Written 7 November 2023
She whisked up her shoulder length chestnut brown hair into a ponytail and lugged the medium size box of photo albums past her husband John for the attic in their new but old Tudor mansion at 76 Willow Grove Drive. Her great aunt, Agnes had recently passed and left them this home built in 1929. It was strange, she couldn’t remember ever meeting her Aunt Agnes, but had heard she wasn’t the friendliest woman to get along with. The house itself looked something out of Grey Gardens, it was indescribably, beautifully hideous. It was a standard Tudor Mansion of course, white with brown wooden beams stripped across with decaying moss covering most of the home, boarded windows and a hole in the right wing roof.
They’d spent the last few hours driving from Atlanta to Connecticut, where John would commute by train to NYC for his new job as senior marketing director of Lord & Taylor. She wasn’t much into fashion, and neither was John, but the money was good, and it meant they could finally start the family they so longed for. ‘John, can you please grab the boxes with books in them and put them in the office near the parlor?’
‘Sure, babe,’ he replied, planting a kiss in the middle of her forehead.
‘What should we have for dinner?’
‘I have to head into town for some tools and cleaning supplies. How about I get some takeaway? Craving anything in particular?’
‘Chinese would be good,’ she said, grinning at his ginger buzz cut, wrinkled blue Queen tank top and slate gray camouflage board shorts. How on Earth he got a job with one of the biggest department stores in the country I’ll never know. She watched as he jumped into their red 1996 Jeep Wrangler they purchased new, two years prior and waved goodbye. She grabbed another box and began heading back up the grown over path to their red front door when she spotted her neighbour, an elderly woman, possibly in her 70’s, with large brown rimmed reading glasses making her eyes bulge out and white hair creeping out of her tattered gardening hat, watching her. She waved and gave a faint smile to the woman. The woman shut her curtains with vigor: it made Mary feel as if someone had slammed a door in her face.
THUMP! The box of photo albums hit the floor, lifting decades of dust rising like desert clouds that had been settled into the old oak floors. There must be some old family photos in here we could use to decorate this old girl. No sooner had she begun sifting through the photos, reminiscing about their wedding day, than she heard tapping behind her. She swiftly turned around to find no one and nothing. Well, the estate agent said these old houses will make noises. A rat scurried across the floor and tucked into a hole in the corner of the room. She screamed, and then laughed, relieved it was only a rodent. Breathing heavily, she said, ‘Siri, call John.’
“Calling, John.”
‘Hey babe, are you okay?’
‘Yes, while you’re out, pick up some mouse traps. We appear to have our first house guest.’
‘Aww cute, our own Stuart Little.’
‘No, not cute at all. It nearly scared me half to death.’
‘Honey, don’t make a fuss. I’ll be home soon.’
‘See you soon.’
‘Bye.’
She returned to rummaging through the box when one of the boxes she’d placed on the corner table suddenly toppled over. She jumped at the noise. I’ve got to stop doing that. You probably just set the box too close to the edge, Mary. Calm down. She told herself. As she bent over to pick up the box and its contents, the door gusted shut with a final slam. ‘Okay, so the place has a cross-draft.’ She said aloud. Yet when she walked over to the stained-glass porthole window, she realised it was sealed firmly shut.
Panic began to overtake her. Her body trembled as she pulled at the door handle, finding it somehow locked from the outside. She began pounding on the door rapidly. ‘JOHN? OPEN UP! ARE YOU THERE? I’M STUCK IN THE ATTIC…JOHN!’ The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she felt a humid breath against her shoulders.
The smell of rancid meat filled the attic: she could taste it, nearly making her vomit. It’s all in your head, Mary. There’s no one here. She heard a child laugh and slowly turned to find twin girls dressed in pink chiffon party dresses, with alabaster patent leather Hampton’s Kate shoes like those she’d always worn when she was a little girl at church, except these were covered in blood. In their tiny hands the girls were holding their own heads, their blonde hair matted. ‘Please, no! What do you want?’ she cried in a whisper, but they said nothing. Then the lights went out! (SCREAM)
John burst through the door to find Mary hunched in a corner sobbing into her hands. ‘Honey, honey, what’s wrong? I heard you screaming when I got in and rushed up the stairs. Are you okay?’ his nerves on edge for what she might say.
‘The little girls, John. They, they, they…’
‘Babe, what little girls? There’s no one here but you and I.’ He looks puzzled and concerned. ‘I think the drive was too much for you. You probably just need some rest.’
‘John, don’t make it seem as if I can’t drive half a day without going crazy. I’m not a delicate flower. But I know what I saw. There were twin girls right over there near the desk dead! At least I think they were. They were holding their heads in their hands, and there was blood and they were giggling or something. We have to get out of here.’
‘Mary, listen… I’m not saying you’re lying. But what you’re saying makes no sense. It’s impossible.’
‘I’m not going crazy. I’m calling the estate agent.’
‘Of course, no one is calling you crazy. But we have to be rational. Let’s just call the estate agent and see if I don’t know, maybe there’s something he forgot to tell us about this place. I mean for all we know they could have used this place to film or something and left some props and rigs behind.’
‘I hope that's all it is.’
‘Thank you for seeing us on such short notice Mr. Knowles.’ John said, noticing the change in his office. When they first visited two months ago for the reading the decor was weathered and caustic. Two leather chairs they sat in and a large heavy wood desk he sat behind perched in a burgundy leather swivel chair. Law books along the shelves collecting dust just as they had been collected by Mr. Knowles. But now there was a difference in the office. For starters the once warm and cozy office now felt damp and smelled of mildewed paper possibly caused by the dampness in the air. The table lamp on his desk was missing the blue shade that had once covered it and was flickering profusely. The rug that had been there before, faded with age by beams of sunlight and time was now gone leaving a lighter round circle on the wooden floor that creaked beneath them as they shifted in the uncomfortable old chairs.
‘No problem at all John. How can I help you?’
‘It’s haunted.’ Mary blurted out.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr. Knowles replied with a grave look on his face.
‘My wife saw something or someone in the attic, we want to know what’s the deal with the house? I mean other than her great aunt Agnes we weren’t informed that anyone else had died in the house.’
She noticed his pupils dilating, he wiped at his brow as if anxiety had taken over before speaking. ‘Yes. Your great aunt Agnes like yourself inherited the mansion. It’s been in your family for generations, being passed down since 1776.’
‘I never knew that. I mean to say, I barely heard of my great aunt up until I was called to the reading of her last will and testament.’
‘Mary, are you sure your parents never mentioned your aunt or this house?’
‘No John, wait… I do recall a conversation between my grandmother and mother when I was a child. They made me leave the room, but I could faintly remember them talking about my grandmother's sister needing special treatment. I mean back then any signs of mental instability and you were being carted off to an asylum.’ she said in a faint voice as her memories of flashing scenes from that day so long ago reentered her mind.
‘Your great aunt was… how should I put this? Afflicted. She would rant about the mansion being haunted and seeing twin girls. But of course no one believed her. She had always been a vibrant storyteller. Everyone just thought it was another one of her tall tales. At least they did until she was found.’
‘What do you mean found? I thought you said my aunt passed away in a resting home.’
‘She did, only after she was found in her home naked and covered in blood. She was incoherent and speaking gibberish. After she was released from the hospital I thought it best to put her in a home as the power of attorney over her estate. I didn’t know you existed until she passed and I found your photo with a note from her.’
‘May I see the photo and the note?’
Mr. Knowles shifts in his chair and struggles opening the old drawer on the left side of his cherrywood desk. He hands her the folder containing information about her great aunts estate and the photo of the twin girls falls out face down onto the floor. She slowly picks up the photo on its back was written Mary and Martha 1829. She turns over the picture and shutters.
‘What is it, honey?’
‘John, this is me. I recognize me. But I don’t know this girl beside me.’
‘You never told me you had a twin sister.’
‘I don’t. At least, I don’t remember having a twin. But how can I not remember?’
‘Wait, this is dated 1829. This can’t be you. You were born in 1976.’
‘But this is me. You see that scar on her wrist? It’s the same one I’ve always had. Look.’ She pulls back the sleeve on her burnt orange cardigan showing John and Mr. Knowles the scar she's had for as long as she could remember. ‘These dresses they’re wearing are the same as the twin girls in the attic.’
‘You saw the girls?’ Mr. Knowles said, shaking with fear.
‘Yes. They wore these exact same outfits. However, their heads were chopped off and covered in blood. They were holding their heads in their hands out to me as if I should take them.’
She held back tears. She couldn’t figure out how she could be in this photo dated so long ago and here in present day 1998.
‘I have a feeling the answers are in that house.’
‘You can’t be serious. We can’t go back there, Mary.’
‘You can stay or go.’
She looked over at the old woman's window next door and saw her peeking out. She must know something about what’s going on in this house. How could she not? They walked over the grown over lawn to the freshly manicured lawn of their neighbor. As she saw them approaching she swiftly shut her curtains. Ding dong, ding dong. ‘Open the door, we know you’re in there. We see you spying on us.’
She opened the door about two inches to see the couple appearing as stiff as corpses.
‘May I help you?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, my name is Mary Derby, and this is my husband John. We recently inherited the house next door from my great Aunt Agnes and I was wondering if you could tell us if anything terrible has happened in that home?’
‘Come in.’ She opened the door to a grand entrance similar to that of their home however whoever designed the space left it open and bright with family portraits covering the walls. ‘Wait in there.’ She said pointing to a study off the left side of the entrance. Moments later the old haggard woman returned with tea and sat in a wingback burgundy chair with gold embellishments.
‘Please sit.’
‘Who are the girls in the photo, and why are they haunting that house?’ she said, throwing the photo down on the antique coffee table in anguish.
‘Why this is you when you were a little girl. You and your sister Rose. You were born in that house. Willow Grove has been haunted since the settlers stole this land from the natives. Since we wanted it so desperately we are doomed to remain here even after death.’
‘That makes no sense. If Mary died then how is she here now?’ John asked hesitantly.
‘Because we are all dead.’ she said in a whisper and disappeared.