As I stood contemplating the odd impression, a chill swept down my spine, and I felt the eerie sensation that I wasn't alone in the room. I glanced around the dim chamber, but there was no one there. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of two small eyes staring at me from beneath a thick layer of cobwebs across the room. At first I was somewhat startled by the sight of the small figure that sat on the dresser, silently watching me, but as I slowly crept toward it, I could see that it was merely a child's doll, fashioned in the likeness of a little girl. Its face held an expression of sorrow and its unblinking eyes glistened with an eerie red glow as they reflected the light of my flashlight. Brushing aside the cobwebs, I examined it closer. It was draped in a red velvet dress and its porcelain face and hands were covered with a network of fine cracks. The doll's black hair was twisted into braids that were tied off with scarlet ribbons to match her dress.
"Sandra," I called out, "come in here."
Within seconds she was at the door. "What did you find?"
"Take a look at this," I said, holding my flashlight over the forsaken toy.
She stepped closer to get a better look at it. The doll's red eyes seemed to glare at us, as if there were some measure of consciousness lurking behind them. Neither one of us touched it as we examined it.
"Didn't you tell me you had a dream about a little girl with white skin who was wearing a red dress?" I asked.
"That's right," she said, "but in the dream, she was alive."
Sandra scanned the dresser with her flashlight beam. A book of nursery rhymes rested on the dresser beside the doll. She picked it up and flipped though its dusty pages to where a scarlet bookmark held a page with a handwritten poem.
Sandra studied the short verse intently then switched her microphone on to record her findings. "A child's poem written in a book of nursery rhymes harbors a sinister invocation." She paused for a moment, then began to read the verse aloud.
Sandman, come to me tonight,
Comfort me till morning light—
As darkness falls and shadows loom,
I bid you welcome to my room—
Rest your bones beside my bed,
Lay your hands upon my head—
Cast your spell of slumber deep,
And stay beside me as I sleep—
If I should die before I wake,
I grant to you my soul to take—
As she recited the final words of the macabre poem, an eerie melody broke the deathly silence. The faint chimes of a music box echoed from some distant part of the house. The ghostly refrain drew us out into the hallway where Ronnie and Jake were standing. Ronnie pointed down the main stairway, letting us know that the music was coming from somewhere on the first floor.
Sandra had left her microphone on to record what we were hearing and as she stood at the top of the staircase she added a bit of commentary. "From somewhere in the distance, a music box plays a haunting refrain."
We quietly made our way down the stairs and followed the hypnotic melody as it drew us toward the south corridor. The ghostly music led us through the tall archway and past the dining room. With each step we took, the chimes seemed to be slowing, as if the music box were winding down. As silently as possible, we approached a door near the far end of the hall. The eerie melody, which had slowed to a crawl, seemed to be emanating from inside the room. Sandra took hold of the handle and threw open the door, and as she did, the music stopped.
We stood in the doorway of a magnificent private library, awestruck and spellbound within the deathly hush. Tall bookcases were built into the oak-paneled walls and lavish works of art were displayed prominently throughout the chamber.
Sandra stepped inside the room, and as she did, she resumed her audio narrative. "The ghostly melody has led us to a library where the walls are lined with arcane relics and shelves of dusty books."
Heavy drapes covered the windows, muffling the sounds of the ongoing downpour and filtering the violent lightning flashes to a subdued flicker. A life-size statue of the goddess Athena stood on a marble pedestal just inside the chamber door. Her face was masked beneath an ancient helmet and her bronze shield bore the loathsome head of the gorgon, Medusa.
Ronnie snapped a quick photo of the imposing chamber before setting foot across the threshold. After a moment of hesitation, he followed Sandra into the shadowy domain with Jake and myself trailing a few steps behind. The library seemed more like the grand showroom of a museum than a simple repository for books. Winged gargoyles leered down from gothic sconces set into the four corners of the room. Their monstrous faces were twisted into ferocious snarls, creating a sense of foreboding menace as they silently watched over the chamber. A majestic grandfather clock stood behind a veil of cobwebs in an arched alcove to our left. Its golden pendulum hung deathly still and its hands stood frozen in time at precisely one minute before twelve. A large globe of the world was supported on a pedestal beside an antique desk, piled high with books. Medieval broadswords and battle axes hung prominently displayed on the dark paneled wall behind the desk, forming an intimidating backdrop.
Near the center of the room, a leather sofa and matching chairs were arranged around a table in front of an ornate stone fireplace. A tall portrait depicting an elderly man wearing full Masonic regalia hung above the mantel. He stared down over the room like a ruthless monarch coldly surveying his conquered empire. There was little room for doubt that the painting portrayed the grand architect of Darklore Manor and all that had transpired within—the enigmatic Edmund Darklore.
Other paintings depicted classic scenes from ancient mythology. Beautiful Valkyries rode horses through the sky, transporting fallen warriors to the halls of Valhalla, and voluptuous sirens beckoned seductively to ancient mariners on a turbulent sea. A large framed canvas chronicled Lucifer's fall from Heaven, depicting a battle between angels and demons in lavish detail.
The shelves were filled with a treasury of rare books and strange artifacts from various cultures throughout history. A Mayan sundial rested on a stand surrounded by Native American totems, and jade dragons from the Orient shared a shelf with arcane relics from Tibet and India. A human skull covered with scrimshaw designs sat beside the sculpted effigy of the dark goddess Kali, and other pagan idols stared out from shadowy alcoves that lined the surrounding walls.
At the far end of the room, a pair of obsidian statues depicting Egyptian gods stood on the central shelf of a tall bookcase.
Sandra approached the sculptures, quietly studying them beneath her flashlight's glow. "Anubis and Osiris," she whispered, "the lords of the dead." A golden jewelry box, untouched by cobwebs, rested between the statues.
Sandra pondered the curious scene. "This seems a little out of place, doesn't it?" She rested her fingertips on box's oval lid and closed her eyes, as if she were meditating upon it. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and gently lifted the jewelry box from its resting place. Examining it closely, she discovered a small key protruding from the base. She turned the key, twisting it round several times, then set the golden coffer back on the shelf and lifted the lid. The silence was broken once more as the eerie melody that had drawn us to the library began again.
As the hypnotic chimes of the music box rang out, I noticed that the oval shape of the coffer matched the bare spot in the dust that I had seen in the bedroom upstairs.
Sandra squinted at the bookcase in front of her. "So why did you bring us here?" she quietly mused, as if she were thinking out loud.
She ran her fingers along the edge of the bookcase, where the tall shelf protruded slightly. Grabbing hold of the frame, she pulled it toward her and the entire bookcase creaked away from the wall, revealing a secret doorway hidden behind it.
The concealed door was made entirely of bronze and a strange insignia adorned its tarnished center. The emblem showed a shield with crossed swords surrounded by an inscription that seemed to be written in Nordic runes. Sandra scanned the door with her flashlight, studying the engraved crest and as she did, I jotted t
he runic letters down in my notebook. Ronnie leaned in to photograph Sandra, capturing the moment as she stood before the mysterious barrier. She brushed her fingers over the tarnished surface until they came to rest upon a narrow slit cut into the center of the design.
"It's a keyhole," she said.
She quickly withdrew the front door key from her jacket pocket and tried it in the lock. She struggled as she attempted to twist it back and forth, but she couldn't turn it in either direction. Satisfied that the key didn't fit the lock, she slipped it back into her pocket and turned to Jake. "Do you think you can find a way to open this?"
Jake examined the surrounding crevices, pushing on the door and knocking on various parts of the frame. After a few futile minutes he conceded. "There's no hinges on this side and the damn thing's solid as a rock. Unless we find the key that fits this lock, we're gonna need a bulldozer to get it open."
"Where do you think it might lead?" I asked. "Maybe to a private study or den?"
Sandra returned her gaze to the crossed swords and shield on the insignia. "When the sheriff mentioned the Thule Society, he referred to them as the 'Knights of Thule.' I think this might be the entrance to their meeting room."
"Wasn't that supposed to be underground, in some sort of family burial crypt?" Ronnie asked.
"Exactly," Sandra replied. "There must be a key to this door somewhere in this house. Let's see if we can find it."
We turned our attention to investigating the library and over the course of the next hour we searched the numerous shelves and drawers looking for the elusive key, or any clue to its whereabouts. More than once Sandra seemed lost in a distant reverie as she examined several of the books and various other strange and dark wonders the room held.
The guys had retrieved some supplies from the dining room and sat at the central table gearing up for round two. Jake was systematically replacing the batteries in all the flashlights, ensuring that each one achieved maximum brightness. Ronnie sat opposite him, changing the film in his cameras with the deadly earnestness of a gunfighter loading his six-shooters before a showdown. Their dedication to their work was matched only by their skill and efficiency.
I decided that they had earned a mild compliment. "You guys make a great team."
"Yeah," Ron laughed. "He blazes a trail into the Stygian depths and I chronicle everything for posterity. Unfortunately, more often than not, he gets us lost and it's up to me to try to find our way back, usually in the dark."
"I beg your pardon." Jake feigned indignation. "Who led us out of that maze of catacombs beneath that sanitarium in Providence?"
"Who led us down there and got us lost in the first place?"
"Again, I ask—who got us out?"
"That was one time, and you got lucky."
"Maybe," he said, "but if I had my choice between being good, or being lucky, I'd rather be lucky." Jake flashed a devilish smile and gave me a wink.
Their humorous bickering lightened the mood in the dreary chamber. I walked over to Sandra who stood in a distant corner leafing through an old book of Norse mythology. Scanning the titles on the nearby shelf, I noticed that the entire bookcase was lined with aged tomes dedicated to a variety of esoteric topics. Secret societies, alchemy, black magic, witchcraft, talismans, necromancy, voodoo, thaumaturgy and mystical relics were but a few of the titles among the hundreds of arcane books that filled the tall shelf.
"This Edmund Darklore seems to have had more than just a passing interest in the occult," I said. My eyes came to rest on a large black book in the midst of the case. It was inscribed with faded gold letters that read Holy Bible. "That's odd," I said, brushing my fingers over the dusty spine. "He doesn't strike me as a religious man." I removed the heavy book from its resting place. "This doesn't seem to fit in with the other books on this shelf. It doesn't make sense."
"That's what I thought, at first," Sandra said, taking the Bible from my hands. "I was certain that it would be hollow and I'd find an old skeleton key hidden inside it, but it's just a regular book." She flipped through the pages to demonstrate that there was nothing concealed within it, then set it back on the shelf between the other books. "But now I think I understand why it's on this shelf. Look at the paintings and artifacts in this room. I don't think he was viewing the Bible as a religious tome, I think he was studying it as a collection of myths. All great mythologies of the world have some basis in truth. I think he was investigating the legends of various cultures throughout history, maybe looking for similarities, or myths that overlap. It's actually quite fascinating."
"And yet, after all his research, he put his faith in this Brotherhood of Thule?" I asked.
"Kind of makes you wonder why, doesn't it?"
"I'm sure he had some mad rationale for it," I said smugly.
"I don't think he was crazy. There's an old proverb that says we worship the gods that answer our prayers."
I glanced around at the extravagant works of art that filled the opulent chamber. "Well, from the look of things, I'd say that his gods were very good to him."
Sandra grinned. "He was obviously very passionate about the arts." She walked along the wall of books and gestured to the next set of shelves. "This entire bookcase is devoted to sculpture, painting, music and architecture." She proceeded to the neighboring bookcase and said, "This one's filled with classics of literature."
I perused the titles. The impressive collection contained several extremely rare books including leather bound works of Dante and Shakespeare and first editions of Byron and Poe. "This collection is amazing," I uttered. "The books on this one shelf alone must be worth a small fortune."
Sandra stepped over to the desk and began to examine the piles of dusty tomes that covered its surface. She lit a tall candelabra that resided amidst the crooked stacks, then took a seat behind the desk.
I pulled up a chair in front of her and sat down. "I wanted to ask you something—it's been on my mind for the past few hours."
"All right," she said, giving me her full attention.
"When we first got here, inside the manor, you led us straight to the dining room. You didn't look around or check the floorplan, or even hesitate for one second. How did you know where to go? And how did you know where that secret door was hidden?"
Sandra offered a slight smile then lowered her voice to reply. "Remember me telling you about my dreams—the ones where I'm inside an old house and everything seems familiar, like I've been there before?"
"Are you telling me that this is the house you've been dreaming about?"
"Yes. This is the house... and that's the door," she said, nodding her head toward the bronze barrier, "the one that should never be opened."
I stared at the foreboding doorway, and as I did I imagined a legion of hellish demons lying in wait just beyond its sealed threshold, biding their time till the infernal gateway was opened once again. As my mind drifted, I was startled out of my daydream by a disturbing sound—an innocent, childlike melody that gave me cause to shudder each time I heard it. The music box had suddenly begun to play once more.
Ronnie and Jake sprang to their feet and crept toward the source of the sound. Jake took hold of the bookshelf that had concealed the secret door and swung it shut, allowing us to see the front of the case. The music box still rested upon the central shelf, but the lid which had been left closed now stood open.
The eerie chimes rang out their haunting refrain, but this time when the music reached the chorus, a child's voice lightly joined in the melody. Sandra stepped forward and gently closed the lid and the music and singing stopped.
Sandra scoured the room with her gaze. "You needn't fear us," she said. "We're here to help you... we're listening... tell us your story... make us understand." She began to slowly walk around the library. "I know this was your home, but you're not alive anymore... you have to leave this place."
Suddenly, an icy chill swept through the room. Sandra winced, closing her eyes and recoiling, as if she had been st
ruck by some unseen force. She began breathing heavily then started speaking in a quivering whisper. "Darkness," she said, "terrible darkness and sorrow." Tears welled in her eyes. "Eternal blackness... the sinners must be punished. He answered my prayers and told me what had to be done. Forgive me... forgive me."
Sandra opened her eyes and tears streaked down her cheeks.
"Are you all right?" I asked. "What happened?"
Sandra shook her head from side to side. "It was horrible. I've never felt anything like that."
"What did you feel?"
"Death... sorrow and death. It's all around us here." She slowly stepped to the library door, saying, "Follow me."
Walking as if in a trance, Sandra led us out of the room and around the corner to a narrow corridor adorned with the pictures of children. She stopped before an ornate oval frame and brushed the cobwebs aside to reveal the portrait of a beautiful young girl cast in shades of sepia. The girl was dressed entirely in black, as if she were attending a funeral when the photograph had been taken. Her dark eyes conveyed a sad expression as she gazed longingly outward from the faded picture. An inscribed plaque below the portrait read "Belladonna."
"It was her," Sandra whispered, "Belladonna Darklore—but there were other voices as well. Her family is dead, but their restless spirits are trapped within these walls. They're all here, inside this house."
As I stared at the solemn portrait of Belladonna, I felt a deep sympathy for her poor lost soul.
Sandra continued her account. "She said that the sinners had to be punished, and that someone answered her prayers."
"Who?" I asked.
"The Sandman," she whispered.
"Who or what is the Sandman?" Jake asked.
"It was in the poem," I replied, "in the book upstairs."
Sandra turned to Ronnie and said, "There's a book of nursery rhymes in the upstairs bedroom that Pam and I were in. Bring it to me. There's an old doll in that room, too. I need you to get some good photos of it." She glanced at Jake and said, "Go with him."
As the guys hustled off on their mission, Sandra and I walked back to the library. The storm had subsided somewhat, but occasional bursts of lightning flickered across the dark velvet drapes. The menagerie of statues that stood in various poses throughout the dim chamber cast eerie shadows in the light of the candelabra. Returning to the desk, we resumed our seats. Sandra removed her cassette recorder and set it down between two stacks of books, then leaned back in her chair.
The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror Page 13
