The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror (13 page)

     Sandra reached toward the ghostly vapor, but before she could touch it, the mist drifted off toward the outer wall. It stopped before a set of double doors at the rear of the balcony then faded from sight.
     "Follow it," Sandra said.
     Jake opened the balcony doors, and as he did, we caught sight of the ghostly mist once more, slowly floating along down the second floor hallway.
     Sandra started after it, whispering into her microphone. "A spectral mist seems to dance through the cobweb-strewn corridors."
     We trailed a few steps behind the eerie vapor as it slowly led us down a long hallway lined with portraits. When it neared the end of the hall, it dissolved into the surrounding shadows.
     "That was… amazing," Jake exclaimed. "What do you think it was? An apparition—or possibly ectoplasmic residue?"
     "It doesn't matter," Ronnie replied. "I got some great shots of it, whatever it was. Once these pictures are developed, we'll have genuine photographic proof of a paranormal entity. Do you know what that means? This will be groundbreaking."
     "You still won't convince the die-hard skeptics," Sandra added, looking around curiously. "Does anyone else smell that? It's kind of sweet, like flowers or perfume."
     Although its source was a mystery, the aroma was undeniable. The four of us turned our heads to face various directions, inhaling deeply as we tried to identify the unknown fragrance that lingered in the air.
     "It's lavender," I said at last, recognizing the scent from my youth.
     "Interesting," Sandra uttered beneath her breath.
     "What do you think it means?" I asked.
     She glanced around the corridor, scanning the paintings that surrounded us. "I think something in this house is trying to communicate with us. I think it led us here for a reason."
     As we stood amidst the portraits that lined the hall, the somber faces of elderly men scowled from the shadows of pitch black canvases, and beautiful women, each with a similar melancholy expression, gazed out from beneath veils of cobwebs and dust. Sandra stopped before the painting of a middle-aged man with a stern cast to his dark eyes. A bronze plaque set into the bottom of the frame was inscribed with the name "Damon Darklore." She stood for a long while, intently staring at the portrait as if she were searching his rigid face for a clue to resolving the dark mysteries of the mansion.
     Ronnie came up beside her and squinted at the name plaque below the painting. "So, this was the last owner of Darklore Manor, eh? He doesn't look too friendly."
     Without taking her eyes off the painting, Sandra replied, "According to the legend, he and his wife and daughter just disappeared one night twenty-six years ago and the mansion has stood abandoned ever since."
     Ronnie lowered his voice. "I gotta tell you, Sandy, I get a bad vibe from this place. There's something very wrong here. If I can sense it, I know you can, too."
     "I know. I felt it as soon as I stepped through the entrance gates. The energy is even stronger inside the house. It's heavy, and oppressive. I can feel its weight bearing down on me. There's definitely a presence here, and it's not just ghosts—there's something else, something ancient and malevolent."
     As Sandra and Ron continued their discussion, my attention was suddenly drawn to a door at the end of the hall and I felt strangely compelled to investigate the chamber. I cautiously made my way to the doorway and peeked inside to discover what seemed to be a child's room. A plush single bed was framed by an exquisite hand-carved headboard adorned with Celtic knotwork. Dark velvet curtains were drawn closed over the windows, effectively blocking any shred of sunlight from entering the room. Paintings of ravens hung on either side of an ornate mirror attached to a mahogany vanity table.
     I stepped inside the room to examine things more closely. A small perfume bottle rested on the vanity, covered in dust. I lifted the crystal stopper and raised the bottle to my nose but could barely detect a trace of the original scent in the decades-old mixture. I wiped the dust off the label to reveal that the fragrance it held was lavender. As I replaced the bottle on the vanity, I noticed an odd bare spot in the dust beside it. An oval shape on the counter top, roughly six inches wide, seemed to betray the fact that something had recently been removed from the spot.
     As I stood contemplating the odd impression, a chill swept down my spine, and I felt the eerie sensation that I wasn't alone in the room. I glanced around the dim chamber, but there was no one there. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of two small eyes staring at me from beneath a thick layer of cobwebs across the room. At first I was somewhat startled by the sight of the small figure that sat on the dresser, silently watching me, but as I slowly crept toward it, I could see that it was merely a child's doll, fashioned in the likeness of a little girl. Its face held an expression of sorrow and its unblinking eyes glistened with an eerie red glow as they reflected the light of my flashlight. Brushing aside the cobwebs, I examined it closer. It was draped in a red velvet dress and its porcelain face and hands were covered with a network of fine cracks. The doll's black hair was twisted into braids that were tied off with scarlet ribbons to match her dress.
     "Sandra," I called out, "come in here."
     Within seconds she was at the door. "What did you find?"
     "Take a look at this," I said, holding my flashlight over the forsaken toy.
     She stepped closer to get a better look at it. The doll's red eyes seemed to glare at us, as if there were some measure of consciousness lurking behind them. Neither one of us touched it as we examined it.
     "Didn't you tell me you had a dream about a little girl with white skin who was wearing a red dress?" I asked.
     "That's right," she said, "but in the dream, she was alive."
     Sandra scanned the dresser with her flashlight beam. A book of nursery rhymes rested on the dresser beside the doll. She picked it up and flipped though its dusty pages to where a scarlet bookmark held a page with a handwritten poem.
     Sandra studied the short verse intently then switched her microphone on to record her findings. "A child's poem written in a book of nursery rhymes harbors a sinister invocation." She paused for a moment, then began to read the verse aloud.
     Sandman, come to me tonight,
     Comfort me till morning light—
     As darkness falls and shadows loom,
     I bid you welcome to my room—
     Rest your bones beside my bed,
     Lay your hands upon my head—
     Cast your spell of slumber deep,
     And stay beside me as I sleep—
     If I should die before I wake,
     I grant to you my soul to take—
     As she recited the final words of the macabre poem, an eerie melody broke the deathly silence. The faint chimes of a music box echoed from some distant part of the house. The ghostly refrain drew us out into the hallway where Ronnie and Jake were standing. Ronnie pointed down the main stairway, letting us know that the music was coming from somewhere on the first floor.
     Sandra had left her microphone on to record what we were hearing and as she stood at the top of the staircase she added a bit of commentary. "From somewhere in the distance, a music box plays a haunting refrain."
     We quietly made our way down the stairs and followed the hypnotic melody as it drew us toward the south corridor. The ghostly music led us through the tall archway and past the dining room. With each step we took, the chimes seemed to be slowing, as if the music box were winding down. As silently as possible, we approached a door near the far end of the hall. The eerie melody, which had slowed to a crawl, seemed to be emanating from inside the room. Sandra took hold of the handle and threw open the door, and as she did, the music stopped.
     We stood in the doorway of a magnificent private library, awestruck and spellbound within the deathly hush. Tall bookcases were built into the oak-paneled walls and lavish works of art were displayed prominently throughout the chamber.
     Sandra stepped inside the room, and as she did, she resumed her audio narrative. "The ghostly melody has led us to a library where the walls are lined with arcane relics and shelves of dusty books."
     Heavy drapes covered the windows, muffling the sounds of the ongoing downpour and filtering the violent lightning flashes to a subdued flicker. A life-size statue of the goddess Athena stood on a marble pedestal just inside the chamber door. Her face was masked beneath an ancient helmet and her bronze shield bore the loathsome head of the gorgon, Medusa.
     Ronnie snapped a quick photo of the imposing chamber before setting foot across the threshold. After a moment of hesitation, he followed Sandra into the shadowy domain with Jake and myself trailing a few steps behind. The library seemed more like the grand showroom of a museum than a simple repository for books. Winged gargoyles leered down from gothic sconces set into the four corners of the room. Their monstrous faces were twisted into ferocious snarls, creating a sense of foreboding menace as they silently watched over the chamber. A majestic grandfather clock stood behind a veil of cobwebs in an arched alcove to our left. Its golden pendulum hung deathly still and its hands stood frozen in time at precisely one minute before twelve. A large globe of the world was supported on a pedestal beside an antique desk, piled high with books. Medieval broadswords and battle axes hung prominently displayed on the dark paneled wall behind the desk, forming an intimidating backdrop.
     Near the center of the room, a leather sofa and matching chairs were arranged around a table in front of an ornate stone fireplace. A tall portrait depicting an elderly man wearing full Masonic regalia hung above the mantel. He stared down over the room like a ruthless monarch coldly surveying his conquered empire. There was little room for doubt that the painting portrayed the grand architect of Darklore Manor and all that had transpired within—the enigmatic Edmund Darklore.
     Other paintings depicted classic scenes from ancient mythology. Beautiful Valkyries rode horses through the sky, transporting fallen warriors to the halls of Valhalla, and voluptuous sirens beckoned seductively to ancient mariners on a turbulent sea. A large framed canvas chronicled Lucifer's fall from Heaven, depicting a battle between angels and demons in lavish detail.
     The shelves were filled with a treasury of rare books and strange artifacts from various cultures throughout history. A Mayan sundial rested on a stand surrounded by Native American totems, and jade dragons from the Orient shared a shelf with arcane relics from Tibet and India. A human skull covered with scrimshaw designs sat beside the sculpted effigy of the dark goddess Kali, and other pagan idols stared out from shadowy alcoves that lined the surrounding walls.
     At the far end of the room, a pair of obsidian statues depicting Egyptian gods stood on the central shelf of a tall bookcase.
     Sandra approached the sculptures, quietly studying them beneath her flashlight's glow. "Anubis and Osiris," she whispered, "the lords of the dead." A golden jewelry box, untouched by cobwebs, rested between the statues.
     Sandra pondered the curious scene. "This seems a little out of place, doesn't it?" She rested her fingertips on box's oval lid and closed her eyes, as if she were meditating upon it. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and gently lifted the jewelry box from its resting place. Examining it closely, she discovered a small key protruding from the base. She turned the key, twisting it round several times, then set the golden coffer back on the shelf and lifted the lid. The silence was broken once more as the eerie melody that had drawn us to the library began again.
     As the hypnotic chimes of the music box rang out, I noticed that the oval shape of the coffer matched the bare spot in the dust that I had seen in the bedroom upstairs.
     Sandra squinted at the bookcase in front of her. "So why did you bring us here?" she quietly mused, as if she were thinking out loud.
     She ran her fingers along the edge of the bookcase, where the tall shelf protruded slightly. Grabbing hold of the frame, she pulled it toward her and the entire bookcase creaked away from the wall, revealing a secret doorway hidden behind it.
     The concealed door was made entirely of bronze and a strange insignia adorned its tarnished center. The emblem showed a shield with crossed swords surrounded by an inscription that seemed to be written in Nordic runes. Sandra scanned the door with her flashlight, studying the engraved crest and as she did, I jotted the runic letters down in my notebook. Ronnie leaned in to photograph Sandra, capturing the moment as she stood before the mysterious barrier. She brushed her fingers over the tarnished surface until they came to rest upon a narrow slit cut into the center of the design.
     "It's a keyhole," she said.
     She quickly withdrew the front door key from her jacket pocket and tried it in the lock. She struggled as she attempted to twist it back and forth, but she couldn't turn it in either direction. Satisfied that the key didn't fit the lock, she slipped it back into her pocket and turned to Jake. "Do you think you can find a way to open this?"
     Jake examined the surrounding crevices, pushing on the door and knocking on various parts of the frame. After a few futile minutes he conceded. "There's no hinges on this side and the damn thing's solid as a rock. Unless we find the key that fits this lock, we're gonna need a bulldozer to get it open."
     "Where do you think it might lead?" I asked. "Maybe to a private study or den?"
     Sandra returned her gaze to the crossed swords and shield on the insignia. "When the sheriff mentioned the Thule Society, he referred to them as the 'Knights of Thule.' I think this might be the entrance to their meeting room."
     "Wasn't that supposed to be underground, in some sort of family burial crypt?" Ronnie asked.
     "Exactly," Sandra replied. "There must be a key to this door somewhere in this house. Let's see if we can find it."
     We turned our attention to investigating the library and over the course of the next hour we searched the numerous shelves and drawers looking for the elusive key, or any clue to its whereabouts. More than once Sandra seemed lost in a distant reverie as she examined several of the books and various other strange and dark wonders the room held.