The Legend of the Abandoned Manor

There I stood on the rocky pathway that served as a circular driveway and I looked up at the massive structure before me. An old Victorian Plantation house, built by my own great, great grandfather’s hands. The paint on the old wood paneled house had long since been chipped away. If it had any color to it at all then you would have never known what it had been, as it was all faded away. The shutters dangled from the sides of the windows and some began to sway and bang against the old house as a sudden gust of wind was stirred up. It sent a shiver down my spine as it rustled through the tall overgrown weeds that were suppose to be the front grounds. I was afraid to see the back grounds.

I looked around and spotted the gnarly trees with twisted branches that scattered the grounds. None of which bore a single leaf and it was mid-way into June. So, they just stood there like gauntly monsters protecting the property and the house that had not been lived in since at least the turn of the century. The legend told, was the house was abandoned and left for ruins because ghosts of the ancestors haunted its corridors and whispering voices lingered with in the walls, as if they had a tale to tell. Now, I was to find that this old house, that folks from the little town I lived in spent too much of their time spinning tales about, was exclusively mine. A deed had been found leading it back to belong to my great, great grandfather, whom I had never met, of course, or even knew I had. I was an orphan child and grew up in an orphanage just on the edge of town. Apparently, all my relatives were dead so I inherited the old house.

I let out a huge sigh and walked the distance to the rickety old porch that had definitely seen better days. Most people, I think, would have been devastated to receive such an inheritance as this, but I was actually excited. I thought the house had character. It had just enough of a spooky edge to it to send that surge of excitement through me. I was, after all, an author of many mystery/ thriller novels and I couldn't have found a more perfect setting anywhere else to do my writing. I just knew this house would give me the extra edge I needed to write my Best Seller and I would find the mysteries within as well.

So, I set out and hired a crew to refurbish the old house. It was mid-October by the time it was done and I moved in. I couldn’t have been more pleased with the work that had been done. What could be salvaged of the old had been, including some of the satin wall papers in the rooms, along with the matching drapes. The winding staircase, with the chair lift that you always read about in horror stories, was completely restored. I went from room to room and was pleasantly surprised with how well things were built in the olden days. I was impressed with how much was salvageable and how well what wasn’t was blended into the old. All new electricity had to be installed, but I also kept a lot of the gas lamps in tact that adorned the walls. I was excited to get started on my new novel.

It was evening by the time I got settled at my antique type writer I used to write with. I did my best writing when dusk hit the horizon and started fading the day into night. I had turned part of the attic into a cozy little place for me to conjure up the magic that spun in my demented little head. The electricity didn’t reach up there so I lit the gas lamps in the room, and started a fire in the fireplace making the room even cozier. I, immediately, began plucking away at the keys...

I must have been at it for nearly two or three hours when a crash split through the night. Wouldn’t you know it, my first night in my new house and I was going to be blessed with a thunder storm. Not long after I heard the crash the rain started pelting the dormer windows. The sound of the rain and the rustling of the wind made it a soothing atmosphere to write in.

About another hour later the storm started to get more fierce. I looked up and saw out the window in front of me that every few seconds the sky was lit up with a bluish hue and the lightning bolts streaked the sky. I got up and went over to the window and looked down at the freshly manicured grounds. Anything that was not nailed down or cemented into the ground was blowing around. Including all of the boxes that I had just unpacked. Another crack of lighting hit and what I saw before my eyes was amazing. The lightning bolt struck one of the trees and split it right in half. The shattered pieces flew in all directions. I had never actually been witness to a lightning bolt striking the ground before. It was kind of eerie but exciting as well. At least it was a tree that it hit and not the house.

I went back to my writing and no sooner had I gotten engrossed in my type writer again I found my words were spoken too soon. Another streak of lighting lit up the sky then suddenly the whole house shook. I jumped up from my seat and ran from the attic. I flew down the attic stairs and to the winding staircase that would lead me to the first floor. I wanted to make sure no damage had been done to the house.

I went to step out onto the first step and all of a sudden the lift chair at the top lurched forward and then backwards before speeding off down the stairs. In a matter of seconds it was back again. It continuously went back and forth out of control banging into the stop guard at each end. I flipped the switch to stop it, but nothing. It was as if it had truly come alive and was sending me a message. Another bolt of lightning struck another part of the house and then the power went completely out. The house fell into darkness with only the lightning to add some light every few seconds. But, I let out a sigh of relief, to me that meant the chair would stop; that was not the case. The chair was still out of control even without power. Now I was a bit shaken and scared. I turned and bolted down the hall to the second set of stairs that lead to the kitchen.

When I reached the bottom and pushed through the door at the bottom of the stairs I was shocked to see that the windows had blown open. The wind and the rain were blowing into the house. I ran over to the windows and tried to push them shut, however, they would not budge. The wind was too strong; or was it something else? Although the windows were open they were not even being moved by the fierce winds that blew through either. Now, I was really spooked. It was as if one of my own horror stories had come to life and I was living in it. I gave up on the windows and turned around. When I did, what I saw made me gasp and let out a scream. There before me was a ghost like figure floating through the air. The figure was clearly outlined as a man. He wore clothing of the century when the house had been built. His face was very stern like, his eyes burned of flames, and his dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail that trailed mid-way down his back. But, what had made me scream was the fact that he was holding a butcher knife with fresh blood dripping from it and I noticed my cat lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

I ran for the back door; I had done enough research on ghosts myself for my own novels. I knew they wouldn't leave the place they were haunting. So, if I got out side I would be safe. I fumbled with the chain lock until I got it loose and I slid it off, but when I tried to unlock the dead bolt it would not budge. I panicked at this point. 

I turned to see the ghost like figure was right behind me. I pleaded with it," No please don’t. You don’t really want to kill me. I'm not here to harm you." I started to cry and shake with fear. But the figure raised the butcher knife and continued his approach. He did not look like he was about to listen to reason.

" You all will pay!" I was surprised that it actually spoke, " You’ll pay for taking over my plantation and killing my people in the war." It was evident that this figure was very angry and I had no clue how to diffuse this situation, as I only created ghosts; I had never been face to face with one. Now I knew the legend of the house was true and there was reason for the house to be abandoned. The ghosts of the past were unsettled and obviously died right in their own home during the civil war. The house was older than I had originally thought.

"No please. I didn't take over your plantation. You don’t understand it is many, many years later. That happened so long ago!" I cried out.

" You will pay!" The ghost’s voice came out more like a howl than anything else and he approached even faster than before. I slid to the floor and crouched into the corner. I knew my demise was immanent and there was nothing I could do. I was going to pay for all the ghosts that I killed off in my own books. I saw the butcher knife coming down towards me and as it did a bolt of lightning streaked the sky and shone off the edge of the blade. All I could do was let out a blood curdling scream as sure as the many victims I had written about had. Just as the blade was about to reach me I heard banging on the window of the backdoor. To my utter surprise the ghost disappeared, the windows slammed shut and I could not longer hear the banging of the lift chair going up and down on its rail - that was the first thing I was going to get rid of- I stood up and saw a darkened shadow shaking out in the rain. I was too scared to open the door so I turned and ran back up the stairs to the second floor and then up the stairs to the attic. I sat down at my writing table out of breath and gasping for whatever air I could get into my lungs. I was slightly in shock from what had just happened.

I continued to hear the banging on the back door downstairs, but for some reason I felt safe in the attic. Finally, the banging stopped and I relaxed. I laid my head in my hands trying to recover from the recent incident when suddenly...

"Howdy ma’am," a voice spoke. I was startled and jumped looking over at the gentleman in the door way to my attic room. He was wearing jean overalls and a flannel shirt. " I am here bright and early just as you asked me to. I couldn’t find you downstairs so I looked around and here you are. I used the keys you gave me to let myself in. I see you didn't waste any time getting to your writing." John was the groundsman that I had hired to tend to the grounds. I had forgotten that he was coming. 

" Oh yeah, that's right, thanks John." I let out a gentle laugh. " I’ll be with you in a second. I'm just finishing up this chapter. I guess I spent the whole night up here writing." I looked down at the pile of papers next to the type writer that glistened in the morning sun. A smug smile warmed my face.... *Yes*, *this was going to be the perfect place to write about.*