A Haunting Paradox

It is known the world over that ancient houses foster many secrets. Ahmas Manor was no exception. If these walls could speak, the yarns they’d spin would blanket the entire world twice over. The stories that fill these halls echo across time.

It is said that fear is something that comes from a lack of understanding, and these echoes of the past are often misconstrued, mistaken for malevolent spirits.

But why? Does a ghost kill?

Does it do anything more than wander about, locked forever in a sliver of time?

A ghost is a ghost because its an apparition, an echo.

But what if ghosts are not already dead?

Then what do we call that?

A haunting paradox indeed.

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Ahmas Manor was one of the oldest houses in America, its foundations laid before the constitution itself. Many generations, and many families had called it home.

Its namesake had changed many times over the years, but the one that stuck is that of the Ahmas family. It was well known how a tragic tale had befallen them, and only a single generation spent any time there. Yet their name remained, lingering ever since.

Jerry had heard the stories of the manor, had researched it thoroughly and tonight he and his crew would seek to answer that age-old question: are ghosts real?

Maggie and Laroy were already inside, setting up cameras. Jerry was scribbling notes in his journal. A soft rain was falling, creating a soothing atmosphere in the van parked just in front of Ahmas Manor. Jerry looked up from his journal and took it all in. The manor was still in good repair, all things considered. The city was converting the manor into a museum and much of the outside was refurbished, maintaining the original style. The manor itself was encircled by tall walls of stone, completely covered in green leafy vines.

The first-floor windows were huge. At night one could easily peer inside from a distance away. The windows above were smaller and more spaced out. They were all closed. Save one on the third floor, which appeared to have drifted open.

Jerry opened the passenger side door and stepped out, soft gravel crackling underneath his feet. He closed the door and entered the mansion. The main entry hall was gallantly lit up with a crystal chandelier in the center, hovering over the stairs which split off in two directions before going up to the second floor. Each side of the manor house had additional stairs that allowed access to all three floors. The wood flooring was stained dark brown, the walls were a pale grey with trim that matched the floor. The house itself had a mildew smell, even a slight stench of decay. It gave an eerie feel to the atmosphere that Jerry loved. This was what its all about!

The team members were finishing up when Jerry came in, he quickly assessed their work and then ordered the lights out for the night. Outside the sun was already setting, with the cloudy rain and mist it was already very dark once they began.

It wasn’t long before their quarry came out to greet them. A boy, no older than ten. With almost white blonde hair, and eyes that glowed a soft blue.

The boy looked directly at Jerry, it raised its arms and displayed its hands to him.

Maggie and Laroy gasped audibly.

Then, it spoke...

“These are the hands of the Ahmas, the blood of my forebearers has stained them. Blood, and ash.”

The child paused, his expression blank, as if he were asleep but for his eyes being open.

Jerry felt his throat go dry. His legs were stone. He couldn’t flee even if he wanted to, he stared at the apparition in disbelief. Never in all his time had it ever been this clear to him, it was all so real and surreal at the same time. A ghost! A real ghost!!

“All is lost, its already over now. I can’t even clean it from my hands, they’re covered in black. But it won’t come off. Why won’t it come off?!”

The boy let out a sorrowful wail, eyes filled with tears. His figure began to fade until all that remained was the echo of his cries. As suddenly as he had first appeared, he was gone. The wailing sounds remained for a short time after, and all of it was on tape!

This was going to be his masterpiece, Jerry thought. And the night has only just begun!

*********************************************************

Sabrina stumbled into the dimly lit room of the servant quarters. She was situated on the third floor. It was late in the evening and her clothing was disheveled from the hours she spent working the kitchen. She could hear a commotion stirring somewhere downstairs, running footsteps and yelling. Most likely it was little Lenny sleepwalking again. Poor child.

The manor was always cold this time of year. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she walked over to the half-open window to close it for the night. A single candle was lit near her bed, its flame dancing in the drafty breeze. She furrowed her brow as she closed the window, trying to recall when she’d even opened it and why she would do such a thing.

She latched the window shut and jumped in alarm when sounds of whispers filled the room. The candle light stilled as if frozen in place, the room itself had stilled as if locked into a sliver of time, and yet the strange sounds persisted.

She held her breath and looked about, eyes wide as she tried to identify the source of the noise. She couldn’t find a thing. Nobody was in her room.

But Sabrina could feel it.

A strange pressure on her chest, and angst. The certainty that someone was watching her, inconspicuously. She shuddered and took a step back, her slender figure brushing up against the cool glass of the window.

The whispering stopped as quickly as it had started. But it was replaced by something else. Creaking floorboards groaned, as if from footsteps. In the empty room, the noise seemed to be approaching her. The candlelight, the blessed light vanished without warning. Darkness enveloped everything and Sabrina was ready to scream. She put her hands over her ears and crouched onto the floor, too frightened to move.

The candlelight abruptly returned, the flame began to move about once more and a coolness overtook her, making her skin crawl. She slowly turned and looked towards the window, which was unlatched and open. The cool night air filling the room once again…

…Elsewhere in the manor, Shelia Ahmas, the lady of the house, was tucking her child into bed. Although it was commonly the duty of the servants, tonight she felt compelled to do it herself.

Leonard Ahmas, or Lenny for short, was a tiny child for his age. His blond hair was almost white, it contrasted his pale, light-blue eyes. Eyes pale enough to reflect the candle light next to his bed. They almost glowed in the dimly lit room. Lenny was prone to sleep walking, and lately he’d been found at odd hours of the night, roaming the hallways and speaking gibberish.

The doctor had visited earlier in the evening and couldn’t find a thing wrong with him. Not physically anyways.

He had recommended the parents spend some extra time with Lenny. His hope was that these night time strolls were merely the predisposition of a child troubled by his parent’s frequent absences. Sheila and her husband Mark owned a business in town, a factory that was bustling this time of year in preps for winter. They were constantly embroiled in one task or another, keeping everything running smoothly. This meant they were often unavailable for Lenny, which may be contributing to the problems.

“Mom?” Lenny asked as Shelia tucked him underneath the sheets, nice and snug.

“Yes dear?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Shelia opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a loud thudding noise in the floor above them. Strange, that part of the house was never occupied, it was storage space. Something must have fallen.

She went to the bedroom door and opened it, peeking outside into the hallway.

One of the many servants of the manor happened to be walking by and she instructed them to look into the noise coming from above. She shut the door and was greeted by more noises and thuds. She could also hear what sounded like yelling.

Good heavens! What was going on up there?

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Gregory filed his party into the dusty room, the tourists whispering animatedly as they followed him in. This was the final leg of the Ahmas manor tour, concluding here in the servant’s quarters.

To his dismay, the room was stale and rank with the odor of decay yet again. His boss had explicitly told the staff NOT to close the windows in this part of the house. Yet there it was, closed. Again. He huffed angrily and stalked over to the window to open it back up.

Just then, a smart-alek child among the tourists flipped the light switch near the door, plunging the room into darkness. A stern warning from an angry parent was followed by the lights returning to the room as abruptly as they’d disappeared. Gregory opened the window. Tyler, he thought, Tyler probably closed it on his way out, the idiot.

As he turned to face the group, Gregory got the strangest sensation someone was staring at him, he could almost swear he heard a soft whimpering noise. Right behind him. He looked back near the window; nobody was there, of course.

He shrugged and turned towards the tourists again, and all them were now as silent as the grave.

They were looking directly at him, or past him?

Once more he turned to look at the window, the same window he just opened mere seconds ago was closed.

A silhouette hovered nearby, the figure of a slender woman that seemed to be staring right at him. The room was still and quiet, everyone could see her.

Gregory had heard the stories, but he never really believed them. He’d chalked it off to the common tall tales that follow many an old manor house like this one. Foolishness he’d thought. Ghosts aren’t real.

How could he have been so wrong?

*********************************************************

Denise was new to the crew, having moved here from up north. Moving boxes and furniture was tedious work but her build was ideal for it. Problem was she was also clumsy as hell.

She was carrying two boxes at once, here on the third floor there was tons of stuff to move. The storage spaces were full here, and most of this stuff had to be taken out. It was all meant to be sorted out and catalogued. Either to be auctioned off or returned here in preparation for converting the old home into a museum.

The first box she was carrying was snug in her long arms, the second one not so much. It slipped rather suddenly from atop the first box and fell to the floor. Its contents spilling noisily about.

Her boss was standing right there of course, and he looked at her with an annoyed expression. She returned his gaze with an apologetic look. Then set the box down and began to pick up the loose items.

They say when it rains, it pours.

So naturally her hips bumped into a stack of boxes and the entire stack came tumbling down. More noise. More mess. Fabulous.

“Sorry!!” Denise cried out.

This unfortunately didn’t save her from the inevitable tirade of swear words and admonishment from the boss man. He was already grouchy today. What a wicked man tongue he had. Is he even allowed to say that?

She found herself blushing, trying to hide it as she scrambled about, righting the boxes and filling the contents back into them.

She heard a gasp behind her, but when she looked to see who it was no one there.

Her boss had stormed off minutes ago. Just getting creeped out by the old place, she thought.

Then the boxes moved. Of their own accord.

Sliding across the floor, one lifted into the air. That was all she saw. That was all she needed to see.

Denise screamed and fled the room.

She ran past her boss who was going down the stairs on the side of the manor house. She didn’t even notice how she nearly knocked him off his feet. Which would have been disastrous on a hardwood staircase. She ran outside next to the moving truck. She was panting at this point, pale as a ghost herself. What the hell was all that?

She turned and looked up at the windows of the third floor, towards the storage rooms. It was dark and she could barely see a thing up there, but her heart froze when she noticed a figure in one of the windows. A man in an antiquated suit. A sad expression on his face.

And clearly not one of the movers. Denise screamed again.

*********************************************************

Marcus Ahmas was still wearing his suit and tie as he wandered aimlessly about the manor. Barely even seeing what was around him. The eyes in the dark recesses of the house that ominously watched him as he walked by barely registered in the back of his mind. He simply didn’t care.

Everything in the house was covered in sheets. Various candelabras throughout the manor remained lit, but everyone else was gone. He’d sent them away. All of them. Even his wife and child.

Shelia’s parents were kind enough to offer their home to them. They hadn’t any choice but to accept. Everything was gone.

The factory, his factory, was now an ashen heap. A skeleton of its former splendor. Arson, they’d said. The suspicion of foul-play a paltry excuse for the crooks in town to not pay out his insurance claim. It left the Ahmas family with nothing, completely destitute. And no justice would be done, for there was no way to know who it was that set his factory ablaze.

Eventually he found himself on the third floor, the storage rooms.

He gazed out the window, seeing very little. He pondered his fate, so sudden as it was.

A piercing scream from outside echoed into the halls of Ahmas manor. Marcus snapped out of his reverie momentarily to look around. Nobody was there.

However, the distraction of the moment was fleeting and he quickly found himself returning to his melancholy state. Subdued and defeated. He turned about, heading towards the servant quarters.

His skin prickled in the cool air. This part of the mansion was much colder than the rest of the place. Sabrina, of the kitchen staff, had left her door ajar in her rush to go. He went in, the candle alongside her bed was still alight. He’d made the staff leave quite abruptly, telling them to take their belongings and get out. Just leave. It was all finished now.

Inside her room the window was open wide, invitingly. Almost beckoning him.

He slowly walked towards the window, then peered down. A soft rain was falling outside, the wet pavement below looked welcoming to him. He considered only briefly before committing himself to the ground.

As he dove headfirst out the window a few things happened.

First, he heard a commotion behind him. Then as he fell, he heard that woman screaming once more.

Just before he hit the cold, wet earth he thought of that old Irish legend, the banshee. Harbinger of death.

*********************************************************

Jerry was beyond excited about all the hard evidence they’d gathered this night. He’d sent Maggie and Laroy ahead to the hotel. Instructing them to analyze it all. So much had happened, and most of it was all on tape! He was doing a quick run through the old manor house before he’d return to town to get some well-deserved rest.

Everything was still in Ahmas manor now, save for the soft footsteps of Jerry as he made his way through each room. He finally found himself in the old servants’ corner of the house. One room had its door ajar, so he went inside.

Whispers filled his ears, making his heart race in anticipation. How extraordinary!

Then he saw a figure near the window, a man in a suit who was leaning out farther than anyone should. Under normal circumstances, the studious Jerry would have recalled the legendary fate of one Marcus Ahmas, but he was too excited and his reaction was more organic. He yelped in fear, running up to grab the shoulders of the man to haul him back inside.

Only the man was an apparition, another one.

Jerry went right through it, and his eyes bulged as his momentum carried him up and over the window sill.

He too heard that strange wailing scream as he fell…down, down, DOWN. Then blackness. Utter and complete…much like the tapes were upon review back at the hotel.

Maggie and Laroy were not looking forward to breaking the news to Jerry that they had nothing. Nothing to show for it. They wouldn’t have to worry about that for long.

*********************************************************

Silence filled the halls of Ahmas manor.

Interrupted by the occasional sounds of a window on the third floor as it opened and closed, again and again.

Soft footsteps and whispers could also be heard on occasion, were anyone there to hear it, sounds coming and going without warning.

And then there was the boy with light blonde hair who wandered the halls. A sleep walker, with eyes glowing a soft blue. He’d only wanted his parents to stay. That was all.

Wracked with guilt, the boy wept. His soft cries echoing across the darkened halls of Ahmas manor for all time.