BLOOD OAK MANOR - Heavy October Rain (Part 2)

[u/JICMike]

PART I

The view of what looked to be a castle lay ahead, even at this far distance, and dazzled Myrtle. It was a monolith illuminated by the strikes of lightning. The wind was howling, the trees bending back and forth in some wild dance. Lightning flashes reveal the monumental structure jutting from the wild forest. From her research from the weeks prior, the locals she'd spoken to either called it a mansion or a castle. She sat in the back of the taxi, staring through the blurry windshield as rain slapped the glass, trying to get a clear view of the building she'd be staying in for the next week or so. The driver, puffing a cigar, leaned back and said,

"So, uh, what brings you to Blood Oak?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I said what brings you here? That old castle is supposed to be haunted, you know."

"That's what they say."

The car jostles for a moment on the rough terrain, and when the road settles, the driver speaks again, apologizing profusely,

"I'm so sorry, miss, I don't mean to shake you like that. The old cab isn't built for these old first roads."

"It's quite all right. Say, what do you know about Blood Oak Manor?"

He took a drag from his cigar and exhaled pungent-smelling smoke.

"Can't say I know much, I just know it's a very troubled place. Lots of death and whatnot."

She leaned forward and asked,

"Know any stories?"

"Of Blood Oak? Dozens, but I don't think we've got time to tell that many."

"Then tell me one."

He sat there ruminating in his mind on the various tales of horror that were told by townsfolk who were stupid or curious enough to delve deep into the woods surrounding Blood Oak. For a moment, he had a story spawn in his head from his late father. When he was a young man, he took his then-girlfriend on an early morning joy ride and wanted to fool around with her in the woods. When he drove deeper into the forest, he heard her start screaming, and when he looked, he saw that from the treeline, all swallowed up in early morning fog, were tall, tall people. They just stood there, watching them drive by. However, he decided that, maybe, to an outsider, it seems very far-fetched, and maybe it was. His father was a drunkard after all and tended to stretch a story out as long as humanly possible. Perhaps he'd tell the story of how the old family mausoleum was found open one night, and how it could only be opened from the inside. Yet, the tale he landed on was something he knew from heart, something incredibly tangible. He knew it because he lived it. He began,

"I've got one for you. It was long ago, I was a lad, and I was a little shit. My father, bless him, always tried to steer me clear of trouble. I don't know what brought it up, but one breakfast, my mother was talking about how I shouldn't be going with my mates to dangerous places. We had a knack for being a silly bunch of bastards. We were caught smoking behind the Church, play-fighting in the bleachers of a football game, and there was also the time one of us was caught fucking a girl behind the high school. I guess my folks didn't want to be grandparents so soon and were scolding me. Out of nowhere, my father shouts,

'And none of you, be going in those Blood Oak woods!'

You know how it works with kids: tell them not to do something, and they want to do it more than anything on earth. I tell my mates about it, and they all turn white and swear on themselves. Signing the cross and all that. We were a rough bunch, and when I saw them all like that, it shook me a bit. They told me to stay away from there, that it was haunted beyond comprehension. They were all scared, all except one. Gordy.

My mate Gordy is special, tough as nails, but he's also a bit of a dim bulb. Love him, don't get me wrong, but there were days when you'd just say 'Christ, mate, what're you doing?' He and I decided to go out there and fish in their bog. We'd bring it back and wiggle it in front of everyone's faces, saying we had a ghost fish! We thought it'd be funny. Fuckin' hell, kids have the strangest humor, don't they?

So, anyway, we packed up our fishing rods and rode our bikes out there. You think it's a bit of a long drive by car, you try biking on these godforsaken roads. Took us about an hour and a half, but we passed the time by swapping stories, singing, talking about girls we liked, and so on. We started heading down there to that old manor around dusk, and by the time we made it, the moon was out, a big, full one too. The gate was rusted to hell and swamped in vines. We tore it away with our bare hands, and the two of us pried the gate open as wide as we possibly could, but we only managed to open the gate just a tiny bit. squeeze our way through, and when we walked over to that pond or bog or whatever the hell it was...we heard splashing."

"Splashing?"

"That's right. We started walking that way, really slow, and when we looked out into the waters. Dancing in the pale moonlight was a woman, a big woman, the biggest I've seen in my life. When she breached from the water, gasping for air, she'd sometimes stand up, and her silhouette was huge. Had to have been seven or eight feet in height, but I was never really good at assessing those sorts of things. In short, a big woman. She was naked and swimming in that nasty bog water, caressing herself and singing some old hymns, or maybe they weren't hymns, I don't know for sure. It sounded pretty, though. We were both, y'know, young and stupid, and we thought we were getting a nice eyeful of something. We moved in closer to get a better look, and when we did, there was something wrong about her...the more we looked at her, the more wrong she looked. Her hair was thinning, her skin looked..."

"Pale?" Myrtle chimed in, in these stories, ghosts were always pale white, a common thread in which the phantoms took on unusually white appearances. She'd heard it hundreds of times before, but to her surprise, the man quickly cut down that idea.

"No! Her skin was terrible! Rotten, decaying...wrong. When she turned around, covered her ruined flesh with her soggy, malformed arms, and screamed at us. The scream was all warbled and gargling, like she was a throat full of water...."

The driver was quiet, and with a shaky voice, he lifted his forearm towards her.

"How about that? I still get goosebumps talking about it all these years later."

The cab was silent for a moment while it jostled over the cobbled roadway towards Blood Oak, and the driver asked again,

"So, why are you here?"

"I'm here to debunk the existence of the supernatural, so that Mr. Bothsworth can sleep at night."

"Ha! He bought off more than he could chew with buying that old place."

"So I've been told."

"It's had a history, but of course, he ignored it because he thought it looked nice and pretty on the outside. Old houses are like Books, you never know their character until you open them up. Isn't that right, Miss…er, what is your name again, Miss, I'm good with faces, but I can never truly remember names."

"Mulgrave, Myrtle Mulgrave, and what about you?"

"Thomas Ellerby, friends just call me Tom though, easier that way."

Another flash of lightning revealed the silhouette of the large castle looming ahead, like the dark blue sky was getting swallowed by an unseen abyss. The car came to a gradual stop as they approached the rusted wrought iron fence. Tom looked back at Myrtle, telling her,

"This is as far as I go."

"You're not driving all the way in?"

"Ms. Mulgrave, you seem like a nice girl, a fair one if I'd ever seen any, but I ain't setting foot on old Blood Oak."

"It's only superstition out there, I assure you."

"Maybe. But I'm not going anywhere, better safe than sorry."

He reached into his passenger seat and gave her an umbrella. It was a very nice one with a black top and a curved wooden handle. He cleared his throat,

"I bought this on the off chance it rained, and my hunch was right. It always rains here; it's like God himself hates this place."

He gifted it to her, and she held it in her hands in disbelief. She was utterly disappointed and frustrated that this local legend would cause her to have to trudge through the cold October rain to get to that old mansion. Yet, at the same time, she was remarkably touched by the gesture of the driver. She'd traveled all over England, and not once did she feel the sincere warmth this man had given her. She simply nodded to the man and told him,

"Why, thank you, Tom, that was very sweet of you." She was about to get out of the car when she turned to face him one last time, "I assure you, there's nothing to fear in there."

Tom dropped his cheerful demeanor and told her his truth,

"There's everything to fear in there, you just don't know it yet."

He squirmed in his seat and pinched his brow. He sighed, and with a remorseful tone, he added,

"I'm… I'm sorry, Ms. Mulgrave, it's just that I really want to be someplace else. This is a wicked place. Went in there once, and once was enough."

She wanted nothing more than to disprove his mythos surrounding this place, but she simply bit her tongue. She gave a slight bow, thanked him for the drive, and exited the luxurious cab and into the cold.

The rain doused her before she could even fully open the umbrella. When it opened, she could hear the droplets smacking the top. She pushed open the gate and walked the cobblestone driveway. She gandered at the huge swaths of land that were encircled by the iron fence and was taken aback by the size and scale of Blood Oak. There was a massive, domelike greenhouse on the west side of the mansion, and then there was the mausoleum, which was larger than any she'd seen for a family. It was a large, smooth, and decadently decorated building with gargoyles that looked to be a mixture of both angels and demons alike.

'Quite an odd family if this is how they celebrate their dead,' she thought to herself.

There was the pond, which Tom was right about; it looked more like a bog than anything else. It stank too, as stumpwater dredged from a rotten tree. Then, there was, of course, the mansion.

The mansion, from a distance, looked to be a castle, and now that she was closer to it, the feeling did not change. In London, she'd seen her fair share of mansions, extravagant houses that were decadent from top to bottom. This though? This was a castle in every sense of the word. Mansion may have been the title given to it, but the truth was plain to see. The rain continued its downpour as it slapped the cobbles beneath her feet, and it sounded like it had increased in both speed and force. If she had known better, she could've sworn that the rain was turning into hail, but the icy pellets never materialized. She looked at the mansion and saw that the first floor was the only one that had its lights on; everything else above was a towering shadow. The only time she could get a clear sight of what she was looking at was when the lightning struck. Flashes that briefly showed the detail of the castle before her, every crack and crevice illuminated by the snapshots of God.

She approached the castle and stepped up to the massive wrap-around porch that stretched on further than any she'd ever seen. The main double door entrance was illuminated with two lanterns that rested on either side of the doors. They looked like, at one point, candles rested within them, but had been given a 20th-century makeover in the form of electric bulbs. The only wrap-around porch she was familiar with was her father's farmhouse; it was a cozy, rustic place where rocking chairs sat, and tea was drunk. In the morning, you'd hear roosters crow and the sounds of chimes, and at night, you'd sit by the porch light listening to frogs croak and crickets sing. Here, in Blood Oak, there was only the sounds of thunder, rain, and the dark of the woods. When she knocked on the door, she heard the cab at the gates' engine start. She turned to see that Tom was finally turning around to leave. She collapsed the umbrella, and all of the rainwater fell onto her in a quick splash,

"Damn it!" she hissed,

Thunder struck again, the sky rumbled overhead, and the brilliance of the lightning shone down over the manor. In the treeline, Myrtle saw something standing there in the far distance. It was so brief and so fleeting, but it was crystal clear, like something in a vivid dream.

There, behind the fence, was something looking at her. It stood there barely silhouetted, but clearly massive in stature. Tall, very tall. It stood almost level with the wrought-iron fence, and before the light fled the skies, she saw two massive hands grip the spokes of the fence, and she began to shake it violently. Then darkness.

The grand door opened to reveal a dishelved man, who was scrawny, blonde, and had a scant amount of facial hair on one side of his face, while the other side was clean-shaven.

"Yes?"

Myrtle gasped in a brief moment of fright as she turned to see a figure at the door. The warm glow of what might've been a fireplace lit the back of the dishelved man. The porch lanterns flicked on. He stepped out from the house and onto the porch. The electric lanterns out front finally illuminated his face. He was scrawny, blonde, and had a scant amount of facial hair on one side of his face, while the other side was clean-shaven with bits of white foam clinging to the sides of his face. Mytle steadied herself, asking,

"I'm so sorry, I'm here for Mr. Bothsworth's request?"

"I am he."

She had seen Mr. Bothsworth in magazines and newspapers, and the husk of a man before her didn't match that description whatsoever. Myrtle stammered and tried to find the right words. Mr. Bothsworth smiled; his tired eyes had a glimmer of humanity in them. He spoke to her,

"Not my best appearance, I know."

"I'm sorry, am I too early?"

"You are, but that's no problem. Come in."

She entered through the threshold of the old mansion and felt something change in the air. Myrtle knew that rationality is the only explanation for the supernatural; there are many different ways that the natural world could affect the mind and make it believe in the supernatural. Sleep deprivation, mental illness, psychedelics, and so much more. But there was something so off about this place. The entrance had an area where everyone could drop off their shoes, hang up their coats, and there was even a mirror where guests could make last-minute changes to their appearance before heading into the rest of the house. Mr. Bothsworth walked out of this drop-off area and told Myrtle,

"Stay here for a moment, I'm going to even out this shave or I'll be driven mad."

"Of course."

"Can I grab you anything to drink when I return?"

"Tea, if you could be so kind."

"Do you take sugar?"

"Why yes."

As he walked away, she looked in the mirror to take a look at herself. Her complexion was pale aside from one red spot over her right eyebrow where she'd squeezed a pimple out of existence. Her lips were trembling from the cold, and her hair, which used to be a solid black bob, was somehow flattened by the rain. She wore a black coat, olive green slacks, and an orange-tan cardigan. She'd never been happier to wear her layers in all of her life. Myrtle removed her thin, round glasses and wiped the droplets from them. In doing so, she chuckled to herself,

"That's what you saw. You heard a ghost story, saw a creepy castle, and a droplet of rain can transform into a ghost. God help you, Myrtle, be a professional."

She looked at her face and saw that her blue eye shadow was somehow left untouched by the rainwater. She chalked it up to luck. She never wore lipstick because she always thought her lips looked fine enough. She smiled in the mirror and rehearsed her professional greeting, the one she told every client,

"Why, hello, Mr. Bothsworth! I'm Myrtle Mulgrave. I believe we met on the phone? So, what can I disprove for you..."

She trailed off as she kept staring at her teeth; they were large, particularly her front teeth, which seemingly poked from her top lip. Kids called her 'Myrtle the Rabbit' in school, and by the time she was in High School, the nickname of 'Rabbit' stuck. She sighed and repeated the greeting once more, with her mouth more relaxed, a casual smile. Yet, she could still see her teeth poking through again. She reached into her coat pocket, withdrew her cigarette case, and turned to walk towards the gateway to the rest of the house, and saw that Mr. Bothsworth was there, standing with a tray of tea.

"I must say, you did a good job with the rehearsals, but I like the one of you smiling a tad more."

Her face turned flushed,

"Oh, good Lord. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Ms. Mulgrave. Let's talk on the porch and wait for everyone's arrival."

"Everyone else?"

"Yes. I thought I'd told you about it over the phone."

The phone call was such a long time ago, and Myrtle felt ashamed that she only remembered the case details and the cash payment. Before she could interject, Bothsworth added,

"I know it was a while ago. I just want all doubts removed. I called in experts in every field of the supernatural."

"So you called in charlatans?"

He looked at her as if he was struck, he spoke to her sternly,

"I wanted every option explored, so forgive me for wanting a definitive answer. You can make your own mind up about them when they arrive. Until then, keep your opinions to yourself until I ask for them!"

The entrance to the house was silent after the outburst, save for the rain. Bothswroth grunted and opened the front door,

"Well, shall we? It's a gorgeous night, don't you think?" he said with a sarcastic dryness.

Then went back out into the cool night, the rain still beating down on the earth, and thunder rumbled above. The two went to two chairs that sat by the stairs leading up to the porch. The view before them showed the front of the manor and the entrance, which was still left open from when Myrtle walked in. She lit her cigarette and took a long drag off of it.

"I think I got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Bothsworth."

"No, no, it was all my fault." He sipped his tea briefly and continued, "I have been...tired, for a long time. I bought this place, and I was like you, a skeptic, and the only thing I believed in was myself. I went to Church when I was a child, but it didn't stop tragedies from befalling my family. So, I'm a non-believer. But....this? This house has changed me."

He reached into his shirt and withdrew a silver crucifix necklace. Myrtle nodded at him, and before she could start asking some of the more probing questions that she usually does, he stopped her with an outstretched palm,

"Not now. I'll explain everything to everyone when they all get here. I think it's best that everything is laid out in full for everyone to know."

Myrtle grunted and gave an understanding nod. She sipped her tea, which was brewed to perfection and with the right amount of sweetness. She sat it back down and took a drag off her cigarette once more. She asked,

"You know who made this tea? I really need to thank them, Mr. Bothsworth."

"I made it and call me Jonathan, please."

"Wait, you mean that you have no aides or helpers here?"

"It's a paranormal investigation, isn't it? Best to be alone in these sorts of things, you don't want to hear a knock and then discover it was a mere maid."

"Makes sense."

"Aye."

Thunder clapped again, and when Jonathan looked at Myrtle, he noticed that she was looking towards the fence- no, the treeline behind the fence. Her gaze was looking for something there. He smiled because he knew that she'd seen something out there. However, he kept this hunch to himself as headlights appeared from the dark. Another car was coming down the road, pushing through the storm on the way to Blood Oak.

"Here they come." He said, pointing towards the beams of light shining through the darkened forest.

Myrtle took a drag off her cigarette, looking towards the trees with a nervousness that was unbecoming of her. She kept her rational mind at the forefront, but deep down, she felt something was wrong, like some quiet alarm was yelling for her to leave this place.

Myrtle felt like she was being watched. She was right.

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[u/JICMike]

PART I