1

THE PINE VIEW MANOR stood like a gothic monument to the town’s forgotten, cryptic history. Spurned by the citizens, it now represented nothing more than ghost stories to scare unsuspecting newcomers like myself.

First, you hear the whispers, said Ernie Miser, leaning in close, his eyes wide like two light bulbs. Then the hair prickles on your arm. Next, come the chills rippling across your neck.

I listened like a mouse avoiding a predator, as I noticed the sweat that trickled from his creased, chubby face. The smell of body odor reeked from his pores as it wafted across my nose. 

He inhaled a puff of his cigar. You tell yourself it’s just an old home, but it slowly sucks you in by its grandeur, wood-carved curves, and stony lines that weave like a map. The moss is pretty too, but it creeps, like a spider stalking its prey, and so does the darkness and the shadows that wait to pounce. At first, you’ll think you’re just hearing the hollowness of the manor, then it’ll have you wondering if it’s all in your head—though you’re sure you heard something. Then, the delusions begin and the next thing you know, you’re spiraling out of control into a full-blown nightmare.

All I know is I’ll never go back there. Mr. Evans, the Pine View Manor’s owner, shook his head, rocking back and forth on the wooden bench, listening to Ernie spout off his eerie ramblings.

Ernie was the local mechanic and a resident of Selena since his childhood. He believed the stories about the Pine View and seemed to enjoy the fear they evoked. I half ignored him, but enjoyed the intrigue of the tall tale. Everyone I’d met thus far greeted me with a warm welcome to town, so I could take the joke if that’s what he was going for.

I’m not asking you to go back there, but give me a brief history of the manor. Anything you can tell me about it, I said, scanning Mr. Evan’s gentle but frightened face.

All I know is local gossip, Mr. Evans snapped. "What I can tell you is I’ll never go back there."

Why? I gently prodded.

Because anyone would be a dang fool to go in there, Ernie interjected.

I focused on Mr. Evans as he wrung his spotted and veined hands. Inhaling a deep breath, he whispered, I saw him.

Who? I asked.

His voice shook as the words eked out. The Shadow.

Ernie nodded. I believe you, Sam.

I angled my body toward Mr. Evans—attempting to deter Ernie, the instigator—reclining against the wood bench. What do you mean, you saw him?

Silence hung between us as I waited for the elderly man to compose himself.

He gulped, then folded his hands across his lap. It was nearing dusk on the evening of October 5th when I arrived at the manor to fix the kitchen sink. No sooner had I gotten my tools out and knelt on the floor when I heard someone call my name. I stopped what I was doing and called out in response, thinking maybe someone had entered the house and was looking for me.

Did the voice sound familiar?

Not particularly, but the high vaulted ceilings can distort sounds. I called out again but didn’t hear a response, so I went back to fixing the sink. About a minute later, I heard the whisper again, calling my name directly into my ear. I jumped to my feet and spun around to see a shadowy mass. Mr. Evans traced his finger in the air, as though following the shadow’s contours. I thought I’d lost my mind, but there it was, floating in front of me.

Mr. Evan’s face, though wrinkled by age, displayed a child-like sincerity. He blinked and shuddered at the mention of his encounter. His fearful behavior should have cemented my faith in his story, but my logical mind remained skeptical. I plan to investigate the manor and noticed a lot of locked rooms. May I have the keys?

I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Evans replied, cutting his eyes at me.

What harm could come from it?

I don’t think the shadow will like it.

Ernie stormed off the bench, pacing back and forth, shooting me a fierce glare as he listened to our exchange. That’s right, Sam, he said, slamming his hands against his sides, irritated at my refusal to acknowledge his input.

What do you mean? I asked Mr. Evans, ignoring Ernie.

Since I was young, I’ve heard the stories about a male ghost who stares down from the window on the top floor.

And you think the shadow you saw is this ghost from the story?

Mr. Evans shook his head. I never believed it until that day. I thought I could fix up the place and make it respectable again, but now...

It was hard for me to understand how Mr. Evans was still frightened by this supposed incident weeks later. 

I’d still like to have the keys to investigate the rooms for my book. I’m not afraid of a shadow or anything else, for that matter.

Mr. Evans peered at me, his eyes like two slits. If you insist, he muttered. They’re inside the shop. I’ll go get them.

Mr. Evans disappeared inside while I relaxed in the sun. The mansion sat dead center in the island fog, but here in the park, the gold and red leaves sparkled in the sunlight. The contrast between the manor’s dark exterior and the bright rays surrounding the town wrestled with one another in the cool autumn air.

You darn kids will never learn, Ernie said, breaking my concentration.

His dingy shirt and pot-belly that peeked out from beneath it didn’t lend any credence to his input. I paid him no attention as he puffed on his cigar, pacing back and forth while we waited for Mr. Evans to return.

Mr. Evans shuffled toward me, keys jangling by his side. Here you go.

Thank you, I said, reaching toward him.

He pulled the keys away from me momentarily. Ms. Lawson?

"Please, call me Abby.

Abby. Be careful.

I nodded, taking the keys from his bony fingers. I shrugged off the warning, excited at the prospect of what history the manor held. But if there were any ghosts to be found, that would be a plus.

2

THE WIND HOWLED ABOVE me as I shifted beneath a goose down comforter. The spongy mattress tilted as I found a comfortable spot, sinking deeply inside the canopy bed. As I surveyed the enormous room, a surge of certainty filled my chest with the conviction that this was the right place for me, even though my family felt otherwise. I was looking for the perfect location to inspire my next project, and we had no such inspiration back home. As soon as I saw the manor online, I booked my trip. Once I arrived, the breathtaking views of the emerald carpeted hillsides sucked me in, though I could do without the thick fog that encircled the manor. I was told by one local it would lift after a