Mystery at the Mansion

--This is for Monday, May 28th, 2012

Prompt: He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw…

                As Stephen sat in the parlor waiting to hear back from the detective, he reminisced about how he came to buy this house. He had been getting ready to leave work about a month ago, when his supervisor called him in. Stephen smiled as he remembered how worried he had been about the meeting. But the meeting hadn’t been bad news at all; instead his supervisor informed him that he got a promotion and with it came a fine raise.

                Pleased to hear that all his hard work was paying off, Stephen had decided that it was time he buy himself a house and think about settling down. He looked at a few that he liked, but none of them compared to the colonial mansion he fell in love with. After going back and forth with the owners, they finally accepted his generous offer and Stephen was able to close the deal on his new house. It was time for him to set to work making plans for the move.

                Two weeks later he handed over his apartment keys to the new tenants, and rented a hotel room for the night. He had hired movers, and had to wait until they finished moving all his stuff into the house and setting it up for him. That night Stephen had vague dreams of himself living in the mansion. He slept fitfully as the dreams woke him up with a sense of apprehension. He had never been one to buy into supernatural occurrences of any kind, so he would just shake off the feelings, roll over and go back to sleep each time.

                The next day Stephen checked out of the hotel, and drove out to the country where the house was. As he drove, he thought about how nice it would be to get away from the bustle of the city. It wasn’t a long drive, and as Stephen went up the little lane to the house, he noticed the movers’ truck was gone already. He walked up the steps to the large front porch and crossed it to the door.

                Almost giddy with excitement, Stephen turned the key in the lock and opened the door. But to his horror he saw blood stained handprints all over the walls. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, thinking maybe he was dreaming or seeing things. But every time he opened them again, the stains were still there. He left his overnight bag by the door and began walking through the rooms. They were all the same, with blood spatters everywhere. Oddly though, there were no stains on any of his furniture or boxes. There weren’t any footprints, and no bodies left behind, upstairs or down. Stephen couldn’t even find a weapon.

                So Stephen went back downstairs, and grabbed his cell from the overnight bag he had left by the front door. He called the police station and reported what he had found upon coming to the house. He was instructed not to enter the house again until an officer arrived, so after he hung up with the station, he sat in his car to wait. His skin crawled with chills and goose bumps as he looked at the house. He wondered all kinds of things. What happened? When did it happen? If the movers had entered and saw this, why didn’t they phone him? His head swam and he closed his eyes turning his head away.

                Half an hour passed and finally he heard a car coming up the lane to the house. Stephen opened his eyes to watch the end of the drive through the trees, but decided to stay in his car until he was sure it was an officer. As the car drew nearer, he saw the police markings on it and stepped out of his car to greet the officer. They spoke briefly before the officer went to see the inside of the house for himself. He wasn’t inside long before Stephen heard him calling on his radio for back up and forensics.

                The place was crawling with all kinds of people for the rest of the day. Pictures and samples were taken. Questions were asked. Stephen called the moving company he had used and asked them about it. Everything had been normal when they were there, but they were called in for questioning anyway. The previous owners, who had sold the house to Stephen were questioned as well, and reported no strange occurrences other than the normal trick of the mind and house settling noises. The woods around the house were searched, but nothing was found there either.

                As everyone was getting ready to leave for the night, Stephen decided he was going to stay in a hotel again. He would come back in the morning to let the cleaning crew in. That night, he didn’t sleep at all. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was blood stained handprints everywhere. For hours he tossed and turned trying to sleep. At one point he even turned on the television as a distraction. It didn’t help.

                As the sky turned grey with the light of dawn, Stephen rose and took a cold shower. After eating a bowl of cereal, he packed up his bag once more, and drove back out to his mansion. No one was there yet and he debated on waiting for them, or not. He decided not to wait and headed up the front steps. His hand trembled as he reached to unlock the door. Images from the day before flashed in his mind. Slowly he turned the doorknob and, with his eyes shut, pushed the door open.

                He gave a long sigh, stepped just inside the door, and opened his eyes. Stephen couldn’t believe it, everything was spotless. No stains, no handprints, there was nothing. He called the station, and asked if the cleaning crew had worked on it over night. When asked why, he explained to them what he found when he arrived there not half an hour ago. As he was talking he hears cars on the lane again, and turned to see a cleaning crew escorted by an officer.

                The house was inspected thoroughly and more samples were taken. No one could figure out what had happened. The detective who had been there the day before assured Stephen that they would be in touch with the results of the samples. But Stephen wasn’t sure if he should stay there yet. After reassurances from the cleaning crew and authorities, he decided to phone a friend to come stay with him at the house.

                Over the next couple of weeks, as Stephen and his friend unpacked all of his things and began minor renovations, there were no more blood stains found. However, they often found items had been moved. Sometimes things would just vanish completely. None of it could be explained, and he could tell the people at the police station were beginning to think him crazy when he would call to report these things to the detective.

                So Stephen had made one last attempt to contact the detective, and now sat in the parlor waiting for his call to be returned. He had been lost deep in thought when the phone did ring, and it startled him out of the memories. Grabbing the phone, he answered and gave a weak smile as he heard the detective’s voice on the other end. They spoke briefly, and Stephen was informed no progress had been made, and the case was being closed. The detective ended the conversation with one piece of advice. If Stephen still really wanted to know what had happened, then he should contact a paranormal investigator…

Friends; Despite The Fighting

Prompt: Write about something ugly — war, fear, hate, cruelty — but find the beauty (silver lining) in it.

         

            This is my memoir of how I met my best friend, and how the fear and fighting were not even enough to keep our friendship from growing strong. There were times when it seemed it might, but we were always able to work past those.                

                                                     ***

Growing up, there isn’t a time I can remember when my village, Nortvale, was not feuding with the neighboring village, Sinisville. The Elders of each village banned travel and trade between the villages. The fighting had been going on so long, that by that time I’m not sure anyone even remembered how it all started anymore. But in school they taught us it was because the people of Sinisville were greedy and tried to steal our farmlands long ago.

                I remember how, as a child, I loved to sneak past the village guards and play in the surrounding fields.  The Elders had warned all parents to watch their children and not let them out of the village alone; for fear that they might be captured by Sinisville. At first I stayed close to Nortvale when I played, but it wasn’t long before I needed more adventure in my outings. Every day I explored farther and farther away from the village; walking all the way around it as far away as I dared sometimes.

                One day I had ventured farther away than I ever had before, and came across a clearing in the field. As I entered the little clearing, I was surprised when I saw another child sitting there playing. The boy looked to be around the same age as me as I watched him. He didn’t notice me though, so I walked a little closer and said, “Hello.” My unexpected presence caused the boy to jump up with a startled gasp. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you.” I said with a weak smile.

                He just stood there watching me for a while. Not saying anything, but not turning to leave either. As the silence and the piercing gaze began to reach an uncomfortable level, he finally said “Who are you?”

                I relaxed a little and sat down where I was. It had been a long walk from Nortvale that afternoon. I picked at the spear grass near me, looked up at him and replied, “My name is Jonas.” Then I just sat there playing with the little spears of grass as if I had forgotten he was even there.

                After a while, he sat down and began to pick at the grass as well. Every once in a while he would let his gaze venture to where I sat, as if he wanted to make sure I was still there. I ignored the looks and started folding the grass into spear people. Finally he gave an annoyed sigh and asked, “Well, aren’t you even gonna ask my name as well?”

                I looked up from what I was doing, and tried not to grin. “I hadn’t planned on it. I figured you would tell me when you were ready.” Once again I went back to working on my spear grass people. From the corner of my eye, I saw his face go a little red and had to fight not to laugh.

                The boy stood up then, dusted himself off and came over to where I sat. He gave a feeble smile, held his hand out to me and said, “They call me Mikey.”

                I took his hand with a grin and gave it a little shake. “So what are you doing way out here?” I asked as he sat down across from me. Before he could answer, I went on, “I snuck past the guards in my village so I could come explore.”

                He looked at me with a raised eyebrow for a moment, then said “I got tired of all the other kids from my village picking on me. So I waited till the watchman dozed off and just walked past him.” He picked up one of my spear grass people and looked at it. “How’d you do this?”

                There was a silent acknowledgement between us that we shouldn’t be talking. But there was also a silent acknowledgement that neither of us cared. So I picked more spear grass and began to show him how I had done it.

                We spent the entire afternoon making spear grass armies, fighting mock battles of our villages. But the sky began to grow pale with the evening, and both our stomachs growled with hunger. I stood, dusted myself off, and walked to the edge of the clearing I had entered at. I looked back to see Mikey walking across to his original side and called out “Meet ya here tomorrow?” He grinned big and nodded before disappearing into the crop.

                                                           ***

                Our friendship went on like that even as we grew older. It seemed the more our two villages fought, the closer friends we became. Sometimes we would argue whose village was right and whose wasn’t, but always when the next day came, it didn’t matter anymore. When I was old enough, I chose to leave Nortvale. I wanted to travel the world and have grand adventures. I stopped off in Sinisville first, claiming to be from a different village. The next day Mikey and I set out and haven’t been back since.