I inherited a house in Vermont from a relative I hardly knew. He was my third cousin according to the probate documents. I don’t know why he left me a house.
I have vague memories of a man who was already ancient when I met him as a child. White hair, pale eyes, and skin like spoiled milk. He smelled of dust and old people and faintly of cheese.
Despite a master’s degree, I was having a hard time keeping a job in education, so a change of scene sounded like the break I needed to straighten out my life. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m John Lawrence, age 31, all around good guy. I’d like to say I have an old and noble family lineage, but that would be a lie. We’ve scrabbled all our lives to be middle class.
I took my old beater up to the land of green mountains, finally arriving in Waterbury Center, near where the old state hospital is. Rumor has it that the complex is haunted by ghosts in underground tunnels, but I don’t believe in ghosts. Or UFO’S or that alien nonsense.
I got to the house at sunset on a fall day with the leaves glowing gold and red and the air scented with woodsmoke. I walked up the rutted dirt path to the lopsided porch creaking in the chill wind. It was a classic Victorian, ripe for an expensive restoration. I expected bats to fly out from the eaves.
I decided to explore a bit before dinner and bed. The electricity had been turned on for my arrival and a cord of wood stacked for the wood stove. I climbed the creaking stairs to the third floor attics, approving of the lack of dust and the fine old wood and plaster construction. I worked my way back down to the first floor, admiring the antiques, the art, and the curious collection of insects mounted in various frames throughout. The insects were on every wall: grasshoppers, spiders, dragonflies. The kitchen was dated, but usable. As I brewed coffee, I noticed a door half hidden in the back wall.
Ah, the stairs to the cellar. I looked down into the darkness of musty earth and found the light switch. The stairs were sturdy, if steep.
I wandered half crouched through the low ceilinged cavern, noting the old farm machinery, and cast offs from a hundred years of living in the same place.
I was particularly fascinated by a set up of toy soldiers. I reached for one when the lights cut out. A buzzing filled my ears and darkness blinded me.
I kept my head and fumbled around, finally seeing the faint glow from the top of the stairs. I hurried up, more shaken than I’d like to admit from my experience in that earthen cellar. My coffee was ready, but my nerves were buzzing. It was louder here …
The headline read, “Skeleton Found in Kitchen of Abandoned Mansion by Local Teens.”
MercyJ Writes 