The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror (14 page)

     The guys had retrieved some supplies from the dining room and sat at the central table gearing up for round two. Jake was systematically replacing the batteries in all the flashlights, ensuring that each one achieved maximum brightness. Ronnie sat opposite him, changing the film in his cameras with the deadly earnestness of a gunfighter loading his six-shooters before a showdown. Their dedication to their work was matched only by their skill and efficiency.
     I decided that they had earned a mild compliment. "You guys make a great team."
     "Yeah," Ron laughed. "He blazes a trail into the Stygian depths and I chronicle everything for posterity. Unfortunately, more often than not, he gets us lost and it's up to me to try to find our way back, usually in the dark."
     "I beg your pardon." Jake feigned indignation. "Who led us out of that maze of catacombs beneath that sanitarium in Providence?"
     "Who led us down there and got us lost in the first place?"
     "Again, I ask—who got us out?"
     "That was one time, and you got lucky."
     "Maybe," he said, "but if I had my choice between being good, or being lucky, I'd rather be lucky." Jake flashed a devilish smile and gave me a wink.
     Their humorous bickering lightened the mood in the dreary chamber. I walked over to Sandra who stood in a distant corner leafing through an old book of Norse mythology. Scanning the titles on the nearby shelf, I noticed that the entire bookcase was lined with aged tomes dedicated to a variety of esoteric topics. Secret societies, alchemy, black magic, witchcraft, talismans, necromancy, voodoo, thaumaturgy and mystical relics were but a few of the titles among the hundreds of arcane books that filled the tall shelf.
     "This Edmund Darklore seems to have had more than just a passing interest in the occult," I said. My eyes came to rest on a large black book in the midst of the case. It was inscribed with faded gold letters that read Holy Bible. "That's odd," I said, brushing my fingers over the dusty spine. "He doesn't strike me as a religious man." I removed the heavy book from its resting place. "This doesn't seem to fit in with the other books on this shelf. It doesn't make sense."
     "That's what I thought, at first," Sandra said, taking the Bible from my hands. "I was certain that it would be hollow and I'd find an old skeleton key hidden inside it, but it's just a regular book." She flipped through the pages to demonstrate that there was nothing concealed within it, then set it back on the shelf between the other books. "But now I think I understand why it's on this shelf. Look at the paintings and artifacts in this room. I don't think he was viewing the Bible as a religious tome, I think he was studying it as a collection of myths. All great mythologies of the world have some basis in truth. I think he was investigating the legends of various cultures throughout history, maybe looking for similarities, or myths that overlap. It's actually quite fascinating."
     "And yet, after all his research, he put his faith in this Brotherhood of Thule?" I asked.
     "Kind of makes you wonder why, doesn't it?"
     "I'm sure he had some mad rationale for it," I said smugly.
     "I don't think he was crazy. There's an old proverb that says we worship the gods that answer our prayers."
     I glanced around at the extravagant works of art that filled the opulent chamber. "Well, from the look of things, I'd say that his gods were very good to him."
     Sandra grinned. "He was obviously very passionate about the arts." She walked along the wall of books and gestured to the next set of shelves. "This entire bookcase is devoted to sculpture, painting, music and architecture." She proceeded to the neighboring bookcase and said, "This one's filled with classics of literature."
     I perused the titles. The impressive collection contained several extremely rare books including leather bound works of Dante and Shakespeare and first editions of Byron and Poe. "This collection is amazing," I uttered. "The books on this one shelf alone must be worth a small fortune."
     Sandra stepped over to the desk and began to examine the piles of dusty tomes that covered its surface. She lit a tall candelabra that resided amidst the crooked stacks, then took a seat behind the desk.
     I pulled up a chair in front of her and sat down. "I wanted to ask you something—it's been on my mind for the past few hours."
     "All right," she said, giving me her full attention.
     "When we first got here, inside the manor, you led us straight to the dining room. You didn't look around or check the floorplan, or even hesitate for one second. How did you know where to go? And how did you know where that secret door was hidden?"
     Sandra offered a slight smile then lowered her voice to reply. "Remember me telling you about my dreams—the ones where I'm inside an old house and everything seems familiar, like I've been there before?"
     "Are you telling me that this is the house you've been dreaming about?"
     "Yes. This is the house... and that's the door," she said, nodding her head toward the bronze barrier, "the one that should never be opened."
     I stared at the foreboding doorway, and as I did I imagined a legion of hellish demons lying in wait just beyond its sealed threshold, biding their time till the infernal gateway was opened once again. As my mind drifted, I was startled out of my daydream by a disturbing sound—an innocent, childlike melody that gave me cause to shudder each time I heard it. The music box had suddenly begun to play once more.
     Ronnie and Jake sprang to their feet and crept toward the source of the sound. Jake took hold of the bookshelf that had concealed the secret door and swung it shut, allowing us to see the front of the case. The music box still rested upon the central shelf, but the lid which had been left closed now stood open.
     The eerie chimes rang out their haunting refrain, but this time when the music reached the chorus, a child's voice lightly joined in the melody. Sandra stepped forward and gently closed the lid and the music and singing stopped.
     Sandra scoured the room with her gaze. "You needn't fear us," she said. "We're here to help you... we're listening... tell us your story... make us understand." She began to slowly walk around the library. "I know this was your home, but you're not alive anymore... you have to leave this place."
     Suddenly, an icy chill swept through the room. Sandra winced, closing her eyes and recoiling, as if she had been struck by some unseen force. She began breathing heavily then started speaking in a quivering whisper. "Darkness," she said, "terrible darkness and sorrow." Tears welled in her eyes. "Eternal blackness... the sinners must be punished. He answered my prayers and told me what had to be done. Forgive me... forgive me."
     Sandra opened her eyes and tears streaked down her cheeks.
     "Are you all right?" I asked. "What happened?"
     Sandra shook her head from side to side. "It was horrible. I've never felt anything like that."
     "What did you feel?"
     "Death... sorrow and death. It's all around us here." She slowly stepped to the library door, saying, "Follow me."
     Walking as if in a trance, Sandra led us out of the room and around the corner to a narrow corridor adorned with the pictures of children. She stopped before an ornate oval frame and brushed the cobwebs aside to reveal the portrait of a beautiful young girl cast in shades of sepia. The girl was dressed entirely in black, as if she were attending a funeral when the photograph had been taken. Her dark eyes conveyed a sad expression as she gazed longingly outward from the faded picture. An inscribed plaque below the portrait read "Belladonna."
     "It was her," Sandra whispered, "Belladonna Darklore—but there were other voices as well. Her family is dead, but their restless spirits are trapped within these walls. They're all here, inside this house."
     As I stared at the solemn portrait of Belladonna, I felt a deep sympathy for her poor lost soul.
     Sandra continued her account. "She said that the sinners had to be punished, and that someone answered her prayers."
     "Who?" I asked.
     "The Sandman," she whispered.
     "Who or
what
is the Sandman?" Jake asked.
     "It was in the poem," I replied, "in the book upstairs."
     Sandra turned to Ronnie and said, "There's a book of nursery rhymes in the upstairs bedroom that Pam and I were in. Bring it to me. There's an old doll in that room, too. I need you to get some good photos of it." She glanced at Jake and said, "Go with him."
     As the guys hustled off on their mission, Sandra and I walked back to the library. The storm had subsided somewhat, but occasional bursts of lightning flickered across the dark velvet drapes. The menagerie of statues that stood in various poses throughout the dim chamber cast eerie shadows in the light of the candelabra. Returning to the desk, we resumed our seats. Sandra removed her cassette recorder and set it down between two stacks of books, then leaned back in her chair.
     I began the conversation, curious as to her thoughts on all that had transpired in the mansion. "So I take it you're convinced that this place is really haunted."
     "Definitely, but this isn't a simple haunting. There's something more going on here."
     "Like what?" I asked.
     "I think we're being manipulated. Ever since we got here, we've been led around like sheep."
     "By whom? Or should I ask by
what
?"
     "I get a strong feeling that there's more than one force at work here. Something terrible happened in this house. The last of the Darklores didn't just abandon their home. They were murdered. Their spirits are trapped here, which makes me suspect that their bodies are somewhere within these walls as well." She stared past me, fixing her gaze upon the bookcase that concealed the secret passage. "I think a lot of answers lie on the other side of that door."
     "Is that what your intuition tells you?" I asked.
     "It's more than just simple intuition, Pam." Sandra leaned forward so she was close enough to reach the candelabra, then said, "Watch." She extended her right hand over the tall candles, holding her fingertips a few inches above the flame. "I can't see anything touching my fingers, but I can feel the heat of the fire. The closer I get to the source, the stronger the sensation." She waved her fingers through the flame and smiled as I flinched. "It's the same with our other senses, even the ones that we don't fully understand. Some of us are just more sensitive to the unseen world that surrounds us. Our perceptions are different, that's all. It doesn't mean that things you can't see aren't real. The realm of the paranormal really does exist."
     "I get the feeling that you only brought me along on this excursion to try to convert me to your way of thinking."
     "I'm just trying to expose you to some experiences that will open your mind to other possibilities. Why do you have such a hard time accepting all of this?"
     "It's just difficult," I said. "I've lived my entire life with certain beliefs and I guess that until I see undeniable proof to the contrary, I'll always be a little skeptical."
     "How can you still be skeptical after all you've experienced in this house? What about the apparition in the ballroom? We all witnessed it. How can you deny the existence of something you've seen with your own eyes?"
     "I don't deny that I saw something... I'm just not sure what it was."
     "You heard the music." Sandra gestured her hand toward the music box on the bookshelf.
     "There could be a logical explanation for it."
     Sandra shook her head in disgust. "Now you're making excuses."
     "Maybe I am," I said solemnly. "I guess it's only natural to want to cling to what feels safe."
     Before Sandra could respond, our conversation was interrupted by yelling in the distance. It was Jake, shouting Sandra's name. His voice sounded muffled, but it carried a sense of urgency. We bolted out of the library and hurried toward the sound of his voice. His yells led us into the entrance hall.
     Jake was standing at the top of the main staircase. "Up here, quick," he said.
     We sprinted up the stairs to the second floor hallway.
     "Where's Ronnie?" Sandra asked.
     "This way," he said, then turned and led us down the dim corridor to the far end of the hall. Ronnie was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, just outside the bedroom door. He seemed dazed and shaken, as if he had witnessed something that made him question his own sanity.
     "What's wrong?" Sandra asked.
     "This whole place is wrong." Ronnie's voice trembled. "Like I told you before, there's something seriously,
seriously
wrong here."
     "Settle down, Ronnie. Just tell me what happened."
     He took a deep breath to regain a portion of his composure, then began to tell his tale. "I was in the bedroom. I found the book of nursery rhymes right where you said it would be, but I didn't see any doll. I looked all over the room, but I couldn't find any trace of it.
     "I grabbed the book and started heading back when I saw a small figure in the hall outside the door. It was the doll—standing there in her little red dress, her white face covered with tiny cracks, her soulless eyes staring right through me.
     "I thought you were screwing with me—like you had put it there as a joke. I took a step toward it…" He paused. "And, I swear... the thing took a step toward me."
     As incredible as his words sounded, Sandra gave no reaction to his bizarre claim. "Go on," she said.
     "I slammed the door shut and held it closed. I actually said a prayer to try to make the thing go away. After a few minutes, Jake knocked on the door and I opened it to let him in. I checked the hallway, but it was empty. The doll was nowhere to be found." When he finished telling his story, he looked Sandra directly in the eye and said, "I didn't imagine it. I know what I saw."
     Sandra shot Jake a scolding look and said, "Where were you while all this was happening? You guys were supposed to stick together."
     "I know... I'm sorry. I was taking some thermal readings in the hall just outside the room and I found a cold spot. I tried to follow it to its source. I was moving down the hall and when I got a few yards from the end, something passed across the intersecting corridor ahead of me. It looked like a girl, wearing a long black dress. I rounded the corner, but there was no one there, and there was nowhere she could have gone. The air was freezing. My thermal gauge dropped ten degrees and I noticed the smell of perfume in the air. It was the same sickly-sweet fragrance we smelled before. I made a quick check of the rooms on either side of the hall, but they were all empty."