The Old Victorian

The old Victorian Mansion was a sort of staple of the town, seeing as there wasn’t much of anything else around to talk about. It was nestled beneath a million vining plants which had grown as tall as the outlook on the third floor. The driveway was long enough to deter most from making the trek to break in, and short enough to be able to view the house in all its haunting glory. Even on the sunniest of days there always managed to be clouds looming over it, an acre of overcast to keep the house from looking too inviting. “You know, when I was your age I saw some kids looking out the window. Real pale looking, old time-y clothes and everything. I heard a child drowned in the water tank. Take it it was him,” an older woman had stopped beside me at the end of the driveway. 

“You really think it was a ghost?” my eyes squinted to get a good look into each of the windows. Tales like this had been passed around for generations, yet somehow in all my years living here I never experienced anything. Maybe I wasn’t opening myself up to the spirit world even though I wanted to experience it. Or maybe all these stories had been made up so the authors could have some fun. 

“Oh honey of course it was! When was the last time you saw someone, let alone a young boy dressed like they do in the 1800’s?” she shook her head as if my question were preposterous. How could I have doubted her experience? Although there was potential validity to her story, a documented death of a young boy exactly as she had said, but anyone can read the history that doesn’t mean she really saw a ghost. Surveying the house, I honestly don’t think I could have made out what someone was wearing from a lampshade from this distance. As much as I wanted to be a smart ass and call her bluff, I gave her a short “Hmmm,” and she carried on with her walk.

I did have to hand it to the many that swore on their mothers life that they saw something, as one room always had a light on, and no one had lived there as long as I had been alive. No cars had been seen coming or going from the driveway, you wouldn’t have known it had ever been painted yellow if it weren’t for the few sporadic patches left clinging to the shiplap. You could see the porch steps had begun to decay, and the grass had grown over. It was hard to not be curious as to how the light was always on. How had it not died? Was the ghost boy keeping up with the electricity bills and buying new light bulbs?

After checking to make sure no one else was around, I decided to make the trek down the driveway. There weren't any no trespassing signs so I could always say I didn’t know. I couldn’t help but feel uneasy on my walk, but it wasn’t overwhelming. More so an anticipatory hopefulness that some poltergeist would be revealed to me and everything I had heard all these years would finally come full circle with my own experience. The further down the driveway I got, the larger the house appeared. Of course being a mansion in and of itself made it larger than one's average house, however the angle from the road kept the mansion's secrets. The house went much further back in its build than one could deduce from afar. I was finally face to face with the beast, and it appeared even more abandoned up close. Stepping over the broken stairs onto the porch, I expected to feel different, more afraid. To be honest I was more afraid of falling through one of the boards than seeing a ghost. Noticing the door open a crack, I looked back once more to ensure no one would see, and quickly slid inside.

“I feel like I’m on an episode of Ghost Adventures,” I chuckled to myself. Inside, all the furniture had been covered in white cloth, which was covered in a thick layer of dust. The chandeliers had broken beads but still hung beautifully, casting small rainbows whenever a sliver of light managed to hit them. The silence was like none other, if it weren’t for the sound of my heart beating (at least I hope it's mine and not some old man’s under the floorboards), I don’t think I would have felt real. The muted light from outside was enough to see in the rooms, but the hallways were dim and the stairs almost pitch black. There were so many rooms and halls and stairs it seemed impossible to reach my goal: find the eternal light. Perhaps this was a scaled down version of the Winchester Mystery House.

There were still gas lamps attached to walls and picture frames perfectly hung. If it weren't for the dust I would have thought the owners may use this as a vacation home. Stepping into each room to observe, I always stood still for a few minutes. Maybe this would be the room where I saw something, or heard distant footsteps, but alas the beating of my heart was all there was to hear. “Hello, is there anyone here?” I called out, let’s see if this place is haunted, as if me talking would magically bring out anything paranormal. “Is there a little boy who drowned here? If you are present can you make a knocking sound?” I asked, and then silently waited. Maybe the ghosts are just a little shy. I continued making my way throughout the house, which still felt a little illegal. Maybe something would follow me home like all those horror movies and I wouldn’t notice anything for a month. I didn’t want to get too nosey on the off chance the owner ever came back and saw the lack of dust on a prized heirloom that would giveaway my trespassing.

I began to wonder about what the lives were like of any that had lived here. What was there day to day like? Which rooms were there favorites? What was it like watching the evening sun cast its warm glow on the walls? How did the shadows from the fires and lamps create movies for the young kids to use their imaginations? I always managed to find myself feeling nostalgic for times I had never lived in, maybe I was just feeling some of the memories of past inhabitants, wood does have a way of storing energy. I almost felt sad that this house was abandoned for so long, and somehow everything was so untouched, it felt like something out of the Twilight Zone. 

Remembering back to the door having already been cracked, a sense of unease washed over me. What if someone, like I had, came in right before me? Why hadn’t I thought about that before making my way deep into the house. Then again I hadn’t heard any noise, but the house was a maze of rooms. It's quite possible someone was here and we were far enough from each other to know we even existed. I shook the thought away quite literally and continued on up the stairs, determined to see the light. 

Cobwebs made garlands around the house, and the smell of mothballs made me wish I had brought some kind of mask. Dolls with the likeness of Raggedy Annes filled the third floor. Great, I thought to myself, This is some Annabelle or Chucky shit. NO Thank you! Despite the plethora of dolls, none of them blinked, none moved, none levitated in thin air. Are you really going to feel disappointed that you’re not being haunted while you’re trespassing alone? I did have a good point there. The stairway to the outlook was narrow with a spiral staircase. After each step I took a pause to listen, more so in case someone like me was here since no ghost wanted to show themselves. The soft glow from the lamp felt warm and inviting in juxtaposition with the rest of the house. As I reached the final step up, I saw the outlook was slightly less dusty than the rest of the house. A small writing desk sat below the window, there was still a pen and paper on its surface. There seemed to be much less dust and cobwebs much to my surprise. Other than the desk, an old chair, and the lamp there wasn’t anything else. The view was beautiful, I can see why someone would use this as their writing den. It couldn’t have been all that long since someone was in here, and yet the whole house was otherwise untouched for centuries. I did not find any explanation to how the light could stay on, unless someone was coming here and changing it, but how had they gone unseen? The only way here was down the drive, the house was surrounded by woods for miles on any other side so it was unlikely that someone would come any other way. I reached for the pencil and jotted a note on the paper, in case I ever came back and my question would get answered, Who keeps the lights on? Feeling defeated, I left the outlook and began my descent. Gone were any jitters, I almost felt bored, or apathetic since nothing had happened. Perhaps it was just people wanting to see something so badly they imagined it. I made the trek back up the driveway and turned around once more to get a good survey of it all. 

 “You know, when I was your age I saw some kids looking out the window. Real pale looking, old time-y clothes and everything. I heard a child drowned in the water tank. Take it it was him,” The voice of the old woman had seemingly appeared out of thin air beside me.

“Yes, you told me that earlier. We met already, remember?” But when I turned to where she stood earlier, there was no one there.