Welcome to Gabriel Atanbiyi Blog: "The Mystery of Winstead Manor"

Thursday 25 May 2017

"The Mystery of Winstead Manor"

"It's the house Stephen. It's there, just waiting. When the darkness sets in you can feel that something behind you; to hear it, feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around there's nothing there...nothing at all, just the darkness and the terrible silence of feeling trapped in your own nightmare," looking up into his eyes. "You go on...see if you can solve this ghoulish tragedy on your own. See if you survive," turning towards the cobblestone path only to look back. "Perhaps we will meet again..." disappearing into the foggy mist of the night.

I often wondered about Stephen, even though I did return to the house later. Of course I made several inquiries, all of which turned out to be empty words of senseless people who knew nothing of our past. I do remember one woman who said he had buried himself in the house, still wandering the halls. She was nothing, just another part of a rancid species clinging to yesterday's tragedies. Yet, I needed to know...a way to dig through time...try to grasp those horrors which had blooded the walls of that house for over a century. I still felt close, often sensing myself still wandering those blooded halls. Maybe it was waiting for me to dare that path towards the door again; perhaps to turn time into a whirlwind of empty shadows that once walked the halls of Winstead Manor.

A man crossed my path, turning around at the rusted iron gate which led into the cobblestone path, staring at me. It was old Mr. Arlington, the groundskeeper.
"Private property," that's all he said. I introduced myself. He thought for a moment then looked at me; "Oh yes, seems like yesterday."

"Even with his deep set of wrinkles weathered by time, and his blind left eye didn't interfer with time. I told him he had a good memory. He asked me what I wanted. I only said three words..."To find out," looking deep into his eyes.

"Thought you knew," smiling, even chucking as he walked on.

The key was still there, hidden under an old stone with a carved out hole to keep it secure. It was rusty, yet turned the weathered lock in two strokes. It cracked open, almost as one was opening a long lost mussoleim slowly moving on it's hinges into the room. I closed the massive oak door behind me. I looked through the stale air filled with dust, walking over rotten old pieces of wood and decayed plaster scattered everywhere. There were three flights of stairs I had to climb to reach the heart of the house - old lady Winstead's bedroom where it all began. The pieces of her were still there; bones of course. Yet for some unknown reason, that room was where it still roamed, unnoticed, waiting for the right moment.

I began my assent up three flights of stairs. Once at the top my eyes strained through the rancid air mixed with falling dust. At the end of the hallway I heard a terrible growl. Then, like a thunderous ripple, the giant stone archways began to crumble in front of me, falling like dominoes shattering the floors and walls as they fell into each other.

I quickly grabbed the stairway post, glancing down as the stairs cracked into finite pieces falling deep into the darkness below.

I turned back towards the end of the collapsed hallway. There at the end it stood; drooling and grumbling with fierce red eyes staring me down through the rubble. I instantly turned my flashlight towards the end of the hallway, the light crawling through the smoke and falling dust. "No! It can't be!" I let out a blood thirsty scream. There standing at the end of the hallway was a mirror image of myself..."

It must have been later when they shackled me in irons dragging me across the floor out into the courtyard. Stephen was standing over me glaring down into my eyes. "Did you really think I would have let you go on? Allow you to continue to bloody hundreds of souls into ripped and scattered pieces? No my dear. Your time is over," kneeling down close to me holding a long knife. "I'm gonna hang you up in my meat locker and skin you alive, then cut that evil heart out. Scream all you like...but I hardly think anyone will hear you," standing up and motioning to the driver of an old carriage. "Take her to my house. I'll take care of her there."

"But Sir, the Magistrate said to bring her in," the driver approaching.

"Silence!" Reaching into his pocket pulling out four Shillings. Now take her if you want to save your head," throwing the money at his feet.

"Aye Sir," tossing a chain across his shoulder and dragging her to the carriage.

"We're done here," Stephen pausing for a moment then looking back. A hand appeared in the third floor window closing a blood stained curtain. Stephen chuckled to himself knowing he had control now; then regaining his posture, walked towards his carriage which was waiting.

- Story by Abbie Stewart