The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  “Thanks,” Evelyn said, and handed him a paint can.

  “Of course.” Terrence followed her to the dingy hallway. “Have you decided what shade you're going to paint it?” he asked, obviously trying to put the fight behind them.

  Evelyn admired his effort even if she couldn’t let go of her irritation. “I guess I’ll match the original.” She stared at the off-white shading. Other rooms had a baby blue or light khaki tint. That or patterned wallpaper.

  “Can I lend you a hand?” Terrence asked.

  “I got it,” Evelyn replied. “Keep it up with the back yard. You’re doing a good job.”

  Terrence nodded to himself and slipped away from the hall, cracking the door to the foyer behind him.

  Evelyn set out the plastic sheeting on the hardwood floor and popped the top of the paint can. She pulled out her stepladder, got the roller lathered up, and got started on the fresh coat. Somewhere deep in the basement, she heard a faint scratching. She forced herself to ignore it and kept on painting. It grew louder, like fingernails picking at her brain.

  She closed her eyes, trying to ignore it. You’re just tired. You’re only stressed. The scratching grew louder. Evelyn clenched her eyes tighter. The noise subsided. She reopened her eyes and stumbled back, falling from the stepping stool and landing on her bottom on the hardwood floor.

  Painted over the old drab coat of paint was a mural the length of the wall, displaying the cotton field, the black scorch mark at its center, a man with a featureless white mask, and a little girl standing amidst the thorny crops. The details were immaculate. Two black smudges like black holes were the eyes on the man’s featureless white mask. The little girl had a yellow dress with a belt around her petite waist. Her hair was sandy blonde like Evelyn’s. Her expression was neutral.

  Slowly, Evelyn examined her own palms. They were crusty and dry with different shades of paint. She cursed under her breath and noticed the diminished paint cans nearby. One of them was tipped over and running white away across the plastic sheeting and into the gaps between the floorboards.

  Evelyn got to her feet, keeping her wrists curled and her hands from smearing paint on anything. She rushed to the kitchen and washed away the paint. Dry chips clung to the bottom of the sink. She looked out the window, noticing it was nearly sunset. Her heart raced, and she realized that her fear kept her blinking and her mouth dry. She trembled lightly and, without drying off her hands, she walked out the front door.

  Dirty and sweaty, Terrence was making quick work of the tall weeds and bushes around the front of the mansion. Wiping his brow, he squinted at Evelyn standing on the covered porch. After a second, he noticed her ghostly expression and rushed up the stairs.

  “What happened?”

  Evelyn parted her lips, but no words came out. She led them through the foyer and into the freshly painted wall. Terrence’s eyes bounced from the spilled paint to the mural dripping down the wall.

  He turned to his wife before going back to the impressive piece of art. “You painted that?”

  “I… I don’t know,” Evelyn whispered. “I don’t remember.”

  Terrence rubbed his hand up his bald head and studied the mural that leaked on the plastic sheeting. The little girl and masked man were turning into runny blobs of color before their eyes.

  “Do you want to go to the hospital?” Terrence asked.

  Evelyn thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. Yes.” She nodded.

  “Let me get changed,” Terrence said and kissed her on the forehead.

  Evelyn stared at the cotton field, the little girl, and the masked figure that made her skin crawl.

  Terrence returned downstairs wearing a shirt covered with miniscule violins. He brought Evelyn a nice shirt. She changed out of her paint-stained garb, and they climbed into the van.

  She looked out the Georgia meadows and flatlands, chewing her fingernail. The ride was silent. Terrence fidgeting proved that he had questions, but he didn’t voice them. Good, as Evelyn had no answers. An hour later, and they arrived at the hospital one town over. Adders didn’t have one of their own. The doctor took the last-minute call and allowed them both to enter. He was a tall man with hollow cheeks, blue eyes so light they were almost silver, and thin white hair. His smile was small, secretive in a way, and his glasses were circular with a gold rim.

  He shined a small light over Evelyn’s pupils. “Have you ever experienced blackouts before?”

  “No,” Evelyn said, staying as brave as she could. “I’ve never painted anything in my life either.”

  “Has your diet or sleep schedule changed in the last few weeks?”

  “Neither have been particularly ideal for the last few years. Worse lately, though. No sleep the last two nights,” Evelyn admitted.

  The skeletal doctor nodded to himself. “Does your family have a history of blackouts?”

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn said. “I’m an orphan. My father passed away recently. I don’t know anything about my mother.”

  “I’m going to prescribe you some medication,” the doctor said after a moment of studying her. “It’s still undergoing tests, but I believe it will nip the problem in the bud.”

  Terrence squeezed Evelyn’s hand.

  “Okay. I’ll take it,” Evelyn replied.

  “Get lots of rest too,” the doctor warned. “Blackouts are sometimes caused by sleep deprivation. Painting while in such a state is highly uncommon, however.”

  Evelyn took the signed prescription paper for a medication with a name she could hardly pronounce. As she stood, the doctor cleared his throat. “Oh, one last question.”

  Evelyn lowered herself back on the bed. Terrence awaited the doctor’s words.

  Tube ceiling lights reflecting in his glasses, the doctor’s silver eyes met Evelyn’s. “You’re Quenby’s girl, right?”

  Evelyn nodded. “You knew my father?”

  “In passing,” the doctor said. “He stuck to himself. Many people stayed away from him.”

  “Why?” Evelyn asked, her interested piqued.

  “He’s a Quenby. None of your family has been liked in a very long time. Now, go home and rest,” the doctor said, leaving no room for further questions.

  Evelyn persisted anyway. “You’ve got to give me more than that.”

  “I’m not an Adders local. There’s not much I can say.” Off Evelyn’s look, the man said, “Maxwell visited me a few times. Mostly for antidepressants. If there was ever a closed book, it was him.”

  Unable to get any more information out of him, Terrence and Evelyn went to the pharmacy and then headed back to the mansion. It was dark then and Evelyn felt wired. Terrence offered to clean up the paint and plastic sheeting.

  “What about the mural?” Evelyn asked.

  “I don’t see why we should get rid of it at the moment,” Terrence replied. “Paint’s expensive, you know.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Keep it,” Evelyn said, feeling uneasy even thinking about what she drew. After showering and putting on her nightclothes, she got a glass of water and drank one of the huge sleeping pills. She climbed into the bed and drifted quickly to sleep.

  She didn’t hear any scratching that night and could scarcely dream. All would’ve been well that evening if she didn’t wake up in a cow pasture fifteen miles from her home.

  5

  Raw

  The first emotion Evelyn felt when she awoke was fear. Quickly, she pushed her palms against the cold, hard earth and rose from the tall grass. In the night, the cattle pasture seemed like an endless sea of dark green waves. The grass on top of them bent their will to the wind. The icy gales caressed Evelyn’s skin like death’s cold touch. Evelyn twisted about where she stood, trying to make sense of where she was and how she got here. She had a million questions and no answers.

  Sleeping cows spotted the field. In the far distance, the silhouettes of fence posts could be seen jutting from the earth. Evelyn looked at her dirty and wrinkled pajamas. Dirt caked in her
blonde hair and under her fingernails. She felt her pockets. No cell phone. No wallet. No car keys. Did I walk here? Evelyn wondered. By the soreness of her calves, thighs, and bare feet, it felt like she had run a marathon.

  Evelyn overcame the initial shock of the situation the only way she knew how: not thinking about it and focusing on what was in front of her.

  “Get home, I just have to find my way home,” she mumbled to herself. Her small voice seemed like the only noise in this dark night. Under the blanket of stars, Evelyn hiked to the fence. Dirt and rocks bit into the bottom of her heels throughout her trek. She reached the metal mesh of the fence and forced herself over. Hugging herself, she kept forward in search of a road. Her teeth chattered. The stress made her heart hurt.

  It took a while to find the street. It was a single-line asphalt road stretching forever between the Georgia fields. There were no road lights or telephone booths. Evelyn craned her head to the stars, trying to make sense of what direction she was going. Astronomy wasn’t her strong suit. She picked a direction at random and started walking.

  The farther Evelyn traveled, the colder the night seemed. Insects chirped out of sight. Something scurried in a nearby bush. Evelyn kept shifting her eyes. Georgia and the south in general was still a foreign place to her. She didn’t know what dangers or what beasts lurked in the darkness. Part of her was glad she didn’t know, for sometimes the truth was scarier than fiction.

  As much as Evelyn tried to keep a clear mind, fears and anxieties poisoned her thoughts. The mural, the blackouts, and the scratching in the basement made her chest tighten. Was she stressed out, or was she losing her mind? Was this hereditary? Did mental illness course through the veins of her father or mother? How would she ever know? Maybe it was a stress thing. Was she too young to have a mid-life crisis at the age of thirty-three? Evelyn had no qualms admitting that she wasn’t the most stable person, but she’d never experienced anything quite like this before, and that terrified her. For the first time since she arrived Georgia, she missed her apartment and dingy office in Detroit.

  Lights showed in the distance. Evelyn held her dirty hand in front of her eyes to keep from being blinded as the vehicle hastily approached. She waved her other hand. The truck rumbled to a stop beside her.

  “Looks like you could use a ride,” the hook-nosed man from the driver seat said. Evelyn felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, realizing that he was one of the twins that came to her house the day before.

  “Don’t you look at me like that,” the man hissed. “You should be happy I even pulled over.”

  Evelyn turned back to the road. She still didn’t know if she was even walking the right way.

  “What are you doing out this late?” Evelyn asked.

  The man looked her up and down. “I could ask you the same thing. Does anyone know you’re out here?”

  His question made Evelyn squirm. “My husband,” she lied.

  The man smirked. “I’m sure he does. Well? Are you coming along or are you walking?”

  “Will you take me back home?” Evelyn asked.

  The man looked at her with a neutral face. “No. I’m going to blow your brains out across my dashboard.”

  Evelyn’s eyes went wide.

  “That was a joke,” the man clarified and looked at the road. “Last call. You in or out?”

  Biting her lip nervously, Evelyn walked around the back of the truck and hopped into the passenger side. She had no means of defending herself. Her hair rose when she looked at the man in profile. His eyes were buggy, his jaw was sharp, and his hair was clearly cut and silky smooth. He wore a blue and white two-tone polo, khakis, and slip-on shoes. Apart from his twangy accent, the man didn’t fit the Southern look. Still, he sped down the roads like someone familiar with the land.

  “I don’t forgive you for deleting my sister’s photos,” the man said.

  “What did you think would happen?” Evelyn retorted.

  The man’s face became stern. “Remember who’s driving this truck.”

  “Why did you come to my house anyway?” Evelyn asked.

  “Something there belongs to me,” The man said.

  “What?”

  The man didn’t reply.

  “Whatever it was, you had ten years to get it back,” Evelyn replied.

  “You think I was going to break in?” the man said, taking offense. “I’m not some two-bit criminal.”

  Evelyn stopped herself from reminding him there was little difference between breaking in when no one was home and walking inside her house uninvited.

  They drove a little farther. In the dark, Evelyn couldn’t tell if the roads were familiar or not. She looked at the glowing digital clock on the dashboard. 4:05 a.m. She cringed, thinking about how much sleep she was losing. Even worse, on where she had spent the last six hours if she’d been sleepwalking.

  “I never got your name,” Evelyn broke the silence.

  “I’m not going to fall for that,” the man said.

  He turned onto Quenby Avenue and rolled to a stop at the beginning of the red brick path to Evelyn’s mansion. “Is this far enough or are you going to call the cops?” the man asked sarcastically.

  Evelyn ignored the snide comment. “Thanks for the ride,” she said and opened up the door.

  “I suggest you be careful out here this late at night,” the man said. “Not everyone’s nice to strangers intruding on their pastures.”

  Evelyn twisted back to him. “Those were your cattle fields?”

  “Who did you think owned them?” the man asked rhetorically. “Now, get out of my truck. I don’t want to see you nosing around my property again.”

  Evelyn hopped out and slammed the door behind her. Burning rubber, the truck roared down the street, hitting sixty miles per hour in a thirty-five.

  With sore feet, Evelyn limped down the cool brick path to the plantation house. No light shone from it. The sprawling branches that flanked either side of the road and made a canopy overhead waved at her. Evelyn passed under the white colonnades and tried the front door. It was unlocked. That made her feel uneasy. Like all noise in a quiet house, even opening the door felt extremely loud. No lights were on. It didn’t look like Terrence was awake. Good. She climbed into the shower and put on a fresh change of clothes before climbing into bed with her snoring husband. It felt good to rest her legs, but she couldn’t keep her eyes closed.

  The sun came up much faster than she would’ve liked. Sleepily, Terrence rolled over to face her and scratched his cheek. Keeping his eyes closed, he whispered, “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah,” Evelyn lied, not wanting to tell him that the medication failed and that she took a ride with their creepy neighbor.

  “Good,” Terrence said with a small smile.

  “I was thinking that we can hire some locals to clean this place while we go back home,” Evelyn said.

  Terrence opened his eyes. “Why would we do that?”

  Because this place terrifies me. “It feels like the right time.”

  Elbow planted firmly on his pillow, Terrence rested his head on his knuckles. “Baby, we still got mountains of work to do here before we’re ready to sell. If we do sell. The view, the space, the idea of my own private workshop… this place is growing on me, Eve.”

  “I’d rather just have the money,” Evelyn admitted.

  Terrence gawked at her a moment. “It’s… look, let’s agree not to make a decision until we get the place cleaned completely up. If you’re still not comfortable, then we’ll sell. Deal?”

  Evelyn was too tired to argue. “Sure. Deal.”

  Terrence kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  Evelyn watched him leave the room and then fell feebly back to her pillow. She stared at the bed canopy and sighed. When Evelyn finally forced herself up, she ate her breakfast quickly and, with a half can of paint, returned to the hall with the mural. She looked at the faces of the little girl and masked man that leak
ed down the wall in multicolored tears for a final time and used the paint-dipped roller to create a white stripe down their vestiges. A half an hour later, and it was like Evelyn had never painted the mural.

  Picking up her painting supplies, she went to the next room and got started. After she finished touching up the downstairs rooms, she started taking inventory of the furniture. She snapped photos of every room before she got started, thinking it would be a neat selling point to see the before and after of the house. Outside the window, Terrence kept on with the yard work. He piled bushels of weeds and trimmed branches in a few tall stacks next to where he pruned bushes and flowers.

  Evelyn stepped into the lounge. It was a wide room with velvet red furnishings, a large bookshelf, carpeted floors, fluffy curtains, and a fireplace with hand-carved wooden finishes. A four by four foot painting of the house hung above the desk. It displayed a horse and buggy parked out on the brick path with a number of well-dressed patrons waving from the second-story balcony while others were in mid-strut to the front door with their lady in hand. There was a sense of family and community. Evelyn looked at the painting with longing and then estimated its worth.

  She started by adjusting the chairs and candlesticks into their proper locations. As she dusted, her mind went back to the cattle field and what would prompt her to go to such a place. Evelyn vacuumed the floor and fluffed the pillows. She checked the wallpaper, finding small tears on its surface but nothing that would diminish its value. Evelyn shut the door behind her, not planning on returning until the first open house. She tackled the cleaning process like her private investigative work: systematic and with the least amount of backtracking as possible.