- Chicago, IL
- Last Record: 2012-10-29 22:10:38 +0100
- Joined: Aug 24, 2012
*** NOTE: As this story is getting a bit long, I'm breaking it up so it's easier to digest here and so that pieces are coming out as I write them. The beginning lives here: http://www.hitrecord.org/records/893490 I'll think about combining them when I find out where it ends ***
Penderghast Manor developed a reputation among the locals. Bedtime stories told tales of ghosts and curses. Children crept to the doorstep in the dead of night on dares. Whether they believed the house was haunted or not, everyone seemed to agree it was creepy: a black mark on their otherwise cheerful neat rows of tiny houses.
The house had been empty since Priscilla’s great, great, great (great? She’d lost count) grandson James had married and his new wife found the drafty hallways and dusty tapestries in direct contrast with her more modern sensibilities.
Priscilla spent her days and nights testing her non-corporeal limits by teaching herself to interact with objects around her and occasionally lending credence to the tales the neighbors told. As a result the last heir to Penderghast Manor found a shortage of interested buyers. Those that got as close as the front porch was greeted with cold spots, creaking doors, and distant footsteps. In the face of more determined suitors, Priscilla let out occasional whispers and wails.
James found the entire situation entirely infuriating. Priscilla, in turn, found his frustration entirely entertaining. After years of viewings and attempted sales and weeks after the last potential purchaser had inexplicably bolted out the front door white as a sheet, Priscilla thought James had likely given up. She was in her father’s study attempting to move books off the shelf when suddenly she heard the rattle of keys in the front door.
Priscilla drifted to the window and saw Eugene Smiley, the relator, on the porch accompanied by a tall man in a gray, tweed 3-piece suit and a red bowtie. He had unruly brown hair, a prominent nose, and strong jaw. For a moment Priscilla forgot her purpose and by the time she collected her thoughts the men were already in the house.
Tristan Collinsworth was a sensible man. Every attempt to drive him away from the manor was dismissed as the wind or merely an old house "settling."
Before the month was out a deal was struck and Penderghast Manor had a new resident.