The Not So Haunted House

   The Not So Haunted House

Suzanne Marsh

The reading of Aunt Martha’s will would be hard enough for me to bear but when her attorney informed me that since I was her only living relative, I had inherited “The Thistle”. I had no inclination to move from Buffalo, New York to Madison, Georgia. The place had been abandoned after Aunt Martha’s husband Donald Mayhew passed away; she moved away from “The Thistle” to Atlanta, where she passed on. I had no desire to visit the old homestead much less do anything with it, I am writer not a construction worker. The attorney informed me that I could put it on the real estate market but thought it advisable that I at least go to Madison and have a look at the place. I packed my backpack and two pieces of luggage and of course my laptop computer. The following morning, I drove my Lexus to Georgia with a short stop in Virginia to visit my cousin. My cousin is a real estate agent, so she decided to tag along.

I set the GPS and drove along enjoying the day. We arrived in Madison a day and a half later. My laptop located a Bed and Breakfast not far from where “The Thistle” is located. My cousin suggested we get a good night’s sleep then proceed to “The Thistle” in the morning. This made sense to me, I was tired after the long drive.

The following morning, following the GPS directions, we found ourselves on a dusty, dirty road. The GPS had us continuing on that road for three miles, I wasn’t sure the Lexus would ever be the same, but I followed the road. Suddenly on the horizon stood a grand old mansion, shaped in the form of a thistle. I could not believe what I saw, my cousin was even more delighted. However, nothing ever goes with a hitch, the hitch was there was no key to the house. We knew we would have to find an entrance point. We could break a window, but somehow that seemed a bit rash. We strode around the house, several times, then we noted the storm cellar door, it had begun to rot but at least it was better than breaking a window. We climbed down the creaky wooden steps, each step I took I prayed there were no alien beings haunting this house. I did not believe in things of that nature, but the house was creaky and creepy simultaneously. The exterior was whitish gray, the interior once we got into what we assumed was the kitchen, we knew there was a great deal more to this than just an old, dilapidated house, there was a story here. My writer’s instincts took over as we began to enter the house. There was a long winding staircase, with a fabulous carved thistle newel post. I began to take pictures on my cell phone. We found what we believed to be a music room, there was a beautiful piano forte sitting in the corner, a harp and a pump organ. I thought Aunt Martha had told me a long time ago about Hannah Fraser, the mistress of “the Thistle”, was a musician. I found myself attempting to play Moon Light Sonata, on the piano forte, it was the only thing I could remember. My cousin was somewhat taken aback, when I played, never realizing that I did take piano lessons. I found the harp was out of tune but had no clue as to how to approach it to get any sound out of it. My cousin was appraising the harp and piano forte, knowing that as antiques they were priceless.

The formal living room still contain green velvet curtains, with golden tiebacks, The couches were stuffed with horsehair, the wood carved into thistles, I was beginning to understand how the house became known as “The Thistle”. There were two large mahogany French doors that were closed, my cousin picked the lock, we found ourselves in the most beautiful room, crystal chandeliers, a deep blue and rose rug, long windows allowing the maximum amount of light into the room. We decided this must have been a ballroom. I could imagine, beautiful young belle’s dancing with their beau’s, a silver punch bowl set sitting on the grand buffet table. I could see musicians sitting playing violins. I could see people dancing the waltz or polka.

We next went out of the ballroom and began our trek up the beautiful winding staircase, I was still intrigued with the thistle newel post, however my cousin wanted to appraise the second floor. There were several bedrooms on the second floor. The blue room which obviously was a pale blue, with dark blue carpet. The green and yellow rooms were much the same as the blue room. The last door we opened was the master bedroom, in all my twenty-five years on earth had I ever seen anything like the bed; it was all carved mahogany with carved thistles. I was beginning to think thistle was the only word that this house could possibly be called. The bed was bigger than a king size bed, with red velvet curtains surrounding the bed. The curtains were also red velvet. The rug was a pale rose color; the dressers were also dark mahogany. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened a large chiffonier there were some of the most beautiful gowns I had ever seen. There was an aquamarine gown, with small seed pearls sown into the form of a rose. Another gown was a gorgeous sunny yellow. There were hats to match. I found shoes and button hooks in various places. This was better than a museum, as far as I was concerned. My cousin could tell I was thinking of staying here, redoing the house. I had just that thought in mind, I wanted to restore it to its original splendor. Imagine me, owning a plantation, Aunt Martha was a very eccentric woman, but this really deserved the prize.

We then climbed to the third floor; there we found the nursery. There was an old brown stuffed hobby horse, a hand carved cradle, and two small beds. Each had its own coverlet; I could almost hear the children laughing and playing. I turned to my cousin and said:

“T think I am home in this not haunted old house, I don’t think I have the heart to put this on

the market.”

My cousin smiled:

“I knew if you saw this place you would want to stay, it appeals to your writers' senses.”

“I can drop you off at the airport in Atlanta” I volunteered.

My cousin smiled, the house had done what no had been able to do, it made me have a goal, to restore it to its original beauty.