 
DRURY MANOR

Volume I

By George Esler

Copyright 2014 George Esler

Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, Copyright Notes

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental, or used as a fictional depiction or personality parody.
Table of Contents

Note to the Reader

Episode 1: Henry's Punishment

Episode 2: Helen's Gambit

Episode 3: Seth's Fall

Episode 4: Henry's Favor

The Story Continues

Other Books by George Esler

Connect with George Esler
Note to the Reader

The following story originally appeared on my blog in a serialized format, with new installments posted weekly. It has been compiled here for the first time as a single novella. This eBook contains Episodes 1-4. If you wish to continue reading Episode 5 and beyond, you may view my blog to find those. Additional compilations will be made available in eBook formats like this one upon completion of future episodes. Check out my website for the latest news and information about future installments.

http://www.eslermedia.com

Episode 1

Henry's Punishment

1

I wasn't exactly in the best of moods when I finally laid eyes on Drury Manor, so my first impression could hardly be called objective. Even so, I immediately hated and distrusted the place, particularly the way it loomed against the backdrop of the night sky and sneered down at us. Uncle Milton guided the black Mercedes along the twisted drive that led up to the old estate, past rows of gnarled trees and chipped gray statues. It was all I could do to unclench my jaw and let down my shoulders. Uncle Milton would scold me if I broadcast my disdain so openly.

After we traversed what felt like many miles of winding path, we pulled near the front of the house and Uncle Milton killed the engine. The driveway made a horseshoe shape around a cracked fountain, and despite the dark I could tell it had not seen use in many years. The leather seat creaked under my uncle as he turned to face me; I sensed his gaze on me but I continued to stare out the window as though utterly fascinated by the inky blackness of night that surrounded us.

He cleared his throat. "This isn't a punishment, Henry. You understand that, right?"

"Is that what you tell yourself?" I muttered.

"Damn it," he said. "You don't have to make this so difficult. I know you feel like your whole life is over. But you're only sixteen years old. In another sixteen years you'll hardly remember or care about any of this."

His eyes searched me up and down for any sign of acknowledgment, but I determined to stare out the windshield and not give him the satisfaction. Finally he looked away, agitated, and I chanced a sidelong glance in his direction.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, looking much older than his forty years. I could swear his face picked up a few extra lines on the drive here. Even his hairline looked like it receded farther back on his head. I didn't wait for his next peacemaking attempt, but rather threw open my door and stepped out into the all-encompassing night. A chill bit my exposed flesh and I pulled my coat tighter about my neck.

A wide, steep stairway led up to a massive column-supported portico. A lanky man, who I took for the butler, waited there with his hands clasped behind him, chest puffed out, head cocked back, staring down the length of his nose at us. A frail-looking boy of about twelve stood farther back, half-hidden from view.

The butler descended the steps. He never quite looked directly at me. I only had one bag, which he hefted over his shoulder without question, as though he was well accustomed to carrying things.

"Evening." The butler nodded at Uncle Milton and then started back up toward the portico. We followed at a short distance.

I had a few moments to appreciate the sheer size of the mansion. There were dozens of windows, balconies everywhere, and sloping eaves jutting out high over my head. The limestone surface of the walls drank up what little light there was, and an aura of sadness hovered over the place, like a pouting child who had been denied the love of his parents.

My skin prickled and I stopped short. Something didn't feel right. Actually, nothing about tonight felt right, but this sensation went beyond that. It was as if a sinister gaze had locked onto me, telegraphing itself, wanting me to feel it. The flesh of my spine tingled as though a critter with hairy, undulating legs crept along my flesh. I scanned the rows of windows, but it would have been impossible to tell if a person loitered within any of those darkened frames. The feeling passed as abruptly as it came. I pushed my fear aside and tried to trudge along as though nothing had happened.

I glanced back at the fountain. I don't know why. Something about it just demanded another look. I stared at the cracked, peeling stone structure. Perched atop it, like a grim gargoyle defending its keep, loomed a statue, sculpted in the likeness of a child angel. It had the most horrendous wide-eyed expression carved onto its face, like it had been frozen in a moment of complete and utter terror. Those eyes seemed to stare right at me, warning me. I shivered, collected my bearings, and went on my way.

The butler whisked us inside to a wide circular foyer, where he set down my bags. I followed him past a winding staircase, through a set of double glass-paned doors, and down a short corridor that opened into a spacious sitting room. A fire crackled and popped in one corner, bathing the room in its soft orange glow.

"Master Esau will see you momentarily," the butler said, and slipped from the room so fluidly that he might have never been there at all.

The young boy remained with us. He stepped forward, licked his lips, and shuffled uncertainly from one foot to the other. Uncle Milton did his best impression of a friendly face, offering a stiff smile that did little to soften his gruff demeanor.

"What is your name?" Uncle Milton said.

A brief hesitation followed. Then, in a soft croak, the boy answered.

"Trevor."

I sank into a recliner beneath a picture window through which only inky blackness could be seen. A sofa ran along the opposite wall. Thick tomes with old-fashioned binding rested along both of the two bookshelves. Paintings adorned the walls, each depicting a scene from nature in subdued hues.

Trevor turned his attention to me. "What's your name?"

"No offense kid, but I'm not interested in being your friend." I folded my arms over my chest and watched the flames lick the edges of the fireplace.

"Henry, be polite," Uncle Milton scolded.

Undeterred, Trevor came and sat on the sofa across from me, his expression eager. The glow of the fire brought out the freckles on his face and caused his red hair to look ablaze.

"I can't wait to show you around," he said.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Uncle Milton watching me, so I nodded and smiled, looking Trevor full in the eye. My uncle seemed satisfied with that response, and he crossed the room to peer at the volumes on the shelf. He craned his neck, gazing intently. He all but forgot that we existed. I knew that feeling from experience.

Trevor waited until he was confident that Milton was no longer paying attention to us. Then the boy turned back to me. A smile played at his lips, and his entire wispy frame virtually pulsated with a wave of excitement. He leaned closer, as if to share a big secret.

"You know this place used to be an orphanage, right?" he whispered.

"So?"

"A long time ago. Before my dad was even born. And he's old." Trevor giggled at his own lame joke. I waited for him to continue, even though I wasn't particularly interested. The mirth melted from his features and he got that animated look in his eyes again. "When we get upstairs, I'll show you where their rooms were. The orphans, I mean."

"Great." I didn't care if Trevor noticed me rolling my eyes. He gave no indication one way or the other. Uncle Milton was still in his own world, clearly engrossed in his perusal of the books on the shelf.

The gleam in Trevor's eyes became colder. He licked his lips and then ran his tongue along the line of his teeth. From the floor above, I distinctly heard the pitter patter of little feet. Judging from the sound of it, several small children were playing up on the second floor. Trevor's eyes fixated on the ceiling and then he stole another glance at me.

"Like I said, I'll show you where they lived. And if they like you, they might even let me show you where they died."

2

Unless I was mistaken, Trevor had just informed me that if a group of dead orphans decided they liked me, they might allow him to show me where they died.

I don't know what I would have said to him had the door to the sitting room not creaked open at that exact moment. A thick man glided into our presence. His hair was longer and thicker than Trevor's, but the same dark shade of red. He wore the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled above the forearms, and I noted that the same coarse red hair grew on his arms.

"Milton!" exclaimed this newcomer. He promptly moved toward my uncle and embraced him, grasping him at the elbows when they parted, beaming at him. He turned toward me, the smile never wavering, never faltering. "And this must be young Henry!"

The stranger pumped my hand, grinning at me, always grinning. The wolfish smile never left his lips during that entire exchange. He asked me pointed questions in rapid-fire succession, as if I were the most fascinating person he had ever met in his life. So this was Esau Drury, the master of the estate. Over our host's shoulder, Uncle Milton wore a sullen expression with which he silently reminded me to mind my manners and not say or do anything insulting. For some reason, Trevor scooted from the room, unnoticed by either adult.

At no point did Esau inquire as to the accident, and I surely did not volunteer the information. I never wanted to speak of it again if I could help it. Uncle Milton had said in the car that his sending me to stay at Drury Manor was not meant as punishment, but I knew better. Did he think I was stupid?

"Come, come!" Esau exclaimed after prying enough information from me to write a small biography. "Helen should have supper on the table any second! I bet you're famished after your long trip!" His eyes gleamed and he patted me on my shoulder. I doubt I could have explained it at the time, but there was something behind his forced enthusiasm that I could not bring myself to trust. It was too unnatural to be real. There was something else behind those glassy eyes that did not quite match the exuberance he tried so hard to portend.

Esau guided us from the sitting room back up the corridor and through the foyer. I fell into step behind the grown-ups, hands in my pockets, dragging my feet along the floor as Esau chatted with Uncle Milton in delighted whispers. I knew they were old friends, but from the way they leaned toward each other and the excitement level as they reconnected, I would have thought they were brothers who had finally found each other again after a lengthy separation.

In the foyer, I stopped short at the foot of the winding staircase. It spiraled up to a landing on the second floor, decorated by an intricately carved wooden handrail and polished bars. I traced its path with my eyes up to the second story.

A young girl crouched on the top step of the staircase, peering down at me from between two of the iron bars that supported the railing. Her skin was pale to the point of translucency, and her blonde curls looked like whirlwinds about her head. She could not have been more than five or six years of age, and she wore an immaculately pressed baby-blue dress that fell to her ankles. Her black pupils struck a sharp contrast against the whites of her eyes.

I was mesmerized. For several seconds we regarded each other. Neither of us smiled or waved. We merely gazed, transfixed, into each other's eyes, until a rough hand grabbed my arm, hard enough to hurt.

"Come on, then!" Uncle Milton said.

Esau waited at the far end of the foyer. My lagging about the staircase had caused them to leave me behind, and forced them to come back for me. Uncle Milton's nostrils flared as he pulled me along, and Esau stood patiently with that same cheery smile plastered to his face. I just wished he would stop grinning like that; it unnerved me.

We went through a different door this time, which brought us into the dining area. A white linen tablecloth spanned the length of the long table, which could have comfortably seated twenty or more guests. Someone had artfully arranged the expensive china and silver pots on the tabletop, and tall candles burned at even intervals. Despite the table's seating capacity, at the moment there were only five of us: me, Uncle Milton, Esau, and an older couple who looked to be in their sixties.

Esau took a seat at the head of the table, the older couple to his right, and indicated that Uncle Milton and I should sit to his left. Uncle Milton took the first available chair, and I seated myself next to him. A long row of empty chairs stretched away to my left.

"Milton, Henry, I would like you to meet Spencer and Doris," Esau said, gesturing one furry arm toward the older couple. Uncle Milton exchanged pleasantries with our new acquaintances. I nodded and tried to smile. That was it for the introductions. Esau did not bother to elaborate on who these two were nor did he explain to them who we were.

Trevor arrived a few moments later, with a serving lady right on his heels. Helen, I presumed. He seated himself next to me while the server began to pass out cups of soup. I looked into my bowl, found it to be almost entirely broth, with pieces of celery floating in it.

"Is anybody else joining us?" I asked, after everyone began eating.

Esau cocked his head to one side. "It's just us, I'm afraid."

"What about the young girl?"

"What girl would that be?"

"The one I saw in the foyer. The one that was watching me."

Esau drummed his fingers on his glass and regarded me for a moment. Then he chuckled. "Have we taken on another guest?" He looked around at the other assembled guests. Slight nods of heads and confused expressions were his only response.

"The blonde-haired girl in the blue dress. She was sitting on the steps just now." I stole a glance at my uncle. "Didn't you see her when you grabbed my arm?"

Uncle Milton stiffened and shook his head. He was giving me a very clinical and detached kind of look, and then he met Esau's eyes, and something passed between them, some kind of knowing but unspoken exchange. It was a look that said, essentially, "Now you see it for yourself." What exactly had Uncle Milton told Esau about me? How much had he revealed?

"There are no young girls in this house," Esau said at last. There is a certain kind of patronizing tone that adults often use when speaking to children, the kind that makes me want to punch people in the face. That particular tone crept into Esau's voice as he answered me.

Looking over, I noticed that Trevor seemed upset. A deep frown creased his face, and I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought he might have been fighting back tears. The conversation at the table picked up, the soup bowls were cleared, and we were on to salads.

"What's wrong?" I whispered to Trevor while the adults were engrossed in meaningless conversation.

He looked up at me. His bottom lip quivered.

"They don't like you," he said.

"You mean them?" I gestured to the adults seated around us.

He shook his head.

"No. Them." He pointed overhead, toward the second floor, and again I could just make out the sound of the pitter patter of many small feet.

3

After supper, Helen began clearing dishes and the adults went into a parlor to smoke their pipes. Trevor and I found ourselves alone at the long table. I watched Helen stack the plates, and noted that she never once made eye contact with me. In fact, she went out of her way to avoid meeting my gaze. She was an older lady, not quite elderly, but definitely approaching that stage. Her face appeared at once stern but serene, as if she had only harsh words to say but was content to keep them to herself.

Uncle Milton had coached me on the way up about the importance of complimenting the people who would be serving me. I wanted to ask Helen if she was the one who prepared the food. The roast tenderloin and vegetable medley had been fantastic, as much as I hated to admit it. But the old woman's demeanor prevented me from speaking to her. It took several trips for her to clear all the serving dishes, during which time Trevor and I sat at the table in utter silence.

I turned my head to follow Helen's movement as she came and went through the doorway behind me. Unable to take the extreme quiet a moment longer, I chose a moment when she was gone to ask Trevor the question that was burning me up inside. Trevor sat there staring down at his lap. I leaned toward him.

"I don't get it. Hasn't anybody seen that little girl wandering around the house before?" I said.

He looked up at me and bit his lip. "They can't see her."

"That doesn't make sense."

"You have a problem," Trevor said.

"Just one?"

"I'm serious," he replied. "When the orphans don't like somebody, they make life... difficult for that person."

"I'm sick of hearing about these stupid orphans."

Something crashed overhead. It sounded like glass. Trevor's eyes darted to the ceiling. Fear crept into his face. "They heard that. Don't make them angry on top of everything else."

I wanted to change the subject. "What are we supposed to be doing now? Just sitting here waiting for the adults to finish smoking?"

I'm not sure at what point Helen returned, but I sensed her before I saw her. I spun around to find that she had been staring at the back of my head, an unreadable expression on her face. When my eyes met hers she quickly averted her gaze. I wanted to ask her what her problem was, but she so clearly wanted nothing to do with me that I decided to let it go. I waited for her to collect the silverware and disappear again before I tried to rouse Trevor from his self-imposed silent spell.

"Do you know what my uncle told your father about me?" I asked. Trevor shook his head in the negative. It seemed it would take a great deal of prodding to get him to open up any more than he already had. I was starting to get really aggravated. Was I actually supposed to be staying here? How could I last more than ten minutes in the presence of these people? One look at their somber faces was enough to make me want to run into the night screaming. And were they trying to be so weird, or did it just come naturally to them?

My uncle could say all he wanted that he did not blame me for the accident, but this situation was proof to the contrary.

We sat in silence for a while longer. Trevor refused to respond to any more of my questions. So now he had a problem with me too? Was he angry at me for offending his precious orphans?

I decided enough was enough. I rose from my seat. "I'll just go exploring, then."

That did the trick. He looked at me with a hint of pleading in his eyes. "You can't! Not without an escort."

"Are you supposed to be escorting me around everywhere I go?" I said. "That would get pretty tedious after a while, don't you think? I'm going to be here for a long time, you know, and I don't intend to sit here at this table the whole time."

His nostrils flared. "Obviously. But until you learn where you can and cannot go-"

"I'll go wherever I choose."

He started fumbling with his hands. His fingers coiled and uncoiled around each other. "You don't understand."

"Enlighten me. I've already grown bored with all of this secrecy and mystery, and it hasn't been three hours."

"Who are you talking to, my dear boy?" Esau boomed from the doorway.

I turned to face the master of the house. His arms were folded across his chest, and he continued to wear that amused expression on his face that had nearly driven me insane earlier. There was no sign of the others. I found I could not quite meet his eyes. I started looking for interesting things around the room to focus my sight on.

I pointed at Trevor.

"Who?" Esau repeated.

"Him." I pointed at Trevor again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trevor slowly shake his head from side to side.

"Young man," Esau said, "you and I are the only people in this room."

"Trevor! Your son!" I was starting to lose my patience now. In another minute I would find my uncle and beat him over the head until he gave me the keys to the Mercedes, at which point I fully intended to drive off into the night. Let them call the police.

Esau jolted upright like I had given him an electric shock. The expression on his face contorted into a look of surprise.

"Are you trying to have a joke at my expense?" Esau said.

I had no idea what he meant.

He elaborated. "My son Trevor drowned in the lake several years ago. The question is, why are you trying to upset me?"

My mouth fell open. I looked at Trevor, who returned my gaze, an apologetic expression written across his face. That was when I realized that Esau couldn't see him.

4

Esau continued to stare at me, his eyes grown hard and his demeanor much stiffer than before.

"I asked you a question," he said.

"Alright dad, that's enough," Trevor said. I jumped at the sound of his voice. Even worse, Esau looked at the boy and laughed.

"You ruined it," he said. And then, pointing at me, he added, "Did you see his face?"

"It's not funny."

"Very well."

I looked from one to another. I wasn't sure who I was going to kill first. "That was a joke? You were playing a joke on me?"

" _He_ was," Trevor said, making sure that I understood that he had not been in on it.

"Oh please," Esau said. "I figured you of all people would appreciate that."

A flush crisscrossed my body. I felt the blood rush to my face. Trevor drew a sharp breath. I knew it! The little runt had lied to me about how much he knew about me. His reaction to his father's jest proved it. I would have to pull him aside later and beat the truth out of him. I couldn't exactly do that in front of Esau, however, so for now the jerk was safe. It took a moment of focused willpower, but slowly I unclenched my fists.

"I want to go home, now. I'm not staying here."

"I'm afraid that ship has sailed," Esau said. "Your uncle has just left."

I couldn't believe it. Of all the emotions that could have welled up inside of me upon being told that my uncle had gone through with it and abandoned me here, the one I felt first and the most strongly was fear. I don't know why that was my default reaction, rather than shock, anger, or incredulity. Something about this place. This terrible, no-good, creepy place.

I rushed past Esau, down the corridor that led away from the dining room, back the way we came earlier, past the winding staircase where I had earlier seen the lovely little girl, and right out the front door.

My uncle's Mercedes was gone. There was no sign of it along the winding path leading away from the house, otherwise I may have tried to chase him down, as fruitless an endeavor as that would have been. I couldn't believe he had not even told me good-bye. How could he have just left me like that?

I sank to my knees on the landing, as bitterness rose like bile in my throat, and I knew the answer.

He had never wanted me around to begin with. I was a distraction to his precious Amelia. He was probably all too happy to be done with me, and was even now grabbing the bottle of brandy from under the driver's seat, the one he thought I knew nothing about, and offering up a little toast to the heavens for his good fortune. He was rid of me at last.

I had never hated him more than I did at that moment. And God knows I had plenty of reasons to hate him.

A soft voice from the doorway floated past me. "You believe me now?"

I did not turn to face Esau. "Why did you trick me like that? With Trevor. Why did you pretend you couldn't see him?"

"To see if what I heard about you was true," he said.

"You could have just asked."

"But then, my boy, you might have simply lied to me. I prefer to know things with certainty."

I remained in a kneeling position for a long while, refusing to budge, even though my knees already throbbed from my body weight pressing them into the stone.

"Come in when you are ready," Esau said. "I'll have Jacob show you to your room."

And then he left me there like that. Alone, on my knees, shuddering in the cold, and staring out into the darkness.

5

I woke up early the next day and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The morning sun chased away the nightmare that had been threatening to shatter my already troubled mind. All I kept seeing was that ice breaking, and I was sliding toward the chasm, grasping desperately for any perch that would save me. Amelia was somewhere up ahead, screaming. I couldn't help her. And then...

The dream faded, and I was back in the here and now. The bed was comfortable enough; it was actually preferable to most of the ones I had ever slept in, but I would have traded anything for one more night in my room back home. Not that stuffy townhouse owned by Uncle Milton and Aunt Celeste, mind you. I mean my real bed, and my real home. But it could never be. Not now. Not ever again.

It was better to not dwell on such things.

I dressed slowly. I wasn't in any hurry to go downstairs. Jacob, the butler, had shown me to my room the previous evening, once I had collected myself enough to come back in from the landing after Esau dropped his bombshell and then left me there. Jacob led me up to the second story bedroom that would serve as my quarters for as long as I stayed at Drury Manor. I found my bag tucked into the back of a closet, already emptied. My few personal belongings had been put away for me. The clothes were neatly folded and placed in a bureau that was almost as tall as I was, all polished oak and gold-plated rings for handles. The framed photograph of me and my mother sat nearby on a little mantelpiece that jutted out of the wall.

I stared at the picture for a long while. My mother and I had the same black hair and sharp, pointed noses. For some reason, however, those features looked prestigious and regal on her, whereas on me they just looked like... Well, like black hair and a pointed nose.

Oh, mom. What were you trying to tell me? And what have you gotten me into?

I felt the tears threatening to break free, so I tore my eyes away from the photograph. I looked at myself in the mirror, straightened my jeans with the palm of my hand, and pulled at the striped polo shirt I wore so that it would fall the way I wanted it to. I took a deep breath. This was probably the calmest and most peaceful moment that I would get the entire day, and I was not exactly thrilled at the prospect of opening my door and hiking out into the maelstrom of weirdness that surely awaited me.

I exited my room and headed toward the staircase, all the while thinking about Trevor and his stupid warning that I should not wander around the house without an escort. Clearly, the kid's social skills could use some work. Living out here at this sheltered location apart from the real world had done him no favors. Perhaps Esau should have made more of an effort for his son to get out more and interact with actual people.

Then again, Esau wasn't exactly the poster child for the town welcoming committee either.

That was when I heard the first faint, rustling sound from somewhere behind me. I spun, expecting to find Trevor running up to greet me. My shoes swished on the thick padded carpet. The hallway was empty. Not a soul in sight. I waited a moment, holding my breath, listening for that sound to repeat itself.

The hallway stretched out ahead of me, several doors to the left and right, all of them closed. Along the way, there were pedestals, six in all, supporting old-fashioned busts of men with curling mustaches. Drury ancestors, perhaps? Expensive tapestries hung from the walls, curious mixes of colors that suggested an eclectic taste.

But I was the sole occupant of the otherwise deserted hallway.

I shook it off, and turned to resume my trek toward the stairs, when the noise cut through the still cool air once more. It was the sound of something soft gliding effortlessly along something hard and firm, and my imagination conjured the image of a cold dead hand sliding along a polished bannister. And I noticed a second sound, more melodious than the first, a soft voice humming a tune in wistful, sing-song bursts.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I scanned the area again, unable to heed the voice in my head that admonished me to just get out of there as fast as my two feet would carry me. My head wanted to comply, but my legs turned to lead and would not budge.

There! One of the doors along the right side of the hall stood ajar. Had it been that way last time I looked? I could have sworn that all of the doors had been shut tight. I would have noticed if the door was open before, right? In any case, a thin beam of light crawled across the hallway floor from the slight crack in the doorway.

Now that I had a place to focus my senses, it was clear that the haunting melody that flittered through the air was coming from that same room. Several ideas popped into my mind. I thought of Trevor's warning against exploring rooms of the house in which I did not belong. I also recalled that sinister gaze that telegraphed itself on me last night upon my arrival. There was also the matter of the young girl appraising me from the top of the staircase prior to dinner. Run! That was the thought that linked all the others together.

One idea silenced the others: What would my mother think of me if I turned tail and fled like that, after everything she had tried to instill in me? After all the lessons?

So I put one foot in front of the other, and cautiously approached the doorway. I strived keep the sound of my footsteps to a minimum, but it's always when you're trying to be the quietest that every little rustle seems magnified beyond normal levels. Consequently, I was sure that a herd of angry rhinoceroses stampeding down the hall would make less noise than me. Each of my individual footfalls was like a gunshot going off in my heightened state of alert.

One thing was certain, however. The closer I came to that cracked door, the clearer I could make out the sound of the tune. There was no doubt that the ghostly melody originated from that room. It was getting harder to breathe. Each slow breath I drew required more effort to inhale than the one before it. The door loomed closer, larger. My hands shook. A peculiar tingling sensation began in my thighs and coursed down my legs until it reached my feet. I should not be doing this. I should be going the other way.

The melody was a mournful one, wordlessly evoking images of sadness and love lost.

I reached toward the brass knob. It was slow going, the air itself felt like it was pushing back against me. Many hours seemed to pass as my trembling hand inched forward through dead space. I hesitated as time came to an utter halt. My abdominal muscles contracted uncomfortably. A small gnat buzzed past my ear.

Everything stopped.

And then the door flew open without me ever touching it.

I almost died on cue. But Helen looked just as surprised to see me as I'm sure I looked to see her. She clutched a feather duster in one hand, which she dropped at the shock of finding me standing in the doorway with my hand outstretched toward her.

"Heavens!" she cried. "Sneaking up on an old lady like that, in the middle of her chores!"

I fumbled for words as I regained the ability to speak. I finally managed a garbled, "I'm sorry."

She evaluated me for a long moment. It was the first time she had held my gaze without looking away. I wondered what had changed from her perspective that made today different from last night, that she was willing to look at me now.

"No harm," she said at last. She bent to retrieve the fallen duster. "Just cleaning up and singing my tunes. We might be getting another today or tomorrow."

"Another what?"

"Another boarder."

I was at once excited and burdened. Excited because if someone else was coming to stay here from the outside, then I might find a companion at last who was at least somewhat normal. That would be nice. But I was also burdened for the sake of this person, because I would not wish this house or its residents upon anyone except maybe a bitter enemy.

I mulled this over. "Another boarder. Like me."

"Oh, from what I hear, there's none quite like you," Helen said, and she winked at me.

Something about that shrewd expression. Did she know too? About me? This was too much. I turned to go.

"One more thing," she called after me.

I turned to look back at Helen. She wore black pants and a frilly white top, with an apron tied about her waist and neck. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

"That Trevor boy means well, but you're going to need to watch out for him."

"I kind of thought so," I said.

She shook her head. "You don't understand. Talk to him, spend time with him, whatever you want. But never, ever, under any circumstances, should you allow him take you into the nursery."

She leaned closer. For a moment I thought she meant to kiss me. We were almost nose to nose when she stopped. Her eyes blazed. Her lips pressed together into a tight, grim line.

"Don't go into the nursery," she repeated.

And then she glided past me and disappeared from view down the hall, leaving me to wonder at the meaning of this latest warning.

6

Breakfast was served on the same linen-clad table at which we dined the night before. When I entered the room, Esau was seated in his place at the head of the table, sipping coffee from a heavy porcelain mug. A newspaper was spread open before him, and I wondered briefly if a paperboy made the long trip up the twisted drive just to toss that one paper. More likely, I figured, Jacob drove into town to fetch it as part of his morning duties.

We were the only two people currently in the room, and Esau did not look up as I entered. I seated myself in my previous night's chair, leaving one empty seat between Esau and I, which was the one Uncle Milton had used. I felt like a fool just sitting there and saying nothing, but I did not have to wait long.

As if on cue, a young lady I had not yet met entered the room, and poured some coffee into an empty cup near my left hand. I did not drink coffee, but having not been asked my preference, I thought it would be rude to decline. I waited until the cup was full, and, after adding the cream and sugar which the young lady offered, I sipped, hating the bitterness of it.

The girl must have read my expression, because she offered me more sugar. I added this as well, and the liquid tar in my glass became somewhat more bearable. Soon after, my actual breakfast was delivered to me: poached eggs with toast, roasted potato wedges, a bowl of diced fruit, and a side of hollandaise sauce.

I guess they never heard of Froot Loops in this place.

I started to eat, finding the eggs particularly and unexpectedly good. The yolk ran when my fork pressed through the thin membrane that sheathed it, and it mingled with the toast, saturating it. My thoughts of sugary children's cereal vanished. Esau folded the paper and put it aside. He favored me with a studious expression.

"And what do you have planned for today?"

I put my fork down to answer him. "I hadn't thought that far ahead. I don't typically get to make my own decisions."

He made a snorting sound down deep in his throat and leaned back in the chair. He looked at me over the brim of his coffee mug, which he brought to his lips and sipped from, making the gesture look somehow elegant and refined. Whenever Uncle Milton stared at me like that, I could be sure that I was in for some form of berating. He had always been so sure that I would eventually lead his precious Amelia astray, causing her some form of harm in the process. I guess, in the end, I had proven his fears to be valid.

Esau surprised me by not answering the way my uncle would have done.

"Well, we'll have to restore your free will, then, won't we?" He put his mug down and used his fork to break off a small piece of a buttered croissant that rested before him on a gold-trimmed saucer. I wondered why I didn't get a croissant. Esau savored the bite, swallowed, and then continued speaking.

"Consider today a free day then. Walk around. Go exploring. Do whatever you choose. We'll see about assigning you some chores soon enough. It wouldn't do to have you grow lazy in my care. Perhaps Jacob can delegate some of his jobs to you. He's not getting along as well as he once did, and I'm sure he could use the help."

The mention of the butler reminded me of the night before, when he had taken my bag and hoisted it without question. I had a feeling that relieving him of some of his chores would mean performing meaningless tasks at the whim of Esau Drury.

"Is there someone else coming here?" I asked.

Esau's expression became confused. "What do you mean?"

"Another person coming to live here?"

"Wherever did you get that idea?"

"Helen told me-"

When he laughed, his whole body shook. "Helen again? Boy, you'll learn soon enough that woman marches to the beat of her own drum. I have not agreed to take on any other boarders."

"Oh." I felt silly as I took another bite of my food. The eggs lost some of their taste. Why in the world was the maid preparing another bedroom if nobody else was coming? And if she was off her rocker, then what should I make of her warning? I almost asked Esau about the nursery, but an overwhelming urge to keep silent on that topic won the day, and I said nothing about it.

After breakfast, I took Esau up on his offer to explore the place. I decided to start outside; I had been cooped up inside for far too long. I exited through the front door. It was still early, and the remnants of a pre-dawn fog hung about the grounds, stubbornly refusing to relinquish their hold. I descended the steps, and stood looking up at the rows of glittering windows that stretched far to the left and right. The daylight reflecting off of the glass panes turned them into so many mirrors and all I could see on them was an echo of the dull sky. Had someone actually been watching me last night? Had that creepy feeling been legitimate? Today, I felt nothing.

I crossed the horseshoe drive and made my way to the cracked fountain at its center. Grime clung to the chipped stone, and a rust-colored film encircled the base, marking the old waterline. The child angel statue continued to stare back toward the door, that horrified look etched into his features. Growing bored with that, I moved about the grounds themselves. The area immediately surrounding the estate was wide open, but the land sloped down to the west where a thick stand of trees formed an impenetrable wall to my roaming eye. I would be exploring the woods soon enough, I knew.

The house faced south, but I walked north, behind the estate. Heavy foot traffic had worn away the grass, forming a path that led away from the house and meandered about two hundred yards down to an old-fashioned well. Farther along in the same direction, beyond the well, I could just make out the surface of a wide lake. The fog was thickest down by the water so I decided to wait for the sun to finish chasing the mists away before I ventured that far.

Having nowhere better to go, I ambled down to the well and peered down inside of it. A thick rope attached to a crank disappeared into the gloom below, in which I thought I could just discern the shiny surface of standing water. I gave the crank a few turns, surprised at the loud metallic grating it produced, and watched the rope begin to rise.

A woman's voice called out from the depths below, startling me.

"Hello, young man. Have you come to visit me?"

I jumped back, letting go of the crank, and the weighted bucket at the far end of the rope splashed back into the water.

Laughter rang from below. The voice called out again. "Was that necessary?"

I crept back to the edge of the well and willed myself to peek over again. I could not make out anything below that appeared out of the ordinary, but then again, it was very difficult to see all the way to the bottom, where the light failed to reach and shadows reigned.

"Are you okay?" I called. "Did you fall down there? Are you able to climb out? Do you need me to go get help for you?"

More laughter from below. "If you knew what you were saying, you would not be asking those questions."

What was that supposed to mean?

"Look," I said, "do you need help or not?"

The next voice that spoke came from behind me. "Who are you talking to?"

I spun and found myself looking down at Trevor. The young boy was dressed in cotton slacks and a heavy sweater. He studied me with an expression bordering somewhere between incredulity and apprehension.

I pointed behind me. "There's someone down there. I think someone has fallen into the well."

"In the well?" He walked over and peered down. He called out. "Hello?"

There was no answer.

"She was just speaking to me," I said. "At first I thought maybe she was in some sort of trouble, but she sounded just fine to me."

Trevor looked at me. "I don't know what to say to you right now."

"You don't believe me," I said. "I wouldn't believe me either, but I know what I heard."

"It's not that," Trevor said. "Nobody else has ever heard her before. My dad doesn't believe me."

That surprised me like a well-timed slap to the face. "Wait, then you've heard it too?"

"Of course. My mother fell down in this well and died years ago, when I was just an infant."

He looked down into the well again.

"Stop trying to scare the new kid, mom," he yelled.

Laughter echoed up from below again. Trevor rolled his eyes.

"Let's go," he said to me, spinning on his heel and pacing away. "I hate when she gets in this mood."
Episode 2

Helen's Gambit

1

I can still clearly remember the night that my Charles, godsend that he was, took the plunge over the banister in the main foyer and cracked his head open on the marble tiles below. I heard the scream, and the sickening crunch when his body struck the floor, like a hundred people cracking their knuckles all at once. According to the accident report, he died instantly and did not suffer. At the time that it happened, I was cleaning one of the upstairs bedrooms; Charles had just exited that same bedroom, and was on his way back to the little lodge we shared far to the rear of the Drury property. I won't say why he was in the bedroom with me or what we did, because it would not be in good taste. He was my husband of many years, and such things are not at all improper.

This particular night sticks out in my mind for a couple of reasons, and the fact that it was the night on which I lost my husband is only one pebble in a large pond. The other reason was that this was the night I first spotted Lionel Drury, Esau's father, framed in a darkened doorway up the hall. This was no small feat considering that Lionel had been dead just over ten years when I saw him there. It happened just as Charles left that little bedroom, blowing me one last kiss before he went, with the afterglow from our passion still very evident on his pleased face. He did not see the apparition.

I followed in my husband's wake out into the darkened hallway, but I did not call out to him. His back retreated into the distance as I looked for ghosts. But there was no sign of Lionel, who had once done a very bad thing in that room behind the last door on the left. Charles reached the winding stairs. I contented myself that I had merely imagined the vision, and returned to my chore, straightening my maid's uniform as I went. A moment later I heard the scream and that unforgettable splatter.

That was Halloween night 2006, which itself just happened to be the twenty year anniversary of another great tragedy and another night when I witnessed a peculiar sight involving Lionel; my master walking up the hall, covered in blood, dragging an axe along the carpeted floor. That would have been October 1986, approximately ten years before Lionel died.

I screamed when I saw Lionel like that. How could I not? I was young and naïve, and believed him to be hurt. He assured me, in that soothing baritone of his, honey to my ears, that everything was perfect, and he kissed me full on the lips, like he had so many times before. When we parted I saw that some of the blood covering him had wiped off on me as well. I didn't mind; If Charles was a balm to my soul, then Lionel was a drug I could not seem to withdraw from.

Before you judge me as some charlatan, please understand that I have always regretted those youthful indiscretions. Charles never found out, of course, and when Lionel died of a stroke in 1996, it was like a great secret went with him and I was free again. Free once more to cling to my husband and not worry about the wily seductions of an older and more experienced man who always got what he wanted, whom nobody ever refused, myself included. The string of women he paraded through the house apparently couldn't refuse him either.

After my husband died, I was convinced for the longest time that I had only imagined seeing that vision of Lionel just a moment before the fall. But there have been other times since then when I have spotted him about the property, and only a fool would continue to rationalize such things. Ghosts walk these halls and grounds. I wonder if Esau has ever sighted the spirit of his long-dead father, but I dare not mention this to him. I like my job too much. I am too old now to even think of starting a new career.

The first time I laid eyes on Henry Crosson, I knew there was some deeper meaning to why he ended up here, at Drury Manor, after all these years. The kid looks so much like his mother that it boggles my mind, even taking into account that many kids resemble one of their parents. But with Henry, it is as if someone took Emily herself and slapped her features on a younger, male body. In a way, she has returned to me, like I always knew she would. I immediately worried over what Trevor might say to our young charge. I suspect Trevor knows of some of the goings-on at the house as well, but I have never discussed this with him.

I could not bring myself to look at Henry that first night, so afraid was I that he would see something in my face and be able read my innermost secrets. Truth be told, I was still trying to make heads or tails of the whole situation.

Because I had known in advance that Henry was coming, known it even before Esau revealed to the staff that he was taking on a young boy who would be boarding with us for a while.

It's even possible that I knew he was coming before Esau himself did, the same way that I know another will soon be coming.

I've learned to listen when Lionel tells me these things.

On Henry's second day with us, he came rushing in through the front door, hot on Trevor's heels. I thought at first they might simply be playing a game. But it was evident soon enough that Henry was chasing the child. Trevor was just trying to keep distance between them. I continued dusting the banister; the same banister over which my husband took his plunge, pretending to pay the boys no mind as they bustled around me.

Henry cornered him at the rear of one of the upstairs hallways. I kept my distance and stayed out of sight, but I maneuvered close enough to be able to hear their heated exchange.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, Henry!" Trevor pleaded.

"You don't? You tell me it's normal to hear voices coming out of the well and then you think that I'm just going to drop it?" Henry fired back.

"I told you. It's not voices. It's one voice. My mother. Sometimes she calls out to me. I don't want to say any more about it."

"Calls out to you how?"

"None of your business!"

The standoff continued in such manner for several more rounds, with Henry trying to pry information out of Trevor that the younger child simply did not wish to share. A ghost in the well? I had no knowledge of such a thing. I had never seen or heard any woman by the well. And Trevor's mom, at that?

I cleared my throat and stepped out into the hall. Henry and Trevor shot guilty looks my way, as if I had caught them doing something improper. I knew enough to be aware that they were wondering how much of their exchange I had overheard.

"Run along, Trevor," I said, and he was all too happy to oblige.

"No, wait! I'm not done with him," Henry said.

"I think you are," I responded. I tried to keep my voice even. I had to approach this delicately. "There will be time for you two later. You and I need to talk, Henry. There's some things that I think you should know."

2

For one long moment, which was pregnant with all the possibilities and expectations that two people feeling each other out about the supernatural can conjure up, Henry and I just stared at each other from opposite sides of the hallway. Trevor was long gone by the time we spoke.

"What is going on in this wacko house?" Henry asked.

"I wish I knew exactly," I said.

"Are you going to be all mysterious and spooky, too, then?" he said.

I laughed. "Not on purpose. I'm just realizing that not even I know everything that is going on, and for so long I thought I knew so much. I overheard your argument. I heard what you said about the well."

"You must think that we're nuts," he said.

"No. I believe you. I've seen and heard my fair share of strange things here, but never a woman in the well. It would therefore be foolish of me to believe that I have all the answers."

He kicked absently at the carpet and studied one of the busts that decorated the hallway, a bust that was cast in the likeness of some Drury ancestor or other. "But you must have some of the answers."

"I believe so."

"What were those noises I kept hearing last night, then? It sounded like a bunch of kids running up and down the hallway. Trevor keeps talking about dead orphans. And what about that little blonde-haired girl sitting by the banister last night that nobody else seems to have noticed?"

At the mention of the orphans, it felt like somebody had just punched me in the stomach. I let out a sharp breath of air and had to use one hand against the wall to steady myself. The room threatened to spin out of control and send me crashing to the floor in a heap. If I was maybe just a bit closer to the banister myself maybe I could have just taken the plunge and gone off to join my Charles and not worry about all of this anymore.

Typically, I tried not to think about those orphans, particularly the little blonde haired one that used to sit by the banister.

I tried equally hard to forget the way Lionel had looked that Halloween night so long ago, that satisfied glint in his eyes, those blood splatters on his brown tweed suit, that axe dragging behind him.

"What is it?" Henry said. "Are you okay?"

"I just need a moment to collect myself, is all," I replied. I waited until my breathing returned to normal and it no longer felt like my heart was going to try to evacuate on its own.

He stood there, bouncing from foot to foot, unsure if he should try to do something for me. I think I still creeped him out a little bit, though, and the thought of approaching me and maybe even having to touch me did not appeal to him at all. I couldn't blame him. To him, I must be just some strange old woman in a strange old house where strange things keep happening.

"Henry, what can you tell me about your parents?"

I could see that my words caught him by surprise. He was expecting an answer to his question about the orphans. He was not anticipating me to change the subject so abruptly, and in the direction of something so raw and emotional for him. For a moment, I saw a defiant fire blazing behind the embers of his eyes.

"There's a lot I could tell you about them," he said. "Like how I loved them. Or how I lost them. Or how they sent me to live with my piece of crap Uncle Milton and his piece of crap wife, at least until they sent me here. You might have to be more specific."

I tried to choose my words carefully. "I meant, what do you know about their relationship to this house?"

He looked at me for a moment the same way people looked at Jehovah's Witnesses, or Mormons, when they knocked on the door. That same kind of detached skepticism. "They have no relationship to this place. Why would you think that they did?"

He knew less than I had thought.

He inferred meaning from my hesitation. "Did they? Is there something that I don't know?"

"Your mother, Emily, she-"

"How do you know her name?"

I tried to smile at him, tried to make it maternal and loving. It probably came out more like a grimace, and more sardonic and angst-ridden. "The last time I spoke to her-"

"Wait, you _knew_ her?"

Before I could say another word, another voice rang up the hall from behind us. It was a voice that I knew well. I turned to face my master. Esau's voice boomed across the walls like a tidal surge.

"That is quite enough, you two. Helen, would you come with me, please?"

I didn't have the same relationship with Esau that I once had with his father, but I could not refuse him any more than I had the other. I bent my head demurely, and followed Esau to his personal study.

3

Esau guided me into his private parlor and closed the swinging French-style doors closed behind us. I waited there near the entrance as he made his way to a wet bar in the corner and poured himself a drink. I noticed a curious bounce in his step and his movements, as though a great excitement had taken hold of him. The air smelled of the lemon-scented polish that I used weekly to bring out the best possible shine in the mahogany wood furniture that adorned the room.

"Scotch?" he said, without turning to face me.

"No sir." I did not bother to tell him that I had always hated the taste of whisky.

He turned to face me, decanter in hand, and seated himself behind the large oaken desk. He had filled the glass a little more than halfway, and now sipped his Scotch with obvious pleasure. He smiled up at me and gestured to one of the plush chairs that faced him from across the desk.

"Do sit down, Helen, there's no need to stand there like that."

I took the seat that he indicated, feeling no small bit like a cornered rat. There was a curious gleam in his eyes, and I waited for an outburst that did not come.

"Tell me, Helen, why are you trying to scare our young charge with such macabre tales?"

I took a deep breath. There was no simple way to have this conversation. I had long avoided even hinting at my experiences with the paranormal at the estate for fear of my reputation, and for what Mr. Drury was likely to think of me. The last thing I needed was for him to let me go, to tell me I was no longer needed here, and to then go about the task of how to spend my twilight years. Everything I had was wound up in this estate; my home, my income, my life's experiences.

"The last thing I would want would be to frighten the boy," I replied, after a moment of careful mental deliberation.

"Ghosts? Supernatural events? But these are all things that have frightened children for centuries."

I thought that over. "He brought it up first, sir. I think he has been having strange experiences since coming here."

He laughed. "Since coming here? He only showed up last night."

"I have had similar strange experiences, Master Esau. I only wanted him to feel less alienated."

Now it was out. For better or for worse, I had opened the door to his questioning of my sanity. I waited for him to latch on to that little bit of information, to attempt to pry more specifics out of me. And I was already wondering how much would be appropriate to tell him. He leaned back in his chair, and sipped his drink again. He looked down into the glass and swirled the whiskey around, watching it as it went in circles, as if pondering a great mystery.

"Why did you have to mention the boy's mother?" he said, now looking back up at me, a very pointed and interested expression on his face.

"Why shouldn't I?" I said. "Is the topic off limits?"

He pursed his lips. "I suppose there are no rules for which topics are and are not off limits. However, I question the logic in giving him information so soon after his tragedy that might cause him to begin questioning other things. I don't think now is the time to burden him with such trivial details."

I felt the blood drain from my face. Esau must have seen it too, because a tiny smile played at his lips as he saw the recognition that must have dawned in my features.

"He doesn't know about his mother, does he?" I said. The truth of it was almost too much for me to bear.

His answer was sharp and direct.

"No. And I had planned to keep it that way for a bit longer."

The implications of that statement slowly made themselves known to me, as if they were sentient creatures with a will of their own rather than the indirect deductions of a mind madly reeling to fit puzzle pieces together.

I put my hand to my throat. "All those years. You. And Milton. And Emily. He knows nothing of it?"

"Nothing. Milton has not filled him in on our, shall we say, complicated history. I have seen fit to follow suit. It is for the best, I believe, until we can determine just what he is and is not capable of."

"Capable of? What do you mean?" I said.

"Nothing. Forget I said that. It's probably more information than you needed. The point is, we should just agree now, you and I, that any further revelations for young Henry should come from me, and me alone."

On the one hand, I knew it would be easier to simply agree to those terms and continue on my way, forgetting that this entire ordeal ever transpired. It would be so easy to simply return to my previous night's conviction to ignore the boy, and let him make his own way. But something else tugged at my heart, and it was caused by the knowledge I possessed, that this boy who had lost everything should be denied such basic information about his own family. I had loved Emily once, loved her like a daughter, perhaps in place of the children I had never been blessed with. Her loss still resonated in my heart. The resemblance between child and mother notwithstanding, I was not sure I could long tolerate living in such close quarters with Emily's offspring, in full awareness of how little he actually knew about her.

"Are we in agreement, then?" Esau said.

Did I dare agree? I knew I need only acquiesce, and I would be free to return to my chores.

Another memory bubbled to the surface, one I had long fought to bury; one of my life's greatest failures. It was something I had known and ignored, much as it hurt me to turn a blind eye. The words tumbled out before my mental filter could stop them, and once they were out there, in the air between Esau and I, there was no reigning them back in.

"You will do the boy great harm if you continue this path," I said. "Much like the harm you caused his mother."

"Harm? I've harmed nobody," he said, his statement accompanied by a dismissive wave of the hand.

"I've already kept silent about so much. I know what you did to Emily. I know how it changed her."

"You don't know what you are talking about."

"You didn't force yourself on her that night?"

And there they were, those words I would never be able to take back, hanging in the air between us like a floating axe head, eager to cut.

4

The silence that followed my accusation was rife with all of the possibilities of a situation that was destined to end badly. I realized, listening to that quiet hum in the air, that with one simple question my life would change forever.

Esau looked at me for a time. His face was a picture of serenity, not even his eyes giving away so much as a hint of what he was thinking. Only his knuckles, whitening as he tightened his grip on the decanter of Scotch, indicated the change in his mood. Pure rage on his features would have been preferable, maybe a sneer or some bared teeth; this was worse. The blank slate before me caused me far more anxiety.

"Master Esau-" I began.

"It would do you well," he said, his voice even, cutting me off, "to not go around throwing accusations at people. Particularly people like me."

"I was not accusing, sir. I know what happened. I was there that night. I chose to do nothing, and to keep silent all these years, and I have long regretted it. I do not wish to see the boy destroyed in the face of your obsession, the way that his mother was destroyed."

Now his face did begin to contort. "You know nothing of my relationship with Emily. You only think that you do. You cannot comprehend what she put me through. What we put each other through."

"That's not my concern, sir," I said, trying to keep my composure in the face of the impending wrath. "When you led her out there that night, when you started to advance on her, she told you no."

"And how can you know so much? Are you omniscient?" He set the glass down on the desk, folded his hands, and leaned forward, eyeing me with something akin to disdain.

"I was out for a walk that night. I was returning from my quarters, on my way back to the house. I saw and heard enough. I kept walking."

"You did well to mind your business," Esau said. "I might advise that you continue to do so."

"Just don't harm the boy."

For one daunting moment, he lost his composure. All of that upbringing, congeniality, and forced graciousness fled him and he reached out, grabbing the closest thing at hand, which happened to be a large granite paperweight he kept on his desk, and he pitched it across the room. The smooth round stone cut through the air, and I heard it whizz uncomfortably close by my ear, before it struck and shattered a vase on a shelf along the far wall. After the tense but quiet tone of our conversation, the retort of breaking glass was so loud that I cringed in my seat, and cried out in alarm.

Esau rose, hands supporting his weight as he leaned on his desk, and spit flew from his mouth as he screamed at me. "Do not make demands on me! And do not presume to level your veiled threats in my direction!"

I sat there, shaking. I could not keep my hands steady. I wanted to flee the room, but I did not think my legs would carry me to the door just now.

He continued the verbal assault. "You do not know anything about what you saw and heard! Emily loved me! I know she did!" He took a moment to collect himself. He sat. Gradually, his ragged breathing calmed and became steady again.

"I know she did," he said, with less certainty this time. "I apologize. I should not have lost my composure like that."

It was a long moment before I could even bring myself to think about how to reply to that, so we just sat there, neither meeting the eyes of the other, and the silence returned. After what felt like an eternity, my heartbeat returned to its natural rhythm, and I felt the tightening in my throat begin to loosen, so that I might be able to speak again.

Esau rose from his seat and walked around the desk. At first I thought he meant to get in my face, or worse, but he crossed the room and began busying himself with cleaning up the broken vase. He began by retrieving the largest shards of glass and depositing them in a wastebasket.

"I can get that, sir," I said. "It's my job to clean up around here."

"This is my mess. I will clean it up," he said. Something about those words chilled my bones.

I rose to leave. "I should be going then."

"I wish you hadn't said such hurtful things," Esau said, retrieving the paperweight, which looked so large in his hand. He stood to face me as I walked by him.

"I wish I had done many things differently," I said. "We should talk again, when we have cooled off. I think this is important."

"We'll see."

I walked past him. I was dimly aware that I did not like the way he was looking at me, or the curious expression that adorned his face, as if he were pondering some bizarre thought.

I reached for the door knob.

A blow to my head.

A bright flare of pain and a loud crack of noise.

Darkness.
Episode 3

Seth's Fall

1

Oh, their faces! Their wonderful, confused, wary faces, all etched with surprise and wonder and shock. I followed the butler into the dining room, clapped him on the shoulder, and unslung my bow with all of the grace and surety that my years of practice had produced. I notched an arrow, held the bowstring taut, and swept the weapon from one wall of the great room to the other. They froze in their seats, their conversation dying off, forks hanging midway before their mouths, and you could have heard a pin drop.

Only Esau remained unimpressed.

"Welcome, Seth," he intoned. The other two kids sat there with their mute expressions. I recognized Esau's son easily enough. Trevor looked like a younger version of the master of the house, his hair just as red and just as coarse as that of his father, though considerably shorter and not spilling out of the neckline of his shirt in sweeping tufts. The other kid was about my age, but I had no idea who he was. He had a long straight nose and very dark hair, and just stared at me, like some great riddle had occurred to him.

"Do sit," Esau said. "Have you had your breakfast?"

"I'm not a big fan of breakfast," I replied, then nodded to my weapon. "You have a place where I can go shoot this thing, or should I start looking for targets here in this room?"

Esau clicked his tongue. He appraised me for several long moments, and then a wistful little grin crossed his face. "As it happens, the targets are already arranged out back. I had Jacob see to it this morning. Your father indicated you were quite the avid archer."

I shrugged. "It's something to do." I loosened the arrow, detached the nock from the string, and put it back in its quiver.

"Henry, Trevor, this is Seth," Esau said, nodding to the two boys each in turn and then gesturing to me. "He will be staying with us for a while. Would you like to say a few words, Seth?"

"About what?"

"About yourself, of course."

"What's to tell? My dad is going to be in Europe for the next three months, my mother with him, and I didn't want to go. So here I am. End of story."

"There's always more to the story," Esau said.

"Not in my boring life." I turned and left the room, satisfied with the entrance I made.

I didn't know my way around the house, but it was simple enough to retrace my steps toward the front door. The butler had left my bags at the foot of the grand staircase in the main foyer. I assumed he would be bringing them up to my room later. That was his job, right? I certainly wasn't going to lug all of that up all those steps.

The hair along the base of my neck prickled; I paused by the stairs and looked up.

A young girl stood at the head of the staircase, peeking down at me from between the railings of the ornate bannister that circled down to floor level. Her hair was blonde and curly, and she wore some kind of baby-blue old-fashioned frock-looking thing, like they wore in those old movies my dad liked to watch. Her mouth was pressed into a tight, grim line.

I drew an arrow, notched the shaft, and pulled the string tight, all in one smooth motion. All I needed to do would be to relinquish my grip, and she would get an arrow through her heart. I loved the way people reacted when they saw an arrow drawn and pointed at them. Priceless. That's why I did it.

Except this girl didn't move. She didn't even flinch. She just stared down at me. I got the sense that she was displeased, even though her face never so much as twitched.

"Aren't you frightened?" I said.

She just stared on.

I laughed and headed out the front door.

The muted orange sun hung low over the horizon, as though it could not decide whether or not to rise. A faint mist still clung to the grounds, but had mostly dissipated. A distinct chill bit at my exposed skin, but it was a welcome relief compared to the car I had ridden in to the old house, which had been stuffy and hot with the heater cranked up far too high.

I descended the steps two at a time, and then stopped when I noticed a blue jay perched atop the cracked stone fountain that the horseshoe driveway curved around. A live target! I pulled the string back again, and was taking aim when a car door slammed shut. The noise spooked the bird, which hooted its displeasure and flew off. I cursed and glanced down at the end of the drive.

The butler was struggling to heft a rather large bundle off of the ground and into the trunk of a rusting car that might have been older than me. The bundle was almost as long as he was tall, wrapped in some kind of black plastic, and flopped limply in his awkward embrace. But he finally managed, and slammed the trunk shut then rounded to the front of the vehicle.

"Not many people show such interest in the help," Esau's cold voice boomed behind me. I had not heard him approach.

I turned to him. "I enjoy watching people struggle. What can I say? It's a hobby."

"How charming."

The engine rattled to life and the car began a slow trek down the driveway. "What was he loading in the trunk, anyway?"

He shrugged. "A dead body, judging by the size of it." I watched his face for signs of mirth, or some other indication that he was joking. After a long moment, he smiled. "How should I know what it was? Some old trash, as likely as not."

I watched the car amble off and wondered after it, but not for long. The weight of the bow reminded me of how badly I wanted to shoot something. "Whatever," I said. I descended the rest of the steps and headed around to the back of the property. I meant to have some early morning target practice and then go exploring. I had caught sight of a well on my way up, and a lake beyond that. For some reason that I could not quite put my finger on, I really wanted to see that well.

2

I shot arrows at the stuffed targets until I grew bored, which turned out to be most of the morning. Some of the targets were just stuffed bags of straw mounted on sticks with bull's-eyes painted on them, but there were man-shaped bundles, not unlike scarecrows. These were the ones I aimed for; it was much more fun to hit something that looked like a man. In that time, the sun slowly ascended to its proper place in the heavens and the remnants of the fog disappeared. The sky turned a dull sort of blue mostly hidden behind a dense cover of clouds.

I have experimented with different kinds of bows, but found the compound bow too simplified, and the recurve bow too silly looking. I settled on a traditional longbow, sans arm guard, reassured by the lack of let-off, as this appealed to the purist in me that did not care for the more modern conveniences and developments. No sights, cams, stabilizers, or releases for me, just pure gut instinct.

I judged the distance and angle, drew the string, felt the reassuring presence of the shaft near my ear, and let fly with the arrow. I was aiming for head of the farthest scarecrow, but caught it in the right side, at the rib. A disappointment, but all the same, had that been an actual enemy, he would be on the ground in agony right now, so all in all, not a bad shot.

It was time to go check out the well. I left my stuff by the targets and strolled on down the path. The distant lake loomed nearer than before, and I thought I might walk down there after I was done at the well. What I meant to do there, I could not say, but something about it called to me, and I just wanted to check it out.

There wasn't much to it, really; just some old bricks surrounding a wide, deep hole, and a worn rope attached to a crank that disappeared down into the depths of darkness. I peered over the edge. Below, a great distance down, I thought I could just make out the shiny surface of the water.

And something else.

It blurred in my vision, like viewing something out of focus, and I rubbed at my eyes and had another look. What had I seen? A ripple? Something slithering along the surface of the water. Could a snake be down there? I wasn't sure, and I didn't see anything now. I could barely even see the water. It was a long ways down.

"Hello?" I called to the murky depths, just to hear my voice echo.

_Hello, hello, hello,_ it went.

I stood there for another long moment, feeling suddenly dumb. Why had I been so attracted to this stupid well in the first place? There wasn't even anything down there except some old, dirty water, and years of grime, and--

A twig snapped from off to my right. I threw my gaze in the direction of the sound.

In the distance, somebody was moving into the ring of trees that circled the property, not far from one side of the lake. Despite the wide gap between us, there was no mistaking the diminutive form and distinctive red hair of Trevor Drury. He chose his path with great care as he approached the forest. I didn't think he'd noticed me, and he was facing away from me. But where was he going? What was out there in the forest?

I decided to find out.

I left the trail, following after the child. Two full minutes must have passed between the time he disappeared into the outermost fringe of trees and the time that I reached that same spot. Plenty of time for him to disappear and be completely lost to me, unless I got lucky, or unless there was some kind of marked path within the forest.

I found no such path, but the forest itself pointed the way. A gentle sway to the land, a gradual dip over a bluff, a fallen spruce positioned just so, a break in the trees at the perfect spot, there was simply no question which way I should go. The ground started to rise again, up toward a bluff where the wall of trees parted, but the distance to the top was deceptive and soon the muscles under my shins started to burn and protest.

I found Trevor just on the other side of the bluff, within a little clearing apart from the trees. Wildflowers grew thick in little clusters, and the wind whistled as it came through the interlocking branches of the nearest spruces.

The boy sat cross-legged within a row of sanded, smooth stones that had been arranged in a neat little circle. His palms rested on his thighs, palms turned upward toward the sky. He was completely alone, but was speaking ardently, as if in the midst of a heated conversation. Very interesting.

A moment later it hit me; it was some kind of chant.

He alternately hummed, sang, and spoke in heated whispers, and occasionally he would tilt his head back toward the sky. He had no idea I was there. His eyes were closed, his face a picture of serenity. He clearly knew what he was doing, and this was not the first time he had come out into this clearing to perform his little ritual.

I felt a cold gaze sweep across me and a chill went through me, as though the temperature has suddenly dipped twenty degrees. I spun in place, scanning the trees behind me to see what had changed, or if someone else was up here with us. They were either very well hidden or I had imagined it. But no! There it was again, that eerie sensation, like a presence, but now I felt it coming from an entirely different direction. I couldn't explain why my knees started to buckle, but they did. Goosebumps lined the backs of my arms. The seconds crawled by, and Trevor continued to chant, and I continued to feel an extra presence, pressing in tight.

And getting tighter.

Like something coming at us, spurred on by the boy's prayer.

I needed to break the hold. "Nice little setup you have here!

His eyes popped open, his head snapped around to face me, and a horrified expression spread across his face. Busted. Ha ha!

"What are... wha.. what are you d-doing here?" he managed.

"Watching you make a fool of yourself."

Whatever I had felt coming on, it disappeared as soon as I spoke. I told myself it was nothing, just some wacky feeling brought on by listening to him carry on like that. But it was easy enough to decipher the real story on this hill; the boy was nuts.

"H-h-how long have you been there?" Trevor's voice shook.

"Long enough. What was that? Wicca, or something? You worship trees, and hills, and that kind of thing?"

He jumped to his feet, his face grown almost as red as his hair. "Nothing. I wasn't doing anything. Just playing. A game. That's all. A game."

He ran past me, back the way I came from.

"That didn't look like any game I've ever seen," I called after him.

"Just a game," he yelled back, then disappeared over the rise of the bluff and down the other side.

I looked back at the circle of stones and laughed out loud. This was too great! I could have a lot of fun with this one. What would he give me _not_ to tell his dad about his little ceremony in the woods? My head swam with all of the possibilities, all of the different ways I could torment him with this.

I laughed all the way back to the house. I even managed to almost forget that for a long moment there, I had been sure that something had been coming toward us. Something summoned by Trevor's ritual.

3

"Why didn't you want to go to Europe with your parents?" the boy asked, sitting down beside me on the steps. It was the kid with the pointy nose from breakfast the previous morning. Esau said his name was Harry or Harvey or something like that.

"What's it to you?"

He shrugged. "Just wondering."

"Maybe you should stay out of other people's business."

"Maybe you shouldn't be such a jerk." He stood. He took a few paces back toward the house, then stopped and looked back at me. I continued to gaze at the cracked fountain but I could see him out of the corner of my eye. "Helen said we would be getting a new person come to stay with us," he added.

"Who the hell is Helen?"

"She's the maid. Only she seems to have gone missing. I can't find her anywhere, and Esau won't answer any question about her."

"And I'm supposed to care, why?"

"She knew you were coming before Esau did."

"Maybe she was in the wrong profession, then. Maybe she left to go tell fortunes."

Harry or Harvey or Whoever-He-Was stalked back toward me. I could tell he was getting flustered. His nostrils flared and he had that obstinate look in his eyes that people got around me. I have a talent for getting under people's skins, you could say.

"You went out by the well yesterday?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. You keeping an eye on me?"

"Anything?"

"Anything, what?"

"At the well?"

I stared at him, and I could tell something was making him nervous. He kicked absently at the stone steps and kept shuffling his weight from one leg to the other. "What was I supposed to see at the well?"

"You didn't... see anything? Hear anything?"

I could tell he was trying to choose his words with great care, but I had no idea why. It was just a stupid well. My recollection flashed back to that moment when I thought I had seen a snake or something rippling across the surface of the water far down below, but that couldn't possibly be what he was so worked up about. Or was he talking about the kid?

"You mean Esau's little brat?"

That rattled him. "No. What about him?"

"Nothing." This conversation was making me dumber. I could almost see the IQ points leaking out of my ears and cresting away on the breeze. "The kid's a nut, is all. But if there's something you want me to know about the well, just spill it or leave me alone."

"Nevermind," he said, and stormed off. Good riddance to him.

I watched the sun set, then returned to my room. Drury Manor was nothing if not boring and stupid. Other than the little circle of stones, the forest was unexciting and offered nothing spectacular. The lake held promise, but it was too cold to go swimming, and there was nothing out there but a dilapidated old wharf and some old boathouse that was little more than a crumbling wooden enclosure one good gust of wind away from falling completely over. I tried exploring the house, thinking that surely an old mansion should be a fun and creepy thing to wander about in, except it wasn't. Just a bunch of hallways dotted with busts of old dead guys, a lot of empty rooms, and a lot of money wasted on tacky furnishings. I kept hoping to discover an ancient dungeon or arcane markings that would somehow point the way to some great mythical beast. Anything to make these next three months interesting.

But nope. Drury Manor pretty much sucked. Other than the constant patter of feet up and down the hallway the whole night, the place was completely void of anything of interest. Although I will say, the footsteps in the hallway were kind of strange. I thought for sure there were a bunch of kids running around outside my door, but every time I crept over to it and threw it open, I found the hallway deserted. Rats, maybe? They would have to be some big rats, I suppose, but that was the only other thing I could think of that it could have been.

I went to my room, closed the door, and laid across the bed with a book. It was an imported copy of a Japanese novel in which a bunch of grade school kids are forced to kill each other on a remote island. There was enough death and bloodshed on its pages to satisfy even a cynic like me, and more than once I imagined myself on that island, fending for myself, battling for survival, against all odds. I would rise to the top. I knew I would. If I could just get my hands on a bow and arrow, I would be a force to be reckoned with. I'd kill them all.

I heard footsteps in the hall again.

Except, this was not like last night. Only one set of footsteps, and these at the measured, calculating pace of somebody trying to be quiet, as opposed to what I had heard last night, that sounded like children playing and running about. As I listened, the steps went right past my door and kept going.

I paced to the door and opened it slowly, peering out just in time to see Trevor disappear into the last room at the end of the hall. Trevor's room was on the other side of the house, next to that of his father, so I wondered what he was doing over here. I checked my watch and found that it was after midnight. I always did lose track of time when reading; several hours had passed since I splayed across the bed.

I crept to the last door on the left side of the hallway, meaning to catch the boy unawares. He had clearly waited until he thought everybody was asleep to come over here, so he was obviously up to something. I thought about how I had caught him doing that little ritualistic chant in the forest yesterday, and I would have bet anything he was up to something similarly weird tonight.

He had not latched the door, but merely pressed it almost completely shut. Probably to avoid the unnecessary noise of a latch catching. But what was convenient for him was also convenient for me, because that meant I could open the door silently and see what was going on.

I pushed the door open slowly.

An old bookcase lined one wall, but few books remained on it. There was a large recliner in one corner, covered in clear plastic, and an old crib adjacent to it, also covered in clear plastic. The carpet was stained, the wallpaper peeling down off the walls, and it was immediately clear this room had not been used in a very long time.

I had a good view of the boy's back. He was standing near the window, slowly rocking. After a moment, I realized what he was doing.

He was dancing. If you could call it that. He was also faintly humming. The light of a single candle on the floor behind him cast his shadow on the wall, and for only the briefest of moments when I opened the door, I thought I caught a glimpse of additional shadows, as though there were several other people in the room, but these crawled along the walls and vanished as soon as I spotted them. It was an eerie sight to behold for sure, but I discounted it as a trick of the light due to the flickering flame.

I tiptoed to the boy, chose my moment with great care, then grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and screamed, "Boo!"

He must have left the floor a full foot when he jumped. The look of pure shock, the grunt of surprise, and the terrified look in his eyes as he spun around and fell on his butt was truly one of the most satisfying moments of my life.

"Got you, you little lunatic," I said, laughing. "Up to more of your bizarre rituals?"

It started as a single trickle of a tear, but after a moment the boy was crying. I relished the moment, smiling down at him.

"Crybaby too, huh? I must have gotten you good."

He wiped the back of one trembling hand across his face to brush away the tears, but new ones immediately replaced the old, so it was a fruitless gesture. "I'm not crying for me, Seth," he said.

"Oh really, who are you crying for, then?"

"You."

Something pushed me hard from behind. I grunted, unable to help myself, and sprawled out on the floor next to Trevor. It knocked the breath out of me. Fury coursed in my veins. Who the hell? Was it that stupid Harvey kid?

I jumped to my feet and spun to face him.

There was nobody there.

Another blow to my back, and I fell again. I would have suspected Trevor, but when I turned my head, the kid had not moved from his place on the floor. "What is that?" I managed, unable to keep my voice from sounding pinched.

Trevor was still crying and did not answer me.

"What is that?" I said again.

"I've tried to warn you a few times, like I warned Henry, but you would never let me talk to you," he finally said.

"That's because you're weird and I didn't want to hear anything that you had to say."

His face was grim. "This is one of the forbidden rooms. It's one of _their_ rooms."

"Who?"

"The orphans."

"The who?"

"This was one of their rooms. It was also my nursery when I was a baby. They took a liking to me, they liked having me here. They let me visit. But only me. Anyone else comes in here..."

I waited, impatient. "Anyone else what?"

"They get angry. When other people invade their space."

"I don't see any stupid orphans."

An unseen hand slapped me across my face and I cried out.

"Don't insult them. It's bad enough you came in here uninvited. It's bad enough they saw you picking on me. You shouldn't insult them too."

I scrambled to my feet. "This isn't making sense." I backed toward the door, throwing anxious glances in all directions but seeing no one else, and nothing to account for the slap and the shoves. "This is some kind of trick. You're doing this somehow."

"There's something else you should know," he continued. "It's also the room where he did it."

"Who did what?"

"My grand-father. Where he killed them. Every single one of them."

I turned and fled the room. I had heard enough. Trevor's voice followed me out into the hall, still thick with the sound of his sorrow.

"I'm sorry Seth," he said. "You can't run from them."

4

All night, they tormented me. I told myself it was still some trick, that Trevor was doing it somehow. But as the twilight hours crept along, and as the noises in my room refused to subside, I found myself almost believing the stupid runt's tale of dead orphans and murder.

I kept hearing the pitter patter of little feet, but now they were in my room with me.

I lost count of how many times I was awoken to the sound of children playing near the foot of my bed. I would sit up, rub at my eyes, and find no one there. I would lay back down, refusing to believe, but the moment I started to drift off back to sleep they started up again. Once, I thought I saw a young boy with a long face and hauntingly dark eyes staring at me from one corner of the room. His entire countenance exuded disdain and scorn.

It was torture, and by the time the sun's first tentative rays pierced my window and cast their glow in a little patch on the floor, I was exhausted, terrified, and completely frazzled.

But something else happened as the daylight flooded the room; my terror fled, and that familiar anger took its place. It was easy, as the cold night gave way, to forget how sure I had been all night that there were ghosts in my room. It was so simple, when the fright passed, to pretend it had never been there at all. It's amazing when you think of it, how quick we are to disregard things we know to be true when it suits us, to try force the world to into the mold we have set for it.

I knew, in the daylight, that whatever I had experienced the night before was nothing more than an elaborate trick. There was no such thing as the supernatural. Ghosts weren't real. Spirits did not rattle chains and haunt old houses. There were no little devils trying to steal souls, no God in heaven who gave a rat about me. All fantasy. All of it. The world was a rational, physical, completely natural place, and anything to suggest otherwise was just silly old superstition.

Like I said, it's amazing how we try so hard to make ourselves believe in the rational and explainable. Perhaps that is an even greater superstition than any other; the superstition of the naturalistic.

I didn't want to know what I looked like as I rose from my bed and got dressed, but I chanced a look in the mirror anyway. My eyes hung heavy, the lids seemed thicker than before, my face was pinched and sallow, and all in all I looked like crap. I wet my hair and fixed it in place as best I could and headed for the bedroom door. Breakfast time in the great dining hall, and I meant to have a nice little chat with Esau and Trevor about some things.

Something shoved me hard from behind again, and I sprawled across the floor. My knee struck the side of the bedframe, pain erupted up my leg, and I yelped.

And of course, I was still utterly alone.

Another trick. Had to be. I massaged the aching limb and joined the others down below, the last to arrive.

Henry looked at me with the most curious expression. Esau cocked an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth curled upward. Trevor gave a startled little gasp, as if he were surprised to find me alive at all.

"You're... here," he said.

"Imagine that," I said. Esau was seated at the head of the table, Henry to his left, Trevor to his right. I plopped down in a seat beside Henry.

"How are you feeling this morning, Seth?" Esau said, looking at me pointedly. "You do not look well."

"Of course I don't look well," I replied. "Missing an entire night of sleep will do that to a person."

"Having a hard time adjusting?"

"I could give a crap about adjusting. Your son is my problem."

"Oh?" His gaze trailed over to Trevor, whose complexion turned deathly white. Or more deathly white than usual, as it was. Henry's mouth flopped open. Esau regarded his son for a moment longer, and then fixed his eyes on me once more. "Is Trevor bothering you?"

"I didn't do anything!" Trevor cried.

"Hush, now," his father scolded. "Well, Seth?"

"Well, let's see." I ticked off items on my fingers. "First I catch him holding some crazy ritual in the woods. Then he's dancing in a dark room at midnight. Then he's trying to convince me that there's these dead orphans that want revenge on me. So yes. He's bothering me."

Trevor choked on his orange juice, and looked about as mortified as anyone could look. For a drawn out moment, even Esau was unable to hide his surprise and displeasure, but he remembered himself quickly enough and a cold steely expression settled over his face, effectively masking his bewilderment.

"Not these orphans again!" he bellowed. "How many times, Trevor? How many times?"

"Dad--"

"How many times do I have to tell you to cut that nonsense out!"

"But--"

"And what is this ritual in the woods? What is he talking about?"

"A game! I--"

"You are to never go into that nursery again! Do you hear me?"

"But they'll be sad--"

"Who'll be sad, Trevor, who?"

The boy caught himself. I was sure he was about to say that the orphans would be the ones to miss him, but he couldn't very well say that to Esau, could he? I watched him, a perverted satisfaction in my gut as Trevor cringed and tried to shrink in his seat. Henry just bore this stupid little expression on his face, as he looked back and forth from one to the other, almost more embarrassed than Trevor for having to witness this. I half expected him to excuse himself any moment, but he was as rooted to the spot as I was.

"Who'll be sad, Trevor?" Esau repeated.

"Don't you hear them Dad? In the night? Ever?"

"Hear who?"

Trevor was reluctant to say any more. Esau's face did not give away much of a sympathetic vibe. I'm sure the boy was hoping that his father would admit to having heard something.

"I've heard them," Henry said, and both Drurys' heads snapped around at him. Now it was his turn to cringe, and my turn to look around stupidly. I would never in a million years have expected him to interrupt such a heated exchange between father and son.

"Come again, now?" Esau said, his teeth bared.

"I've heard them. Footsteps. Running up and down the hall at night."

I felt that familiar chill from the previous night at the mention of those footsteps, and the memories that it recalled. I brushed it aside. Ghosts. Are. Not. Real.

"So my son has been trying to scare you with his tales as well, has he?" Esau shook his head, then looked again at his son. "I've had enough of this. I've humored your macabre fascination with that old nursery long enough, and against my better judgment. It is high time I sealed the room shut."

Trevor's eyes bulged. "You can't! They won't like that!"

Esau laughed. "Imaginary characters do not have feelings, my boy. And maybe in time you will forget this nonsense, if I stand my ground on this."

"Please, dad!"

"I will have Jacob bar the door and seal it shut this very day. And that is the end of the discussion!"

Something shattered overhead, and the ceiling shook. Something big and heavy, by the sounds of it. We all looked up as one. Even Esau appeared a tad rattled by the timing.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

"They're mad," Trevor said.

"Let them be mad, then," Esau said. "What harm can they do?"

5

It looked like somebody had planted a bomb and detonated the bust of Hamlen Drury, one of Esau's distant ancestors. Chunks of broken stone spanned half the hall in a virtual blanket. Some of the pieces were as large as my fist. Others were even larger. Some had been smashed to dust. I gazed down, and a thought occurred to me.

"This is heavy stone," I said.

"It is," Esau agreed, surveying the wreckage with a serious scowl on his face. Trevor and Henry hung back a few paces. I alone had ventured forward, and was now standing near Esau's right side.

"This shouldn't be so easy to break."

"It's limestone. Very solid. Very dense."

The jagged pieces all had the same kind of silvery luster to them, and they gave me a really bad feeling. "Plus, the carpet is really thick."

"It is."

"Plus, how did the thing fall in the first place?" This time he was silent. I put it all together for him. "The bust should not have shattered like this just from falling over. Even if it somehow managed to fall all on its own, with the thick carpet and its own density, at most it should have just rolled across the floor. Not... this."

Esau balled his fists and turned to his son. "I suppose you have something to say to this?"

The boy looked terrified, but to his credit, he spoke his mind. "They really don't want you to seal the room, Father. Please don't do it."

Esau sighed and looked at us each in turn. For one, I was still boggled by the dynamics of this situation. The bust really should not have broken. And it wasn't just the bust; the pedestal it had sat upon, itself a limestone sculpture by the looks of it, had shattered as well. The pedestals all looked like little miniature columns, similar to appearance to what the Romans used for their temples and government buildings, way back when.

"Unless it shattered before," I said, not meaning to give voice to the thought. Esau narrowed his eyes at me. I gestured back. "Something must have shattered it while it was standing. That is the only explanation, right? Like maybe something struck it?"

Trevor was undeterred. "Please don't seal the room, dad. Please don't make them even angrier. It won't stop anything. It won't keep them in."

Esau's entire face contorted in an explosion of rage. With a visible snarl to his lips, he screamed, "I am not trying to keep anybody in! I am trying to keep you out!" Trevor cringed. "Your tales have upset enough people! You will not go into that room again! It will be sealed this very hour! I will have Jacob see to it!"

I looked to the end of the hall, at that last room on the left. The door was closed. From the outside, it looked like all the other rooms. But I wondered.

Esau stormed off down the hall, presumably to go fetch the butler. I grinned at Trevor. "Looks like you might need to find some new dancing partners."

Trevor scowled at me, and Henry just looked confused about the comment.

I spent the rest of the day shooting my arrows at the targets, and when that got boring I went looking for living targets. I managed to bring down a wild rabbit with one of my arrows. I perched in some bushes near the trees at the edge of the property while I took aim. The little rodent didn't even see it coming. The whole time, my eyes kept darting back to the well. Why the fascination again? I shouldn't care a lick about that anymore. I thought more than once about that supposed presence I had felt in the forest when Trevor was going through his little ritual out there. Between that and his ghost stories, the kid sure did have some issues.

As night descended, I found myself back in the house. I was shocked to learn that another bust had exploded while I was outside. Esau was in a fury about it, Henry told me. He suspected Trevor of some mischief and was of a mind to spank the child bloody. I can't say I blamed him.

I laughed when I saw the door to the nursery, locked up tight and barred over with wooden planks that were nailed in place. The butler was just finishing hammering in the last nail when I arrived.

"That should keep that little turd out of there," I said, pleased.

The butler turned to me. "This is only temporary," he said. "Master Esau was most insistent that I make sure that young Trevor cannot get in here. He is seeking a more permanent solution. As soon as the materials can be purchased, we are going to remove the door entirely and replace it with a solid wall. For all intents and purposes, this room will cease to exist.

I laughed. That sounded terrific to me.

Soon I was back in bed with my book, reading about all the death and bloodshed my little heart could take. As my eyes grew heavy, I reached to switch off the lamp.

As soon as the light was extinguished, somebody laughed. I jumped at the sound of it. The sound had come from within my room! I reached over to turn the lamp back on, and something batted my fist away. The back of my hand stung as though it had been slapped.

Again that laugh.

"Trevor? Is that you, you little jerk?"

There was no answer. The room was silent. I was just starting to convince myself that my mind (or Trevor) was playing an elaborate joke on me, when I felt a distinct indent in the bed, as though someone had sat down on the edge of it.

I scurried away from that sensation, despite myself. I could see the imprint on the other side in the gloom. But nobody was there.

What the--

A slap across my face. I cried out, fumbled my way from beneath the covers, stumbled, tripped, and landed in an awkward heap on the floor. My face took the brunt of the impact, and pain flared in my cheek; maybe a brush burn, maybe something worse. I don't know.

I fought my way to my feet, refusing to stay down. Who was doing this? If it was that little creep, I could almost see myself notching an arrow and putting it in his throat, it would be worth it, even if I had to go to prison for the rest of my life. Somebody had to teach that little punk a lesson.

I finally managed to stand, turned, looked about myself.

There were nine of them. They glowed faintly, casting a faint luminescence that seemed to emanate from within themselves. Nine kids. I recognized the little girl with the blonde curls that I had seen on the day that I arrived; she stood near the back of the pack, separate from the rest.

The others formed a haphazard line that stretched from one end of the room to the other. One of them stood slightly ahead of the rest, more or less centered horizontally, facing me.

I recognized him as well. Last night, peeking at me from out of the corner of the room, the long face, the disdain on his features. He looked like he hated me.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

"Had to do it," the leader said. His voice sounded like a rusty chain grating against a piece of sheet metal.

_Had to do it, had to do it, had to do it,_ the others echoed.

"Trevor is ours," the leader said again.

_Trevor is ours, Trevor is ours,_ the others repeated.

"Should have stayed out of our room." _Out of our room, out of our room, out of our room_. "Believe in us now?" _Believe in us now, believe in us now, believe in us now?_

The leader stepped forward, closer, closer, ever closer. In life he might have only been nine or ten, probably not much different in age than Trevor himself. But the sheer hatred on his face... How could such a young face look so evil?

He slapped me, so fast I hardly saw his ghostly little hand move. My head rocked back, and I knew for certain he was the one who had been shoving me around for the past two days.

I almost vomited then. I felt my entire body shudder and spasm, the fear crippling and threatening to topple me. It was real. All real. These kids. These orphans. Dead. Ghosts. Specters from the past. Murdered. Trevor's grand-father killed them. Trevor told me that. He didn't tell me how. He just told me he did. I ignored him. I blew it off. I knew better now. This was real. So real. These ghosts. These orphans. These children who glowed.

The leader laughed then, and the others took up the call. As one, they cackled and chortled, really enjoying themselves, all but the little blonde girl, who just stood near the back, staring at me, her eyes vacant, an unreadable expression on her ghost face. No trace of menace on her face, but hers was the only one that didn't. But the others... they were enjoying this. They hated me. It was obvious. They just stood around and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

I tried to dodge around the leader and make for the door. An unseen blow sent me clear across the room, farther and harder than any human could have produced. I left the floor, flying like a caped superhero, right up until I slammed into the wall. Hot fire engulfed my arm, which dangled uselessly from below my elbow.

Broken. He broke my arm, broke my arm, broke my arm.

Great. Now I was repeating myself too.

I guess I went into shock, because after the initial flare, the pain in my arm faded, even as the limb flopped around and I struggled to rise.

They laughed again. The sound of it came in random bursts.

They closed in. I screamed. I backed into the wall and the circle tightened around me. Only the blonde girl remained behind, standing there, refusing to participate. The others pressed ever closer, and they looked even more hideous up close than they had from across the room.

I saw their wounds. Hideous, scarred, nasty wounds. Huge chunks were missing out of their bodies, preternatural flesh hanging in jagged clumps where entire limbs were missing. One little girl had almost no face to speak of. One little boy floated along with only one ghost leg under him. What had happened to them? What indeed? And what did they mean to do to me?

Then they started touching me, rubbing their cold, damp, skeletal hands up and down my head, face, and torso. It was like being burned with ice. I know that makes no sense. But that's how it felt. They laughed and smacked their lips, and groped, and rubbed, and my entire body screamed under that icy torture. I wanted to die. I wanted it to end. I wanted to forget what this felt like. But I never would. I knew as long as I lived I would never forget. It would always be there, always, always, sometimes beneath the surface, sometimes on top of it, but never gone, never forgotten.

Please let me die. Please. Please. Please.

I heard something shatter. My window. Not me. I didn't do it. Who did it? One of them? No telling. Doesn't matter. Not now. Not at this stage. It's broken. That's all I need to know. Like the busts in the hallway. Broken. Like me. Like my arm. Like my sanity. Their laughs. Their faces. Their cruel, hateful, spiteful little faces. Their torn bodies. Their glow. They glow! Holy hell, they glow, and they hurt, and they are hurting me, and this is what it is going to be like from now on, for me, the rambling, the stuttering, the fragmented thoughts, my life, my life is gone, madness, insanity, they're laughing, still laughing, at me, at my expense, laughing, and touching me, and hurting me, and...

And I ran for the window, jumped, cleared the sill, and welcomed the cold rush of night air on my face.
Episode 4

Henry's Favor

1

That one photograph of my mother and I, which I had set up on the mantelpiece in my room, was literally the only physical possession I owned that bore my mother's likeness. So when I discovered that it was missing, I panicked.

Frantically throwing items around the room, pouring through the little armoire that held my handful of belongings, casting darting glances under the bed, my horror mounted bit by bit. Where was it? How could it be missing? It wasn't like I took it down and played with it. It wasn't like I walked around the house with it. It wasn't like I had all that many things to begin with, that it would be mixed up among them. It should still be sitting where I left it, without exception. There was no reason for it to be gone.

It dawned on me that there was only one real explanation: someone took it.

Naturally, the first thing that popped into my mind was that Seth, the obnoxious new kid with the big mouth and the penchant for archery, had pranked me somehow. And not in a good, wholesome way, either, like how some kids will often unleash harmless jokes on one another for a good laugh. No, if Seth took it, he was being evil about it. He was doing it to hurt me. Although I couldn't be completely sure that he was the culprit. What about Trevor, with his little mysteries and his tales of ghosts? Or Esau, who still creeped me out and always seemed to be hiding something and who still wouldn't answer me about Helen?

I decided to listen to my gut, and question Seth first.

I wasn't halfway across the room to the door when a loud commotion arose in the hallway. Many loud, excited voices echoed from far away, accompanied by footsteps marching away quickly. Something was going down. Something big. You can just tell these things sometimes by the energy people give off. That was when I heard the sirens approaching the house. Many of them. The view outside my window startled me; police squad cars, an ambulance, and lots of people running about. It looked like complete pandemonium out there.

I meandered downstairs, not quite sure that I wanted to know what was going on. My heart thrust against my ribs, and an overwhelming sensation of gloom just seemed to be hanging over me. Something really bad had happened to someone who lived here, I just knew it. But it wasn't until I was standing under the stars that I knew how bad it was. I tore my eyes from the sight of that crumpled form lying near the base of the wall, splayed out on the grass like a marionette doll with its strings cut. Above, Seth's bedroom window loomed, shattered, shards of glass missing.

I plopped down on the front steps, and just sat there with my head in my hands, trying to puzzle it out. The medical crews ignored me, but a police officer did eventually wander over and ask me a few questions. He quickly surmised that I knew absolutely nothing, and he let me be.

At some point Trevor materialized beside me, his eyes thick and crusty from sleep. His red hair was disheveled, several strands jutting out at odd angles. The skin across his face was stretched tight in an expression of stricken fear.

" _They_ did this to him," Trevor said.

I was tired of hearing about ghosts. "Please don't start with that again."

So we sat there quietly for who knows how long. We watched the crew work. Esau was in the thick of it, barking at people, waving his hands emphatically as he gestured first up to the window, then to the ground, over and over. Overhead, the moon shone down on us with its soft glow, and only occasional strands of clouds would threaten to conceal it. The inky blackness of the night matched the substance of my thoughts.

And I'll admit it; the thought kept occurring to me that if Seth had in fact taken the picture of my mom, and if he died, then I might never learn where he hid it. I would never find it.

Esau marched over and looked down on us, Trevor and I, seated on the third step from the bottom.

"Seth is in critical condition," Esau said. I exhaled. At least he was alive. I feared he wouldn't even have that much going for him. "It's hard to say how much permanent damage he might have sustained. But it's bad."

"We'll have to pray for him," Trevor said.

Esau's head snapped around and he fixed the boy with his fiery gaze. "Pray? Since when do you pray?"

Trevor's head sagged. "Nevermind."

"For all the good praying does anyway." Then he looked over at me. "It looks as though he either fell out his window, or he jumped. Did either of you see anything? Hear anything?"

We both shook our heads in the negative.

"I didn't know anything was wrong until I heard the commotion," I said.

Esau nodded. "I was on my way to speak to him, when I discovered his room empty and the window broken. I looked out."

Things slowly quieted down after the paramedics loaded Seth onto a stretcher and drove off. It took forever for them to get him ready for transport. Too many things that could have gone wrong if they moved him the wrong way. I guess they didn't know exactly what was broken and which shattered bone might puncture which internal organ if they weren't careful enough. Nevertheless, one by one, the emergency vehicles and squad cars disappeared down that twisted drive, and, in the absence of their flashing lights, the night became that much darker.

I returned to my room, feet dragging. Did he jump, or had he fallen? Falling didn't make sense. How could he have fallen out of his window? But why would he have jumped? Neither explanation made much sense.

I opened my bedroom door and walked in.

The little girl was sitting on my bed.

I immediately recognized her from my first night at the house, looking down at me from between the railings of the bannister. She still wore that same blue smock dress that complemented her blonde curls so much. Upon seeing me, a modest smile played at her lips.

She pointed to the mantelpiece in the corner of the room, where, wonder of wonders, the framed picture of my mother and I rested as though it had always been there.

"She's very beautiful," the girl said.

I was speechless. Many conflicting thoughts raced through my head at the same time. For starters, the photograph had not been there when I left my room. I was sure of it. I had practically torn the room apart searching for it, something I would not have bothered to do had it been in the very first place I looked, the place where it was supposed to be all along anyway.

The second thing that went through my head was that this girl did not belong here. I had been at the estate long enough to know she was not one of the guests, or one of the workers, or one of the family members that lived there.

And she glowed. I know how that sounds. But there was a faint luminescence to her person, a shine that came from within, like someone had shoved a lamp under her skin. And now, up close, from her clothes to her hairstyle, I knew that she belonged to another era, a bygone year.

She watched me take all this in, hands folded in her lap, waiting.

The third thing that went through my mind was the one I had the most trouble with. Because she wasn't a little girl. At least, not technically. Maybe once upon a time. But not now. And then I knew with certainty that Trevor had been speaking truthfully all this time about the other residents of Drury Manor.

I wish I could say that it was the first time I had ever seen a ghost.

2

The ghost and I stared into each other's eyes. The moment might have lasted a second or an hour. I was transfixed, my brain threatening to shut itself off altogether and go on a long overdue vacation. The ghost probably did not suffer from any such ailment, but then again time is probably less of a factor to the undead and they can afford to be more patient. I'd bet the young girl could have sat there all night without batting an eye.

I would eventually have to sleep, however.

"What are you doing here?" I said.

"My name is Elaine."

It wasn't lost on me that she had not answered my question.

"Hi, Elaine."

"Hi, Henry."

"Now that that's out of the way, what are you doing here?"

She turned her head and looked toward my window. It was eerie watching her move. She didn't move like a real person would have moved. Had she been an actual person, dealing with bones, and muscle groups, even a simple gesture like a turn of the head would have looked a certain way, followed a certain pattern. When she did it, it was more like stop animation, in one frame she's looking at me, in the next, she's looking out of the window. Nothing in between. Like a poorly animated cartoon that lacks fluidity.

I followed her gaze. The window. Seth had fallen out of the window. Was there a relationship? Did I need to be worried? At the very least, I made a mental note to stay as far the heck away from that window as I could. I couldn't figure out why I wasn't running screaming from the room.

Maybe because, like I've already said, it wasn't the first time that I had ever seen a ghost.

"Your friend is hurt," Elaine said. She had this wispy, sing-song kind of voice, melodic in a way, like her every word was a lyric to a tune being sung for other children. It could almost be hypnotic, if it wasn't so haunting.

"Seth isn't my friend." She shrugged, again in that stop-motion way of hers. I had to know. "Did you do that to him?"

She giggled. "No. He jumped. But he did have help."

"Help?"

Again she looked at me. As I stared back into those eyes, I realized how unnatural they looked. The part that should have been white was black, and where her pupils should be, there seemed to be a void, as though nothing were there at all, just a hole into the bowels of the universe. Like I was looking far and long down a deep glass tunnel with no end. But hadn't those eyes appeared normal last time I saw her? Surely I would have noticed those eyes.

"What do you mean he had help?" I repeated.

"There's something you need to do," Elaine said. I wondered briefly if the entire conversation was going to go this way; I ask a question, she makes a random statement that has nothing to do with what I asked. It was maddening. After a few more minutes of this I might jump out of my window too.

"You mean like a favor?"

"He is the one riling them up. And he needs to be settled."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said.

"I need you to find something for me."

"Give me one good reason as to why I would want to do you any favors."

"You must go down to the well. At the south side of it, about a foot down, you'll find it."

"Find what?"

"You must settle him."

"Settle who?"

"Time is your enemy. Act swiftly."

I really thought I was about to throw something through a wall. I clenched my fists. "Would you give me a single straight answer? Just one? _Who_ needs to be settled? _What_ is this thing you want me to find? _What_ do I do with it _if_ I decide to find it at all? _Why_ should I help you?"

"He's only going to get worse," she said, hopping up off the bed and landing on the floor. Let me tell you how surreal it was to watch that happen. Certain things would have happened if a regular person were to jump off of a bed; he would have ruffled the covers, the mattress would have creaked as it bounced back into its natural shape, his feet would have made a thud against the floor.

There was none of that with Elaine. The mattress did not move. It was if she had not really been sitting on it at all, but merely hovering just over it. Which may have been the case. Nor did her black loafers make any kind of noise on the floor. I might have wondered if she was really there at all. Did her ghostly body have any physical, solid characteristics? It didn't seem to have any. But then, where did her voice come from? Didn't you need physical vocal chords to produce sound from your throat? Did her voice even come from her throat? If not, where? Come to think of it, the worst part was probably that I was even bothering to speculate on the physiology of a ghost.

Of course, the frame-by-frame way she moved, which I've already mentioned, was still freaking me out.

What she did next didn't help matters at all. She took off running, straight at the wall. Except right at the point where a real person would have broken his nose from the collision, she vanished through it, and that was it. I was left standing there, utterly alone, and immediately trying to rationalize my experience. Stress? Trauma? Fear? Could one of those emotions have conjured up a hallucination?

Nope. That was something adults and fools did, to try to "rationalize" every single experience that didn't line up with their pre-conceived notions of the world.

I knew what I was dealing with.

And I knew what she (or it) wanted me to do.

The real question was, did I want to play along?

3

At breakfast, I asked if Esau had heard anything about Seth. He tore his eyes away from the newspaper that rested on the table and looked directly at me, cocking one eyebrow. His slightly puzzled expression almost made me wonder if, since just the night before, he had forgotten who Seth was.

"Hmm? Oh, Seth. No, I'm afraid I haven't heard a thing."

Seth was a jerk. I get it. But I thought of him lying up in some hospital room, utterly alone, with no one to sit by him or watch over him. Had his parents been notified? Were they on their way back from Europe even now? Did he have any other family who might have been notified so as to go to him? Esau went back to reading the paper, and I caught his meaning by the way he flicked it, that he did not intend to discuss the matter any farther. I dropped it.

And just like that, it would seem, Seth had sailed right through that window and out of my story.

After breakfast, I went for a walk. The morning sun was subdued, and a gentle breeze ruffled my hair. The sky was a clear, baby blue, and the air had that crisp, new smell that it gets sometimes, as if all of nature had rebooted and was beginning again. I didn't know what I was doing or where I was going; part of me wanted to go walk out into the woods and never stop, to just keep going, and see where I came out.

Far off, I could see the well, beckoning to me, and I deliberately filtered against any thoughts of Elaine and what she had told me the night before. I was determined to go about my business. The problem was, I had no idea what that business was. The person I really wanted to talk to was Helen, the maid who had dropped a bombshell on me about my mother, and then disappeared without a trace. Where was she? What was the point of telling me about my mom, only to then hide herself away? I didn't get it. I almost wished that I didn't even have the information.

One thing was certain, though; Helen told me she had known my mother. So had my mom been to Drury Manor? Or did Helen know her from someplace else? I looked around the grounds, and tried to imagine my mom walking this same land, and it just didn't compute. I couldn't picture her in this setting.

I stopped short when every hair on my neck prickled at precisely the same instant.

I turned and looked toward the house. There it was again. That feeling that I had only felt once, the night I arrived, and never again since. That feeling that someone was watching me, someone malevolent, someone who hated me and wanted me harmed. I tried to take in as many of the windows with my eyes in as brief a span of time as I could, quickly scanning one side of the house to the other with my gaze.

There! In one of the windows near where my own room was. And then it was gone. For the briefest of instants, I thought I saw somebody looking back at me. A young boy, perhaps, but certainly not Trevor. But now, in the spot where I thought I saw him, there was nothing. Had he even been there? The impression I had was one of a dark haired child with pale, sickly features.

Just that quickly, the sensation passed, and I no longer felt that evil gaze on me. I stood there, chewing my lip, feeling a cold sweat on my forehead, wondering if this tied in to what the girl told me last night.

And there it was. As determined as I had been only a moment ago not to think about Elaine, in the end I guess it really wasn't up to me. What shocked me the most was how, now that I had a night's sleep to distance myself from the vision, I had been so willing to disregard it. Like an adult would have done. Maybe I was becoming one. That was an even scarier thought.

I made up my mind. I wasn't going to be anybody's pawn. I wasn't about to go digging holes because some ghost gave me some kind of mystical quest.

But, on the other hand, I couldn't just sit back. I had to take action.

And I knew the first thing I had to do. I started walking back toward the house.

It was time to find Trevor, and make him tell me everything.

About the orphans. About their ghosts.

About all of it.

4

I found Trevor in the sitting room. It was the same room in which he first introduced himself on the night that I arrived at Drury Manor. He perched at the far end of a long sofa, a leather-bound book clutched in his hand. As soon as I entered, he scurried to hide the book, shoving it under his bottom. I approached him, unable to keep myself from smirking.

"Don't hide your book on my account," I said.

He exhaled and reached under himself. "Oh. It's you. I thought maybe you were my dad."

He showed me the book and I almost laughed.

"A Bible? Seriously? The way you looked all guilty, I thought you were looking at a skin mag or something."

His face went red. "I think my dad would go easier on me if he caught me reading a skin mag than if he caught me reading a Bible."

I dropped onto the sofa beside him, recalling again how comfortable it was. Everybody should have a sofa like that. "Really? I find that hard to believe."

He shrugged. "My dad hates anything even remotely religious. He says it's all just a bunch of ancient superstition. He particularly hates the Bible. Although I can't figure out why he would hate one faith so much more than the others."

"You're right. That is strange. Come to think of it, I guess a lot of people are harder on the Bible than they are other religious writings."

He nodded. "Yeah. Maybe that's what I like about it. If it gets under his skin like it does, there must be something to it."

"Yeah well, good luck with that. Listen, I have some things I want to ask you about."

A suspicious look passed across his face, as if he thought I was getting ready to set him up for something. "Yes?"

"The orphans. I want to know about them."

He pursed his lips. "I don't know how much they would want me to tell you."

"Is one of them a little blonde-haired girl in a blue dress named Elaine?"

I could tell from the look that passed over his face that I was right on the money. It was an expression of remorse, like he was feeling deep pangs over something either done or undone. He glanced down at his holy book, drummed his fingers across the leather surface of it, and just sort of stared off as he tried to collect himself.

"So, she's revealed herself to you?" Trevor said at last.

"You could say that."

"That's good. They don't reveal themselves to just anybody. Maybe you have a chance, then."

"A chance of what?"

"Of them accepting you. When they don't accept somebody... Well, you saw what happened to Seth."

"Are you implying that the orphans caused Seth to fall out of that window? Elaine said he jumped."

"He may have jumped, but I doubt he did it voluntarily. More likely, they drove him to it."

"So these orphans are evil?"

He frowned. "Evil is the wrong word. More like vengeful. And remorseless."

"Oh."

After a deep breath, he placed his palms firmly on his knees, gathered himself, and went into it. "This place used to be an orphanage," he said. "Up until about forty years ago. Then everything changed. The estate was under the care of my grandfather, Lionel Drury. He was the headmaster of the orphanage and he received grants from the government for his work here. He lived here, along with some of the staff and of course, the kids."

"What happened forty years ago?"

He met my eyes, and I could see a single tear beginning to trickle down one of his cheeks. "They died. The orphans."

"All of them?"

"All of them. It was Halloween night 1976, and they all died."

"How? I mean, a bunch of kids don't just all spontaneously die? Was there some kind of accident?"

He shook his head. "I don't think it was an accident. But I don't know exactly what happened. All I do know is that after they died, grandfather decided not to re-open it as an orphanage, and he just converted it into a private estate. The grant money stopped coming, but he was already wealthy. The Drury family comes from wealth. I don't think he was ever in it for the money."

"What was he in it for, then?"

"I don't know."

"Do you see them? The orphans?"

There was a long pause, in which I presume he was trying to decide how much he trusted me. Finally, he looked down at his hands, clammy with perspiration. When he moved them off his legs they left behind a faint residue of palm sweat.

"Yes, I see them. Not all the time, but often enough. There are nine of them. They mainly just do what they're told. They follow the leader. Up until now, I was the only one that the leader liked. That's why they let me go into the nursery. If anybody else goes in there, they get very angry."

I thought that over for a long moment. I could remember Helen telling me, on the day that I startled her by almost walking in on her while she was cleaning one of the upstairs bedrooms, that I was never to allow Trevor to take me into the nursery. Was that what she meant? How much had she known? I wished I could ask her.

"What's so special about the nursery?" I said.

"That's where they died. And it was also my nursery when I was a baby."

Some of the pieces were beginning to settle into place for me, but for every so-called answer, I had about twenty new questions. The part that really made me doubt my sanity was the fact that, despite myself, I was just accepting everything he was telling me. I mean, we were sitting here talking about the ghosts of orphans that died forty years ago, and what they liked and didn't like, and all that kind of stuff, and I was just accepting it! But I knew I wasn't nuts. Elaine was real. I had seen her, talked to her, and interacted with her. I had watched her jump down off of the bed and disappear into the wall. What's more, I had known ever since my first night at Drury Manor that there were very strange things going on here. When I thought about all of the peculiar experiences I had here, even after only being here such a short span of time, there was just no denying that something was going on at the old estate.

"Trevor, what do you and your father know about me?" I blurted. It was a question I had wanted to know ever since I arrived. That night when Esau had tried to trick me into thinking that Trevor was a ghost, he mentioned that he wanted to see if it was true. Obviously he knew something. "I mean, clearly my Uncle Milton has told you something about me."

Trevor seemed apprehensive at that, his entire body going rigid, like this was some kind of verbal territory that he did not want to enter. "He told us some things."

"Like?"

"I shouldn't say it."

"Spill it."

"He mentioned that you have unusual visions."

"That's one way of putting it."

"And he said that the accident was your fault, that you almost killed--."

Esau burst into the room.

"There you two are! I've been looking everywhere! Jacob needs..."

Trevor tried to hide the Bible again, but he was not smooth enough. It had been sitting beside him on the sofa, forgotten during the span of our conversation. As he tried to subtly shove it under himself again, Esau's eyes detected the movement. He scowled.

"And what might we be trying to hide?" He strolled across the room, reached under his son, and pulled out the book. He frowned down at it. "Is this some kind of a joke? What have I told you about this evil book?"

"It's not evil, dad, it's--."

"Are you suggesting that I do not know what I am talking about?" Trevor fell silent and could not meet his father's sweltering gape. "You know the rules, boy. This filth is not allowed in this house! I never want to see you with another one of these again. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir," he mumbled.

I just tried to keep my eyes down and stay out of it.

"Now go see Jacob out back," he said. "He needs some help. In the meantime, I think this book will make excellent kindling for my fire." He spun and left the room.

Trevor and I went to see Jacob. We did not speak with each other again that day.

5

The rabbit skittered across the grass and back toward the tall stand of trees. It cast a final compulsory look back at me before bounding the last couple of steps into the underbrush and disappearing from sight. I could hear the sounds of its progress for several more seconds until even that was gone.

I stood there, watching after the furry little critter, clenching and unclenching my fists in time with the beating of my heart. The rock I tossed at the creature rested nearby. Even though I missed the mark, it had been enough to send the animal running for cover.

I don't usually throw rocks at animals. I guess I was feeling a bit jaded today.

It had been two days since my last conversation with Trevor. Esau was going out of his way to keep us apart, giving us chores to do that kept us perpetually in different parts of the estate. Even if I could have spoken to him, I don't know that I would have pursued our earlier conversation. It was too weird, and as the days continued to trickle by, my mind kept playing games with me, insisting that there were rational explanations for all of the things that I had seen and heard.

Things kept breaking around the house. That was hard to ignore, but I did my best. More busts had fallen, doors would randomly slam in the night, a glass on the dining room table shattered at breakfast for no apparent reason, and the footsteps up and down the hall were keeping me awake at night. Once I even awoke to see what appeared to be the vague outline of a person near my door, but in the gloom it was hard to make out. Then it was gone, and I went back to sleep. The only times we were all together were at meals, but the mood was so solemn and everybody so glum that conversation just didn't happen.

I faced the line of trees and cursed Uncle Milton, for the umpteenth time, for sending me here. I wanted to go home. My real home. But those days were over. If I went to that house now, it would be some other family that would greet me at the door, and they wouldn't even know who I was. My parents were six feet under the earth in a cemetery far from here, and the pain of that loss was still fresh enough to cause me waves of agony whenever the thought crossed my mind.

So I tried not to think of them. Except, of course, for the photograph of my mom, which I looked at every chance I got. Like some sort of good luck charm, it alone could ease some of that pain.

"Henry."

The voice wafted across the open space, carried on the breeze itself. I glanced over my shoulder, but found no one. The wind ruffled the branches of the trees, which clicked against one another like the sound of bones rattling.

"Henry."

The voice was little more than a gentle whisper, and there was no way it could have reached me from any great distance. Yet I was sure that there was nobody around me. Unless they were standing in the trees, out of sight. But that didn't make any more sense, because my every intuition said the voice was coming from the other direction. I spun and faced that way, looking over the empty landscape, back toward the house, back toward the...

The well.

"Henry."

I moved as if in a trance. I don't know how else to describe it. One foot before the other, as though my brain instructed them to go on auto pilot while it detached itself. I was moving, crossing the grounds, heading toward that place I swore to myself I would not go. But here I was. Each crunch of my shoe on the grass was as accusatory whisper, a reminder that I was breaking my own rule.

"Henry."

I went toward that sound, sweet like a morning serenade, my hairs standing on end, a curious tingle in my spine and my skin crawling as though covered in bugs. I did not want to go.

I went.

"Henry."

I sat down at the base of the well. I don't know why. It just seemed like the thing to do. I leaned my head back, expecting to feel the cold, rough bricks against my back.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around me, and I felt the warmth of her embrace.

Who was she? I don't know. I don't care. Beautiful. That's all I needed to know. She was beautiful and warm, and she was holding me, and her lips brushed my ear and it was all I could do not to convulse.

"Henry," she purred, and I surrendered to her spell.

Her complexion was milky white, her skin silky smooth and soft where it pressed against me. She smelled of perfume, some floral scent that hovered around her and reminded me of wildflowers growing thick together. She stroked my hair, her fingers running smooth paths through the strands, her fingertips teasing my scalp. She seemed to be wearing some kind of thin gown, and from what I could feel there was nothing on underneath it. I was at once comforted and excited, and I just leaned back into her while she cradled me there on the ground.

My lids grew heavy. I wanted so badly to sleep in her arms. Her voice continued to sing into my ear, the words easing all of my troubles. I could feel her lips against my earlobe. This must be what Heaven feels like.

"Who are you?" I finally managed.

She responded by running her hands along my back, massaging my spine and my shoulders with a sure, skillful grip. Please let this never end.

"You're Trevor's mom, aren't you?" I said. "The voice at the bottom of the well that called out to me before. That was you."

She responded by running her hands along the sides of my face. I turned back, straining to see her more clearly. Her golden blonde hair was long and wet, as though she had just stepped out of the shower. Her eyes were the most crystalline blue I had ever seen. Her thin, pink lips looked delicious.

She guided my head with a sure hand, and I nuzzled into her throat, where the smell of her completely enveloped me. As enjoyable as all of this was, I was sure that something was being drained from me, some power or force or something, but there's no way I could explain that properly. It just was what it was, but whatever it was, I was pretty sure that I didn't need it. She can have it. She can have whatever she wants. I just want to rest here, up against her, and let her lull me into sleep. Maybe then things will be better. Maybe then things will make sense. She can fix it for me.

I felt a strong pressure at my heart, like she had reached in and squeezed it.

I still didn't care.

She can have that too. I just want to lie here and...

Nothing.

6

It was the screaming that awakened me.

I bolted upright, noticing the darkness descending from above. How long had I been out of it? My head swam in a groggy fog. It was all I could do just to remember where I was and how I had gotten there. I was seated at the base of the well, entirely alone. I tried to stand, but it was like only half of me still existed. My movements were not entirely my own, like stumbling out of a deep dream that refused to let go.

That scream again.

But it wasn't a scream exactly, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. I realized that a moment later. It was somebody yelling. Yelling my name.

"Henry!"

Trevor. He was calling for me, looking for me, and he sounded far off, perhaps out in front of the house somewhere, where I couldn't see him. And unless he went around the side of the house and wandered all the way down here, it was unlikely that he would see me.

I remembered the woman. And I wanted her back. But when I leaned over the well and called softly into the waiting darkness, I received no response. Part of me wanted to just jump over the side and join her in the murky depths below, join her for all eternity. But just a part of me. The rest of me still had a will to live, thank God for that. But maybe that too would pass after a few more of those sessions with her.

I slumped back to the ground, facing south, suddenly aware that I was seated almost exactly where Elaine had told me to dig. She said I would find it about a foot down. But find what? I wasn't sure, and the part of me that seemed to be missing must have also been the part that most wanted to find out, because with that curiosity came a feeling to just leave it alone.

But that gaze. That horrible gaze from the window, and the apparition of the boy looking back at me. Those had been horrible experiences. And I thought of Seth, lying twisted on the ground. Could I really be in a position to appease whatever forces had done that? Did I want to appease them?

Surata.

That word popped into my mind. I could not explain where it came from. It was just there, like somebody had etched it into my frontal lobe with a chisel. I had no idea what it meant or why I would have thought it at that exact moment.

But I did know one thing.

I needed to find out what was buried by the well. For Seth, if nobody else. He may have been a big jerk for all of the five seconds that I knew him, but being a jerk did not make somebody deserve to be pushed out of a window.

So I used the only tool at my disposal: my hands.

I ripped up great fistfuls of dirt, feeling the griminess as it got under my nails. The cool moistness of it was surprisingly repulsive. It was thick and clumpy, like clay, but still I burrowed deeper and deeper, and over the next few minutes my hole stretched farther down and became wider. It seemed like surely I must have dug deep enough to have found this object that Elaine told me about, but had still not turned up anything. So I expanded outward, digging more to the sides, always mindful that she said the object was at the base of the south side of the well. I must be close. On and on this went.

Until at last I found something. Something solid. It was hard to tell at first what it was, because it was soiled, covered in thick, sticky mud. But I pulled it free finally, some kind of small, round object, and at first it wouldn't give. I realized a moment later that it was attached to a thin chain, which was also caked with mud. I maneuvered the chain free of its grave, pulled the object free, and then plopped down on my butt with my prize.

My arms were muddy up to my elbows. I shook off as much of the gunk as I could, and then began peeling the mud off of the object, and in the diminishing light, noticed a certain dull glint to it. I tried wiping it off in the grass, smearing it along, until at last I knew what I had found. It was still very dirty, and would require further cleaning once I brought it inside, but there was no denying what I had located.

A pocket watch.

One of those old fashioned pocket watches that hung from a chain in the pocket of the man wearing it. It had long ago stopped functioning, but maybe it could be restored to working order. I had no idea. That was a question for another day. But for now, right here, I knew I was holding something important, although what its purpose was, I had no idea. Elaine had all but spelled out for me that this object was somehow the key to stopping the madness around here.

I'd have to figure that out later. Right now I needed to get it back to the house and finish cleaning it off.

As I stood, flipping it over in my hands, I noticed monogrammed initials along the back of it.

LJD.

Lionel Drury?

It had been several minutes since Trevor had stopped calling for me. He must have given up. But would he go get his father? Would he report me missing? There was no telling. For now, I did not want to get caught with my muddy arms, holding this strange dirty relic. I needed to get back. And now.

Perhaps there was more depending on that than I realized.

7

I cleaned off the pocket watch as best I could, using a wash cloth in one of the upstairs bathrooms. By the time I was done, pretty much all of the mud was gone, and the object shone in the overhead fluorescent light. The monogram was clear as day now, and I was sure that this watch had belonged to Lionel Drury, Trevor's grandfather, who had run the estate back when it functioned as an orphanage. A minute crack wove along the glass case, but altogether the relic was in decent shape.

After I washed my hands and arms thoroughly in the sink to cleanse them, I stood there admiring my find and wondering how exactly it was supposed to be used. Maybe now that I had it, Elaine would show up again and show me what to do with it. I half expected her to materialize any moment, either on the path back up to the house, in the foyer, in the hall, or anywhere in between. So far I saw no sign of her. The entire house was silent.

So what now?

I hesitated outside the door to the nursery, boarded up as it was. Should I attempt to enter? Would that force Elaine to reveal herself? Or would it just bring down on my head whatever wrath it was that almost claimed Seth's life? I couldn't be sure. But I felt in my gut that the time was not right for that. Even if I decided to force the issue, I didn't think there was any way that I could acquire the tools I would need to pry the boards off the door without raising some kind of alarm. Things like that are not quiet tasks.

So I found myself in my room, sitting on the bed, holding the pocket watch in plain view, thinking surely this would prompt my ghostly messenger to show up and tell me what was next.

That didn't happen.

After a while, I started to feel silly. Maybe I should just try to get some sleep and figure it out in the morning. But even when I curled up under my covers, sleep would not come. My mind kept racing with all of the things that had transpired over the past few days, first and foremost the stunning woman who had lulled me to sleep under the midafternoon sun. It would be easy to think my body's refusal to rest would be due to the long slumber I had by the well. Yet, I was exhausted in a way that went beyond the mere physical. I still thought that tantalizing woman had drawn something out of me. Scary as that was, she could draw from me anytime she wanted. Maybe I'd go back down there tomorrow, see if she wanted some more.

Wide awake. Late at night. No idea what to do or where to go.

I'm not sure what made up my mind for me, but I ended up down in the sitting room where Trevor and I had so recently shared our fateful conversation that ended with him getting his Bible taken away. I perused the books on the shelf, finding most of them to be uninspiring reading. I had no idea what a lot of this stuff was. But there was one book, with a leather binding, the word "Drury" printed in a golden script on the spine, which caught my eye.

I pulled this book down and seated myself on the sofa to look it over. I rested the pocket watch, which I carried down with me, on the cushion beside me, and started flipping through the old book.

It turned out to be little more than a photo album with some handwritten notes here and there. Old-fashioned pictures of the estate filled most of its pages, along with the faces of people I had never seen before.

But there was one picture that caught my eye. It was a group portrait of nine little children standing outside on the wide steps that led up to the front door. I immediately recognized Elaine, standing to one side, a sad little wistful smile playing at her lips. The picture was black-and-white, and had that feeling of antiquity about it. The year 1975 was scrawled at the bottom of the page.

Also present in the picture was a younger version of Helen, who even then wore a stern matriarchal kind of expression. She was standing right beside an older gentleman who bore a certain resemblance to Esau Drury. Lionel, I presumed? There was a kind of malevolence to the glare he bore in the photo, and I almost slammed the book shut. It was as if he was aware of me, and was staring out at me from the picture. For a moment I was sure that he was looking right at me.

I almost missed the little kid, who could only have been about six or seven, standing next to this man. But the longer I looked, the more sure I became that this was none other than the child version of Esau himself. He was not looking out, but over, at the cluster of children. But no. One child in particular. A sickly looking kid who...

It was the one I had seen gazing out at me from the upstairs window. I was sure of it.

"What are you doing up?"

I jumped at the sound of the voice, and looked up, only to find Esau Drury standing framed in the doorway. He wore slightly rumpled slacks and a plain white undershirt.

"Nothing, I... I couldn't sleep."

He sighed. "I thought I heard somebody walking around. I was in my library going over some papers. I see you found the old photo gallery."

I shook my head. From the page open on my lap, I could still feel Lionel's gaze upon me. "These pictures are really interesting," I said. "Some of them--"

Esau's eyes went wide and I stopped in mid-sentence. "What in the--"

I realized what had captured his attention. He was staring, mouth open, at the pocket watch that rested on the cushion beside me. He sprang forward and snatched it up, the color draining from his skin.

"Wait, that's--"

"I know what this is, boy," he said, as he flipped it over and gawked at the initials etched into the back of it. "Where did you get this from?"

"I found it."

"Found it?" There was a healthy dose of incredulity in his voice, and something else. Disdain. As if I had wronged him somehow. He actually staggered for a moment and slumped against the wall, staring at the watch. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like he was about to cry, or expel some other kind of emotional outburst. I waited and said nothing. I wasn't sure what I could say or how that might set him off in some way.

"This... this... I can't believe.... I haven't seen... What can I... How?"

It was the most flabbergasted I had ever seen him. Even standing over Seth's motionless form crumpled on the estate grounds, he had not so much as broken stride or deviated from his normal personality patterns. But this definitely shook him up. And in that moment, I became afraid. There was a crackle in the air, a raw kind of emotional energy, and I knew that something big was on the horizon.

He clutched the watch to his breast and made for the door, stammering unintelligible sentence fragments as he went. But he couldn't take the watch! I was supposed to use it somehow.

"I need it," I muttered.

He spun to face me, a fury in his eyes that came from nowhere. "You need it! This is mine, do you understand? Mine! You are never to touch this again!"

I was on my feet before I knew what I was doing. I knew I had no rightful claim to that watch, not if it belonged to Esau's father. But I had to try. Elaine had wanted me to find it. She showed me the way.

"Wait," I said, coming closer. "Can't I just--"

And then he shoved me to the floor. Hard. I lay there, looking up at that fiery hatred in his eyes. I couldn't believe that he had actually hit me. I was so shocked that I couldn't move or talk.

"Never to touch this again," he repeated, and then he left.

I was all alone.

All alone, that is, except for that nagging feeling in my gut that I had just screwed up big time.
The Story Continues...

Thank you for reading Episodes 1-4 of Drury Manor. If you wish to continue with the story, just hop on over to <http://www.eslermedia.com/blog/Drury-Manor>. New installments of the story are posted every Wednesday night at 8 o'clock, CST. A second compilation, entitled "Drury Manor: Volume II" will be eventually made available as an eBook upon completion of Drury Manor Episode 8.

In the coming chapters, Henry gives more of himself to the mysterious apparition at the well, with potentially deadly results. How far will he go to steal back the pocket watch from Esau? More will be revealed on the strained relationship between Henry and Uncle Milton, including the exact nature of the "accident" that caused Milton to send Henry to Drury Manor in the first place.
Other Books by George Esler

Line of Sight: A Jake Presnall Novel

A vicious supernatural entity, conjured by profane and forbidden magic, is prowling the darkened alleys and backstreets of New Orleans. The only evidence of its existence is the trail of charred corpses it leaves in its wake. When the evil strikes too close to home, lab courier Jake Presnall will learn first-hand that dark forces are plotting to renew their ancient struggle against an unsuspecting world. When Jake receives a silver chain with a long history and strange powers of its own, he is drawn into the midst of a war that has been brewing since the beginning of time itself.

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