of the attraction. He looked inside and was relieved to see a golf cart.

  Luckily, the door was not locked. As he opened it, the dull hum of the charger was a welcome sound. He thought back to his days on the golf course, a lovely fantasy that temporarily allowed him to escape the horror surrounding him. He disconnected the dusty charger from the vehicle and backed it out. Slowly and carefully, he guided it around the broken pieces of wood and scattered nails.

  † † †

  As the rest were concerned about what was happening outside the manor, Mary’s dream continued…

  Time passed, and Mary was standing at the manor. She marveled at how new it looked. Nothing from the attraction was there. The air, the trees, even the sounds of nature were soothing. As she looked to the east, she could see rolling hills of farm and pasture. Cows grazed on the horizon, and all manner of vegetables grew in a field close to the house.

  As she looked upon the house, she could tell it was not yet finished. She could see the construction of it, but it was odd. There were no timbers, no wood of any kind. The base of the house was a thick block of concrete. Iron girders and support beams spanned the area; it was one of the most unusual constructions she had ever seen.

  She stepped onto the porch and noticed the newly formed concrete was white, almost as bright as marble. The red brick was vibrant and gorgeous, and though there were no windows yet, she could tell by the construction they were far more elegant than she had envisioned.

  She walked into the footprint of the house, only having to step though the steel support columns. The roof had yet to be constructed, but she could see the lines by the girders and imagined how it would all come together. Beautiful, she thought.

  As she continued, she noticed all the piping for the kitchen. The house was built with the latest technology of its time. It had what most Americans could only dream of.

  She came to the chapel area. It was different. On the concrete, she saw it was divided. She looked, and could see the outline of the study. From inside the study area, a door was marked that led to that most horrible of places. She put her finger on the dividing line and thought, The chapel was originally two large walk in closets, a pantry for the kitchen and a closet for the study.

  She walked back into the center of the structure. She looked at the area where the basement stairs would have been, but nothing was there. She remembered seeing Fletcher and Amy come from the secret passage, but there was no marking for it. She rationalized, It must have been someone else who made the evil modifications.

  As she stepped out of the house, onto the newly laid dirt, the mailman came up to her. “Mrs. Sharp?”

  Mary balked. “Who? No, I’m not Mrs. Sharp.” But she stuck out her hand, almost involuntarily. In addition, she was not smiling, but the mailman was laughing with her. He waved and walked off. Without thinking or control, her hand opened the letter and her eyes read it.