Sandra stepped toward the mansion's entrance gate and took hold of the latch, pulling one side of the gate open. "Beyond the rusted iron gates, overgrown with vines, a weathered cobblestone path leads up to the deserted manor house."
Twin gargoyles sculpted in the likeness of medieval griffons sat perched atop tall stone posts on either side of the gateway, guarding the manor house from unwanted guests. The grim statues glared down with lifeless eyes as we passed through the weathered gate. Sandra led the way and I was close behind her, followed by Ron and Jake, as we trod the timeworn cobblestones toward the looming manor house. With every step, the grim details of the mansion's exterior came into focus. The pitted surface of the dark bricks, the blistered paint, the cracked masonry and the black windows that watched our every move all echoed the neglect and pain that seemed to remain trapped within its walls.
Our solemn procession advanced slowly as we made our way along the path to a stone staircase that led up to the mansion's main entrance. As we ascended the steps, the wind began to pick up, forming a ghostly choir as it whistled through the forest of dead trees and tangled vines that surrounded the grounds.
When we reached the top of the staircase, the sound of distant thunder rumbled through the sky, sending a low, feral growl echoing across the heavens as we stood before the doors of the mansion. Ronnie snapped several close-ups as Sandra withdrew the ornate skeleton key from her pocket and slowly slid it into the tarnished keyhole. She turned the key in the lock and the heavy door squealed open. None of us spoke a word or moved an inch as we stared into the bleak shadows that permeated the manor's interior.
After a long moment of silence, Sandra resumed her ongoing monologue. "The entrance door creaks open wide, daring mortals to cross the threshold of the dead." Without further hesitation, she accepted the grim invitation, boldly stepping into the shadowy domain.
Ron and Jake were quick to follow, but I held back, contemplating my decision for a long moment. A voice deep inside me pleaded for me to turn around and retrace my steps to the safety of the world outside the mansion's gates, but another voice prodded me forward. I had come too far and there was no turning back now. With a lingering sense of trepidation, I entered Darklore Manor.
We stood in the entry foyer of the mansion, engulfed within an abyss of shadows and gloom. Hazy light filtered in through the narrow windows high above, providing dim illumination throughout the vast interior. Tarnished suits of medieval armor stood poised atop stone pedestals, flanking the sides of the foyer as it opened into the entrance hall. Their ancient helmets and breastplates were etched with intricate scrollwork and each dark knight held a large poleax clutched within its steel gauntlet. The silent sentinels cast an imposing presence as they kept their eternal vigil, standing watch over the entrance and acting as wards against all who would dare to intrude upon their forlorn domain.
"First things first," Sandra said, stepping back toward the open entryway. She took hold of the heavy door and slammed it closed behind us then locked it with the key, sealing us inside the manor.
"Is that really necessary?" I asked.
"We need to secure the perimeter. We can't have any distractions and I don't want any uninvited guests sneaking in here during our investigation." Sandra slipped the key into her jacket pocket. "If anybody wants to leave, just say so, but we're all professionals and we only have access to this place for 24 hours, so unless we have some kind of emergency, that door stays locked until noon tomorrow." She walked back past us and headed into the main entrance hall, passing between the black suits of armor that towered high above her.
"Don't worry," Jake whispered, flashing me a consoling smile, "if we really need to get out of here fast, we can just borrow one of those battle axes and make our own door." He nodded his head toward one of the knights and my eyes focused on the massive double-headed blade clutched in its grasp.
As Ron took some establishing shots of the foyer, Jake escorted me past the grim guardians. The sounds of the approaching storm grew louder and sporadic lightning flashes were followed by violent thunderstrikes that sent reverberations throughout the manor. Sandra walked to the middle of the entrance hall and slowly turned in a circle, surveying the immense room that surrounded her. Dust covered the floor and cobwebs hung from the ceiling, draping the gloomy interior beneath decades of neglect.
Sandra continued her audio documentary. "A veil of darkness shrouds the vast interior of the once elegant manor. For years no living soul had desecrated this sanctuary of shadows." Her voice echoed throughout the chamber as she spoke.
The interior of the house was a remarkable example of Victorian Gothic architecture. It had withstood the cruel years to survive as a grim monument to fallen memories. Gothic columns supported stone archways that led to wings on either side of the entrance hall. At the far end of the room, a grand staircase swept upward to a landing then split-off to the left and right. Twin griffons, matching the ones that guarded the entrance gates, sat perched upon the banisters on either side of the main staircase. The stone beasts gazed across the hall, their glaring eyes locked upon the armored sentinels that stood opposite them.
"It's magnificent," Ronnie said, snapping a series of shots of the room. "What I wouldn't do to own a place like this."
"It would probably cost a small fortune just to renovate it," I joked.
"I wouldn't touch a thing," Ronnie replied, "I'd leave it just the way it is."
Jake stared up into the canopy of cobwebs that hung over our heads, saying, "Yeah, well, you might want to dust once in a while."
Sandra began walking toward the archway that led to the south wing. "The dining room should be this way. We can set up our base of operations there."
We followed her through the arch and down a paneled corridor lined with oil paintings. Grim faces stared out from shadowy portraits. Their eyes seemed to follow us along the hallway as Sandra led us into the dining room.
A large banquet table filled the center of the room and ten high-backed chairs lined the sides of the table. Two tall candelabras, covered in cobwebs, rested on the table amidst a bouquet of long-dead flowers. A fireplace adorned the center of one wall and a large oil painting above the mantel depicted Darklore Manor as it looked when it was first built. A sad testament to lost dreams of the past, the painting was a bitter reminder of the lives that once flourished within the mansion's walls before tragedy took hold.
Jake set his cooler down on a worn Persian rug, saying, "There's water, soda and sandwiches, in case anyone gets hungry or thirsty." Then he proceeded to remove the satchels that hung over his shoulders and began meticulously emptying their contents onto the dining room table. He had brought an impressive selection of hand-held electronic devices, including thermometers, magnetometers, electrostatic detectors, and a few other gadgets he had designed himself.
Outside, the storm was now fully overhead. Rain pelted the leaded glass windows and the sound of crashing thunder split the calm at irregular intervals. Sandra stared out through a tall bay window as lightning ripped across the sky. "The storm put a serious damper on our daylight. We'll need to use the lanterns and flashlights."
"No problem, boss," Ronnie said, "we came prepared for anything this house can throw at us." He unstrapped his backpack and opened it to retrieve several flashlights and votive candles from amidst his stockpile of film and batteries. "Jake's got all the heavy-duty stuff, but we probably won't need to break out the lanterns and emergency lights till nightfall." Ronnie handed me a flashlight, then lit one of the candles and set it on the table.
While the boys began gearing up, Sandra pulled out half a dozen pages of floorplans and spread them out over the dining room table, studying them intently like a general forming a plan of attack.
Ronnie reloaded his camera with a fresh roll of film and removed a second camera from a leather case.
"Two cameras?" I asked.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, holding up the camera he had been using, "this one's loaded with
low-speed film to capture things in their natural gloomy setting." He picked up the second camera and strapped it around his neck over the first one. "And this baby's got a 300-watt flashbulb attachment to catch anything that's hiding in the dark."
"You're dealing with professionals here, ma'am," Jake said as he donned a hard hat with a built in headlamp. He gave me a wink and strapped on a utility belt that carried his array of gadgets and tools.
"Very impressive," I said, "but the next one who calls me ma'am gets their name misspelled in the Haunted Havens article."
Sandra stood at the head of the table and addressed the group. "Is everybody ready?"
"All set, boss," Ronnie replied. Jake and I nodded our heads to agree.
"All right. You know the rules, people—stick together, stay in pairs, and don't go wandering off alone. We'll investigate each floor one at a time, starting with the ground floor and working our way up. The grande hall should be right through those doors across the entryway." She placed her finger on a large room on the floorplan. "Let's start there, then work our way through the rest of the north wing."
Sandra slung the strap of the tape recorder over her shoulder then led us out of the dining room. As we made our way along the corridor, our flashlights and footsteps seemed to create sights and sounds that played tricks on our imaginations. Eerie chattering noises echoed around us and dark shapes appeared to stir and move in the distance.
Sandra resumed her audio documentary. "Within the confines of Darklore Manor, strange sounds echo like whispers from the corner of every room and shadows seem to shift with every step."
We made our way beneath the arch that led to the north wing and stood before the entrance to the grande hall. Twin doors made of dark wood were carved with intricate filigree that twisted around the framework in a serpentine design. Jake took hold of the brass doorknobs and looked at Sandra. She gave him a nod and he pulled the doors open.
The immense chamber was a lavish testament to Darklore Manor's decadent past and former grandeur. Cobwebs draped across the ceiling, covering several crystal chandeliers and cascading low into the hall. A magnificent fireplace hearth was set into the far wall between two tall windows. The mantel was supported by twin caryatids sculpted in the form of devilish satyrs. Their leering faces seemed to laugh with glee as their clawed fingers clutched the heavy stone mantel above their heads. The floor was made of black marble, and although it was difficult to discern beneath the thick coat of dust, an inlaid pattern of golden tiles formed a central design in the polished stone.
A balcony framed by an ornate marble railing circumvented the upper area of the room. Ronnie sprinted up the staircase that led to the surrounding loft and began to take some shots from the elevated vantage point. After snapping a few photos, he called down to us. "You guys really need to come up here and see things from this perspective."
We ascended the curving staircase and stood atop the balcony, gazing out over the ballroom floor. The design that adorned the marble floor was plain to see from the heights of the balcony. It formed a pattern of a seven-pointed star inside a surrounding circle of arcane symbols.
"What do you make of that?" Ron asked.
"It's a talisman design," Sandra replied, "most likely a symbol of power. I've seen similar mystical designs in occult books from the Middle Ages, but I don't recognize the outer symbols."
I made a crude sketch of the design as Ronnie snapped several photos of the floor.
Sandra voiced her thoughts as she looked out over the opulent room. "Edmund Darklore was obviously a very wealthy and successful man. I'd be curious to see the list of famous people that he entertained in this room."
"Shhh, listen," Ron interrupted. "Do you hear that?"
As we looked down from the balcony into the grande hall, the faint sound of music seemed to emanate from the chamber below. It lasted for a few seconds then faded away beneath the sounds of the ongoing storm.
"I could swear that I heard music," Ronnie whispered. "It sounded like..."
"A waltz," Sandra finished his sentence. "I heard it, too." She waved her hand through the air to the rhythm of the ghostly melody, then turned her cassette recorder on to chronicle her observation. "Eerie melodies still linger and echo throughout the grande hall. Decayed remnants of the forgotten past weave a haunting tapestry of a former splendor lost to the ravages of time."
Jake checked his instruments for fluctuations in the temperature and electromagnetic field in the room, then said, "I'm getting something." He turned and leaned out over the railing. "Look," he whispered, directing his flashlight beam toward the center of the floor.
A misty vapor had begun to materialize in the middle of the room. At first it appeared to be little more than a wisp of dark smoke, but it quickly increased in size and density. We all stood in silence, watching the shapeless mass as it floated in the air a few feet above the ground.
"This is incredible," Jake whispered. "It's an actual manifestation. I can't believe we're seeing this."
Ronnie's camera clicked away as he captured several shots of the ghostly vapor hovering over the ballroom floor. The mist slowly began to rise and as it did, it drifted toward us, moving closer and closer until it hung suspended in the air between the four of us. It looked like a writhing cloud of smoke, nearly two feet in diameter with tendrils of dark mist slowly swirling throughout its shifting form. As I gazed upon the eerie sight before me, a strange feeling of sadness swept over me.
Sandra reached toward the ghostly vapor, but before she could touch it, the mist drifted off toward the outer wall. It stopped before a set of double doors at the rear of the balcony then faded from sight.
"Follow it," Sandra said.
Jake opened the balcony doors, and as he did, we caught sight of the ghostly mist once more, slowly floating along down the second floor hallway.
Sandra started after it, whispering into her microphone. "A spectral mist seems to dance through the cobweb-strewn corridors."
We trailed a few steps behind the eerie vapor as it slowly led us down a long hallway lined with portraits. When it neared the end of the hall, it dissolved into the surrounding shadows.
"That was… amazing," Jake exclaimed. "What do you think it was? An apparition—or possibly ectoplasmic residue?"
"It doesn't matter," Ronnie replied. "I got some great shots of it, whatever it was. Once these pictures are developed, we'll have genuine photographic proof of a paranormal entity. Do you know what that means? This will be groundbreaking."
"You still won't convince the die-hard skeptics," Sandra added, looking around curiously. "Does anyone else smell that? It's kind of sweet, like flowers or perfume."
Although its source was a mystery, the aroma was undeniable. The four of us turned our heads to face various directions, inhaling deeply as we tried to identify the unknown fragrance that lingered in the air.
"It's lavender," I said at last, recognizing the scent from my youth.
"Interesting," Sandra uttered beneath her breath.
"What do you think it means?" I asked.
She glanced around the corridor, scanning the paintings that surrounded us. "I think something in this house is trying to communicate with us. I think it led us here for a reason."
As we stood amidst the portraits that lined the hall, the somber faces of elderly men scowled from the shadows of pitch black canvases, and beautiful women, each with a similar melancholy expression, gazed out from beneath veils of cobwebs and dust. Sandra stopped before the painting of a middle-aged man with a stern cast to his dark eyes. A bronze plaque set into the bottom of the frame was inscribed with the name "Damon Darklore." She stood for a long while, intently staring at the portrait as if she were searching his rigid face for a clue to resolving the dark mysteries of the mansion.
Ronnie came up beside her and squinted at the name plaque below the painting. "So, this was the last owner of Darklore Manor, eh? He doesn't look too friendly."
Without taking her eyes o
ff the painting, Sandra replied, "According to the legend, he and his wife and daughter just disappeared one night twenty-six years ago and the mansion has stood abandoned ever since."
Ronnie lowered his voice. "I gotta tell you, Sandy, I get a bad vibe from this place. There's something very wrong here. If I can sense it, I know you can, too."
"I know. I felt it as soon as I stepped through the entrance gates. The energy is even stronger inside the house. It's heavy, and oppressive. I can feel its weight bearing down on me. There's definitely a presence here, and it's not just ghosts—there's something else, something ancient and malevolent."
As Sandra and Ron continued their discussion, my attention was suddenly drawn to a door at the end of the hall and I felt strangely compelled to investigate the chamber. I cautiously made my way to the doorway and peeked inside to discover what seemed to be a child's room. A plush single bed was framed by an exquisite hand-carved headboard adorned with Celtic knotwork. Dark velvet curtains were drawn closed over the windows, effectively blocking any shred of sunlight from entering the room. Paintings of ravens hung on either side of an ornate mirror attached to a mahogany vanity table.
I stepped inside the room to examine things more closely. A small perfume bottle rested on the vanity, covered in dust. I lifted the crystal stopper and raised the bottle to my nose but could barely detect a trace of the original scent in the decades-old mixture. I wiped the dust off the label to reveal that the fragrance it held was lavender. As I replaced the bottle on the vanity, I noticed an odd bare spot in the dust beside it. An oval shape on the counter top, roughly six inches wide, seemed to betray the fact that something had recently been removed from the spot.
The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror Page 12