Haunted Mansion

Stepping out in to the courtyard, the air feels thin; the coldness bitter, night is coming. The darkness is beginning to fall; inch by inch it creeps along the floor. Nothing can stop it, there is no hiding from it. Soon everything that once was in light will be in full darkness. 

Rose had agreed to come to this old Mansion House with her friend Lucy, “come on, come along, it will be fun” she had said “it is a haunted tour, with creepy facts and true stories about the past.” Reluctantly she had tagged along, walking along listening to the guide talk passionately, with an air of mystery. She had to admit it was fascinating to listen to. Even if it did give her a chilly sensation like an ice cube being dragged slowly down her spine.

Glancing back at the rooms behind, she had seen a strange light dart around hurriedly. She reached her arm out to nudge Lucy, “What was that? Did you see Luc-?” Before she could say the end of her name, she realised she was patting thin air. Freaked out by the freezing cold draft she could feel instead of her friend’s arm, she quickly turned her head to discover no-one there. No sign of anyone, no sound – no voices, no footsteps – no trace of them ever being there. Hyperventilating she had made her way towards the courtyard – she needed to breathe. Air, she must have air. In the courtyard, the darkness had slowly crept across consuming every inch of it. She heard the distant sound of hooves, and a horse whinnying. Like the spooked horse she tried running back to the car park, desperate to leave this place, but her legs were running on the spot as if she were on an invisible treadmill. There was clearly something stopping her leave the courtyard, but `why and what was it?'

Rose soon realises the only way out of this spooky place is to go back in and work out why and what is keeping her there. She ventures in to the drawing room there on the desk is a quill in ink that wasn’t there on the tour earlier. On the floor is a scrap of paper that appears blank. Trembling uncontrollably as if every cell and molecule of her existence is about to unbind. She reaches forward, picks it up turns it over. On the scrap of paper it says “Rose” – the ink still wet. She feels this coldness on her shoulder it chills her to the bone, she looks and the shadow of a hand is on her shoulder. Jolting round she sees the shadow of an older lady in a ball gown stood behind her. She throws the paper in to the air in fright and goes to scream. The icy cold hand moves across her mouth, no sound comes out as if someone has pressed the mute button on the remote. 

The shadowy figure speaks in a muffled voice “Rose, I cannot allow you to scream, you will scare the children. Same as them you will be able to speak when you are spoken to. Children should be seen and not heard after all.”

The cold hands are now placed under Rose’s armpits lifting her off the floor, the lady takes her towards the ceiling saying “Come up, we have much to discuss.” Somehow holding on to the apparition enables her human body to pass through upstairs into the Master bedroom.

The ghost sits on a stool at a dressing table – powdering her face as she talks. “Do you know who I am my dear?” 

Rose stares and shakes her head for a second then realises as she was addressed she is able to physically answer. She shrugs and says “I-I-I g-g-guess you’re Lady Carrington whom they were talking about in the tour?” in disbelief that she is actually talking to a ghost. 

“You would be correct, my dear. If you follow me, I believe the tour had not reached this top floor so allow me to be your guide.”

Lady Carrington glides down the thin long corridor there are portraits on each side she stops to explain each one in detail to Rose.

“This first one on the left is my handsome husband, Lord Carrington, do you see any resemblance?”

Rose looks carefully, scrutinising every inch of the portrait - he has the same piercing blue eyes as her, the same nose even. “How can this be? Is this some kind of trick?”

They come to the next painting Lady Carrington announces “These are our children, Harvey and Philomena”

Rose gasps; looking at their daughter is like looking in a mirror with her younger self. “Is this me, have I time travelled am I Philomena?” she utters gulping at the mere thought that this may be true.

“Of course not, my dear, they are in the next room sleeping.  Lord Carrington is in his study.”

She leads her to the study, the shadowy figure of Lord Carrington stands and turns. There is a familiarity about him as if she knows him of old. He takes her hand kisses it; she feels the coldness of his lips on her skin and shivers as he bows.

“Do you see now my dear Rose? You should be the one guiding the tours” says Lady Carrington delicately placing her hand on her back.

“I still do not understand” replies Rose “I have never been here before, I had not even heard of this place.”

“Well you Rose are my blood relative” says Lord Carrington.

Rose stares at them both, in disbelief.

“Although we knew that growing up in care and being given your adoptive parent’s surname would mean that you were never told any of this. Such a shame your parents died in that freak car accident before ever being able to inform you who you are and how important.” They both delicately place their hand on each of her shoulders and look her square in the face, saying firmly but with compassion “Well, we are here to inform you, you are a Carrington my dear, through and through. This is your heritage Rose; this whole Mansion House and its grounds should belong to you.”