The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  Evelyn lowered the old, leather-bound book. “What the hell?”

  “I don’t know if this is the coolest thing we’ve discovered or the most terrifying,” Terrence replied.

  Evelyn glanced around the foyer, and it suddenly seemed much larger and intimidating. On the domed ceiling from which the chandelier hung, painted angels with cracked faces, little smiles, and golden trumpets watched them with lifeless eyes.

  “Does it say how to access them?” Terrence asked.

  Evelyn skimmed over the following pages, careful not to tear them. “It does not.” She glanced at the book's three-inch girth. “At least not right here.”

  “I say we explore,” Terrence suggested. “But first…”

  He rushed upstairs and returned a moment later wearing his seventy-dollar white cowboy hat.

  Evelyn raised a brow.

  “Every great detective has their hat. Besides, if we weren’t having little fun, we’d probably be in a mental hospital.”

  Evelyn pondered the statement. He did make a good point.

  They started with the master bedroom. They pulled the paintings off the walls and pushed aside the wardrobe. Terrence searched under the bed. Evelyn searched behind the dresser. They brushed their hands over the wall, feeling for hidden switches. Minutes rolled by. Evelyn’s index finger found a depression behind the wallpaper.

  “Terrence,” she beckoned him over.

  He felt it too. “That could be it.”

  Evelyn pursed her lips, wondering if she wanted to tear open the wallpaper on a guess. Terrence poked it, trying to test if it was a clear hole or just a depression in the wood.

  Pop. His finger punched through it and his body went tense. Slowly, he turned to Evelyn with a guilty expression. “Oops.”

  Evelyn crossed her arms.

  Terrence slowly removed his finger from the wallpaper. Evelyn gestured for him to step aside while she peeked in. She saw blankness and sniffed dust. Terrence grabbed a flashlight and shined it within. There was a two or three-foot gap between it and the other wall. The rusty nails within were bent down to keep whoever traveled within from harm.

  “How do we get in?” Terrence asked.

  Evelyn tried to get a better look at the tight corridor but could not.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted and turned back to see the peephole aligned with the canopied bed. Classy, Evelyn thought.

  They moved to the bathroom in search of another breach there. No peephole, which was good news. Upon trying to move the mirror, Terrence discovered it was built into the wall. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Two-way mirror,” Evelyn replied.

  Terrence shuddered. “Why would he build this stuff? To watch his own family?”

  Evelyn perused the old tome as they walked the hall and into the next bedroom. Terrence ran his hand across the wall, feeling for more depressions.

  “Listen to this,” Evelyn said, resting the heavy book in her hand. “When I came of age, my father told me that any man can make money, but information is where true power lies. The realization dawned on me as to why he hosted so many gatherings with local and foreign businessmen. To learn of their secrets and trap them with it. That was written by Harvard Quenby, son of Alistair, in 1867.”

  “So they were using these before the civil war,” Terrence thought aloud. “I bet it kept them afloat after the Confederacy fell.”

  “Precisely.” Evelyn said. “Judging by what is written in the following pages, the Quenbys were advocates of the Southern cause and had ties to many Confederate states.”

  Terrence absorbed the information with a serious face. “How did they treat their… you know?”

  Taking a breath, Evelyn skimmed through the following pages. “Not well.”

  “How bad?”

  Evelyn read the description. “Very. After the war ended, they didn’t want to let them go, but the law prevented the Quenbys from keeping them. It says they grabbed guns and lined them out in the field. Told them that if they wanted freedom, they’d have to run for it.”

  Averting his eyes, Terrence nodded to himself and went back to his search.

  Evelyn closed the book and set it aside before joining her husband in his searching. They found hints of a hollow wall but avoided making another hole in the wallpaper. They tried the guest bathroom. The mirror there was also built into the wall. Despite all those, Evelyn had not discovered a doorway. Perhaps the crawlspace in their kitchen went through the whole house? She made a deal with herself to check out the billiard room before destroying the work Terrence put into securing the crawlspace.

  The billiard room didn’t fit with the rest of the house. It was cramped with old arcade cabinets, pachinko machines, and noisy carnival games with lots of lightbulbs. 1980s electronic devices that had been gutted for their parts sat on top of the pool table. Terrence flipped the light switch. A wave of arcade music, distorted electronic buzzing, and flashing lights screamed to life. Overwhelmed by the noise, Terrence toggled the switch again. The mansion fell silent. Evelyn found the old power brick and unplugged the various machines. She nodded at Terrence. He flipped the switch. This time only the lights came on.

  Terrence wandered through. “This is some pretty cool stuff, though.”

  “I guess,” Evelyn replied.

  Terrence rapped his knuckles on one of the dusty arcade cabinets. “We should take one of these back to Detroit with us.”

  “If it can fit in the van,” Evelyn replied.

  Terrence willfully ignored the comment. “Your dad must either be a collector or had the best childhood any boy could ask for.”

  Evelyn was glad they were back to talking about less serious things. Evelyn’s family weren’t saints. When she was an orphan, that didn’t matter to her. But the more she learned, the more the Quenby history became a part of her. As a woman who paved her own way, Evelyn didn’t know what to think about it. Was it her blood that defined her or her actions? She always thought it was the latter, but, thinking back to her life decisions and morally-flexible early adult years, she wondered how much of her choices were influenced by her ancestors’ genetic breadcrumbs

  “Come over here,” Terrence said.

  Evelyn followed his voice to the back of the room and found him standing before an arcade cabinet. Carved onto its side were the words “to the book reader.”

  “You think Maxwell wrote that for you?” Terrence asked.

  Evelyn squatted down and brushed her thumb over the words. He had used a knife to carve it. “Help me push it.”

  Terrence and Evelyn pressed on one side of the cabinet and pushed. Their faces went red and Terrence’s forehead vein bulged. After a moment, they gave up.

  “It must be nailed to the ground or something.” Terrence rubbed his shoulder.

  Evelyn crouched in front of the cabinet and found a small knob on its front. She twisted and pulled it. With a click, it opened to the inside of the arcade machine. Behind the jungle of loose wires was a square hole that led into the wall and the dark corridor beyond. On her hands and knees, Evelyn squeezed inside. She found herself inside of the two-and-a-half-foot wide tunnel that was unpainted and filled with countless bent nails on both sides. Broad shouldered, Terrence could barely fit. With a grimace and a determined spirit, he made it into the walls.

  Dust particles circled and danced through the air. Like thin white hair, stringy cobwebs stirred in the soft breeze. The corridor went both left and right. “Do you want to split up?” Evelyn asked.

  “I don’t think I’m ready to die.”

  Sliding sideways, Evelyn navigated the uncomfortable tunnel using the flashlight. She found a little cubby where she could peek into the guest bathroom. There was a double-sided mirror. They traveled the tunnel and reached another two-way mirror in the master bedroom.

  “I feel creepy,” Terrence said.

  “Me too,” Evelyn admitted.

  They heard scurrying behind them. Terrence and Evelyn turned back
in time to see the massive rat zigzagging beneath their legs and vanish in the darkness of the tunnel.

  Terrence cursed and shuddered. “Yeah, I don’t like this place.”

  Like the attic, the hidden corridor seemed to trap heat. As she moved through the upstairs, she felt like she was in a microwave. Terrence wasn’t faring much better. They reached a vertical shaft that descended into the ground floor staircase and climbed to the attic. Evelyn leading, she put her hands on the foot-long rungs and lowered herself into the darkness. She held the flashlight between her teeth. Her shoulders knocked against the shaft’s wall. Halfway down, a rung spun under her foot and she slid to the bottom. The impact sent a burst of pain up her feet and ankles.

  “You good?” Terrence asked with concern.

  “Uh huh.” Evelyn winced and took the flashlight from her mouth. Her teeth hurt from biting down on it.

  Terrence began his careful descent.

  Evelyn stepped away from the shaft and flashed light down the corridor.

  A shadowy figure watched at the very end.

  “Winslow?”

  The figure didn’t reply. He seemed to be at the far end of the corridor.

  “Zoey? Peter? Barker?” Evelyn called out.

  “What is it,” Terrence’s muffled yell came down the shaft.

  “I can’t tell,” Evelyn replied, looking at the stationary figure. “Let me back up there,” Evelyn whispered to Terrence.

  “I’m stuck,” Terrence replied.

  Evelyn watched the figure, seeing if he would step into her light.

  He didn’t move.

  “Whoever you are, I demand you show yourself!” Evelyn’s shout traveled down the dark tunnel.

  The figure said nothing. It stood as still as a statue.

  “Terrence,” Evelyn barked.

  “I’m trying!”

  The figure took a step forward.

  Evelyn took one back.

  “I’m… almost… up. I’m up,” Terrence yelled down the shaft.

  Evelyn took another step back.

  The figure took a step forward.

  Evelyn lifted her foot to back up again when the figure charged her.

  Before Evelyn could twist back to the rungs, the man was standing right in front of her. He wore all black and had on a featureless white mask.

  Evelyn cursed aloud. “Andrew. You scared the crap out of me.”

  The masked figure looked down at her through the button-sized eyeholes.

  “Your family is gone. You need to leave this place,” Evelyn said, much crueler than she had anticipated.

  Andrew reached out his gloved hand. Evelyn’s back hit the ladder's bottom rung. The man’s fingers moved toward her cheek. Evelyn swiped at his hand, but it phased through.

  “Stop. Now.” Evelyn demanded.

  “Hey, what’s happening?” Terrence yelled from above her.

  “It’s Andrew, he’s…”

  With a slightly cocked head, Andrew kept on reaching until he was an inch from her cheek. Evelyn pulled her head back as far she could, knowing he could grab her and she couldn’t resist.

  Evelyn felt her hair stand and the presence of his finger a centimeter from her skin. Without warning, Andrew Doyle was sucked backwards. He reached both hands out to Evelyn as some invisible force pulled him away. He vanished.

  Evelyn collected herself as she bounced the flashlight beam through the claustrophobic corridor.

  “What the hell was he doing?” Terrence asked.

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn replied. She felt a dreadful feeling gathering in her stomach. Andrew Doyle is trapped here forever and he knows that... Evelyn didn’t know why, but that thought sent shivers her spine. She looked up at Terrence. “Come on. Let’s keep exploring.”

  “You sure?”

  “No, but we’ll do it anyway,” Evelyn replied dryly, and gave Terrence room to climb down.

  As they moved through the ground floor, Evelyn found multiple places to spy into the foyer. Two holes were cut in the carpeted curved steps, allowing the peeper to look out at who was coming and going. There were a few more behind certain paintings. Evelyn realized that the compilation of vantage points created a full canvas of the foyer. There were little strings that ran up through little holes drilled into the corridor above. By pulling them, a little bell in the upstairs corridor jingled. Evelyn theorized they were for communication with the people upstairs, possibly to warn them when a guest was coming up. If they were stealing blackmail material from the guest rooms, it made sense that they’d want to have certain safety measures in place.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” a voice said.

  Evelyn and Terrence directed their attention to Peter Calhoon, seventeen-year-old varsity football player. He was a handsome kid with a dimpled chin, nice smile, and a varsity jacket. Bound for the big leagues, Peter’s father had told Evelyn. That was before his throwing hand was removed with a meat cleaver and he bled out on the spot.

  “You startled us, man,” Terrence said.

  “I had to make sure Andrew was gone,” Peter admitted. “He hasn’t been the same since Mary left.”

  “It’s only been a day,” Evelyn replied.

  “Yep. We’re all glad she got out, but it hurts too. I liked that girl. Treated her like a sister.”

  “You’ll join her soon,” Evelyn declared. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Thanks. All of us are pretty anxious to go home, wherever that may be.”

  Peter seemed like a normal kid if not for the bloody stump at his right wrist. Evelyn remembered seeing his death through a vision he gave her. He was bound to a wooden chair in the middle of a hay field. It only took one brutal swipe at his wrist to kill him. Evelyn still had no clue why the killer used different methods on his victims. Old man Barker was forced to drink chlorine, naked Winslow had his gut cut open, Peter lost his hand, sultry and curvy Alannah’s throat was slit, and goth Zoey was impaled by a spike in the back of her skull.

  “Thanks for the assist with Andrew,” Evelyn said.

  “I’ll keep y’all safe.” Peter said. “I got to make sure our MVPs finish the game.”

  Peter said his goodbye and vanished down the corridor.

  Evelyn and Terrence kept sliding through the tight space until they reached the lounge area. The tunnel moved in a U-shape around the back of the brick fireplace. Terrence discovered a wooden sliding hatch nearby. It opened the back of a bookshelf and offered a view between two books that leaned together like a right triangle. Wearing the jade green dress that accentuated her hourglass figure, Alannah danced alone in the center of the room. Her sultry green eyes were shut, and her lips were plumps and red. Blood seeped from the opening in her throat down into her bosom.

  Barker, gray-haired and wearing a sweater vest, took a puff on his pipe. Crimson leaked from his lower lip and down his chin. He wiped it away with the top of his hand.

  Alannah opened an eye and looked at him. “Sure you don’t want to join me?”

  Barker flashed his wedding ring. “Taken.”

  Alannah smiled wickedly. “What happened to till death do us part, darling?”

  Barker placed his Sherlock pipe on the corner of his thin lips. “How many years have you been trying that line on me?”

  “Too many,” Alannah said and kept dancing.

  “You make a good point, though.”

  “I know, darling, but you’ll still say no.”

  “Aye. I will.” Barker replied. “I got two left feet anyhow.”

  Terrence backed away and found Evelyn glaring at him. “You can’t still be mad that she made me touch her whatever,” he said.

  “I might be,” Evelyn said.

  Terrence’s shoulders sank.

  Evelyn cracked a smile.

  “You’re teasing me?” Terrence asked with uncertainty.

  “Maybe,” Evelyn replied.

  Terrence opened his mouth like he was going to speak but then thought better of it.

 
Sometimes it was funny watching him squirm.

  Evelyn continued around the back of the brick fireplace when she noticed an envelope nailed into the brick. Carefully, she removed the loose nail and opened the envelope. Inside was a small piece of paper.

  “You’ve come this far,” the note read. “Go to pages sixty-four and twenty-eight.”

  “Come on, let’s find a way out of here,” Evelyn told Terrence. It took them a while, but they found their way back to the billiard room. Evelyn didn’t doubt that there were other exits, but she didn’t have time to look for them now. Evelyn sighed when she got out of the wall. Dust covered her head-to-toe and her clothes were soaked with sweat. Terrence got two glasses of water while Evelyn searched for the appropriate page number.

  Following Maxwell’s instructions, she went to page sixty-four. Marian Quenby authored this portion in 1901. “I wanted additions to the basement, so I added them. I wanted to use the chute in the basement’s ceiling for something more than a place for dropping pickpocketed items, so I changed their function. After completing the tunnel, I was able to begin my work. It would be easy to bring the animals inside now and far easier to dispose of them.”

  “What was he doing there?” Terrence asked.

  Evelyn got a hunch and pulled up the web browsers on her phone. She researched early Adders newspapers and found a photocopy of what she was looking for: an article titled “severed hands and feet found outside of town. Bodies never recovered.”

  “You don’t think…” Terrence voice.

  “Maybe. I’m more concerned as to why Maxwell wanted us to see this page.”

  “The phantoms said Maxwell was innocent.”

  “They think he’s innocent,” Evelyn corrected. “They said that they could not look directly at their killer.”

  Terrence said soberly. “There’s a lot of death surrounding this house and your family.”

  “Tell me about it.” Evelyn massaged her forehead. “We need to find my mother.”

  Page twenty-eight mentioned the addition of statues in the backyard. That was where Evelyn and Terrence went next.