The Henderson Manor

Submitted into Contest #64 in response to: Write about someone who’s been sent to boarding school.... view prompt

2 comments

Historical Fiction High School Horror

It was a raw, cold afternoon and the wind was squally and unpredictable. The moors and woodland surrounding us were revealing autumn's swift approach. I watched through my carriage window as leaves of every shade of crimson swirled up and around the tall trees around us, casting invisible spirals stretching far up into the sky before retreating slowly to the ground, as if taking their final breath.

We were moving fast. I cannot remember how long we'd been travelling, a number of days certainly, but the journey was so long and arduous that it was now starting to feel more like weeks. Our departure from London was a somewhat hazy memory due to being woken suddenly and ushered into the carriage with such speed and urgency that I had almost forgotten where we were, who I was and where we were going. If truth be told, the year so far had carried a similar undertone. We had moved several times, once to a different country. My sister and I seemed to always be rushing here there and everywhere, to and from various schools, to scheduled afterschool activities and to friends houses in the evenings instead of our own. Our parents were always incredibly busy, and now their work had required them to relocate to Russia for the remainder of the year. Seeing that taking us along with them was not an option, they arranged to have us both stay with our uncle some few hundred miles away, for the duration of thier contract. Mother had instructed Mr Luthier, our butler, to see that we arrived safely and before dark on the day of our arrival.

At long last, the carriage came to a screeching halt, and we were ushered out with an even greater urgency than the one with which we had left. It was starting to get dark. Mr Luthier hoisted us both out and led us hastily through some woods, taking us down winding lanes and secret pathways until we finally reached an opening with a large iron gate, overgrown with weeds and bits of unkempt hedgerow.

And that's when I saw it. 

Through the mist in the still cold light of day, nestled in several acres of ancient woodland stood the Henderson manor, an awesome but harrowing sight. From the outside, beautifully arched windows stretched along impossibly tall layers of immense intricate stonework, perfectly straight and finely chiselled with gargoyles of every kind. Pastel pink roses ascended the walls, their roots chipping away at the masonry on their journey sunward, twisting across one another in elegant, sophisticated criss cross weaves. 

Surprisingly however, the roses did not make the place seem any more welcoming. Even with all its beauty, the manor had a strange, formidable air about it. A cold, hostile presence that seemed unhospitable. This wasnt helped by the huge, eerie wall which surrounded the manor a few meters away. It was disintegrating, aged and starkly misplaced against the grandeur of the Manor. Seeming to overshadow, its stoney height created a dark, sallow appearance on an otherwise aesthetically pleasing abode. 

"Father didn't tell us our uncle lived in a mansion!" I said to Mr Luthier, not knowing whether I was awestruck, excited or just plain terrified. 

"Yes, he's lived here for years now", started Mr Luthier. "Apparently he got lucky at auction. Says he finds the place inspirational for writing and that he wishes to stay here for a few more years while he finishes his second book". 

As we drew closer, we came to a stone stairway which led to an impossibly large arched wooden door, draped top to bottom with creeping ivy. Now that we were closer, I could make out many strange, tiny faces carved in stone around the door. They seemed to peer at us, jeering, jiving, mocking, gossiping and making distasteful faces. One of them was showing its private parts and my sister nudged me to point at it. We both smiled quietly trying our best not to giggle. At our age, It was not commonplace to talk about such things and although we were older now, we were still young enough to be expected to be seen and not heard. A small black lantern hung by the door, presumably used to light the stairway at night. 

As we ascended the stairway Mr Luthier took a quick look around before turning to us. "Now children, you are expected to be on your best behaviour. You will be in excellent care here, and I know your parents will be thinking of you and will look forward to your return home in the new year". We nodded. Mr Luthier lifted the huge iron handle and knocked on the door. Three loud, sporadic bangs reverberated on the inside of the building, and we waited. After quite a bit of time, Mr Luthier went to knock once more, but the sound of pattering of footsteps stopped him. They appeared to be coming from far away at first, getting closer and closer and becoming increasingly scattered, chaotic and rushed. Then came the jingling and jangling and the trying of many keys in the lock. After quite a bit more time, we heard a deep, heavy clunk and the huge wooden door finally swung open, creaking and reverberating so loudly that it felt we were about to enter a cathedral.

In the dark open space stood a small, dwarf like man. He smiled warmly and extended his hand to Mr Luthier. "Welcome" he said. "We've been expecting you and Mr Henderson will be most pleased you've made it here safely. Please, do come in". His welcoming tone was a world away from the cold, harsh appearance of the manor and I have to admit I felt a little more at ease with the thought of spending the winter here. Mr Luthier met the man's gesture with grace and nodded approvingly. "Please tell Mr. Henderson we appreciate his kindness in these uncertain times" he said. "The children will be no trouble. If you have any problems or should need anything, please do not hesitate to write to the family, or myself. You will have the details". He turned to us again. "It is time to take my leave now children. Be good". He bid the man good day before descending the stone steps and disappearing back into the woodland through which we came. And that was that.

"Come in children" the man said. We stepped inside, and the large wooden door closed behind us with a bang.

October 23, 2020 23:03

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.

2 comments

M. Michielsen
18:50 Oct 31, 2020

I'm in your critique circle. I enjoyed your piece. You wonderfully captured an autumnal and unnerving atmosphere. I could see the journey and the house. It reminds me of Wuthering Heights--but not quite as bleak. Well done! I have two comments. The first is about your descriptions: you tend to use two words to describe things. You did this so frequently that I noticed it. Examples of using two words: "squally and unpredictable," "long and arduous," "speed and urgency," “strange, formidable,” “cold, hostile,” “huge, eerie." Yo...

Reply

Robyn Fox
15:26 Nov 01, 2020

Hi there! Thank you very much for all your well thought out feedback, and glad you liked the autumnal atmosphere! I will take your points on board! Robyn x

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

Bring your short stories to life

Fuse character, story, and conflict with tools in Reedsy Studio. 100% free.