Group: Celtic Nation
Realm: Los Lunas, NM
I am a ghost like all the other ghosts at Saxton Manor. A mutilated soul that leaves the body to rot and decompose. I should never have gone to this cursed place. Everything has gone wrong since the beginning of my stay. The death of my wife and my son John, all left me to believe that this place had an evil spell of darkness cast upon it. Let me tell you my story...
It all started, as they say, on a dark and stormy night. My wife, Mary, my son, John, and I were invited to stay at a country house which belonged to my friend, Baxter Fitzgerald. Baxter was a strange man who always liked to play with dangerous objects. For instance, I invited him, against my wife's disapproval, to a dinner party to celebrate the birthdate of John, who was turning twenty four. Baxter said he had to go to the restroom, and when I was clearing the table, I found him stabbing the mutton loaf in the kitchen. When I questioned his action, he said he was helping to carve the meat. I foolishly accepted his excuse and went on with my own business of clearing the table. There were many other incidents in which Baxter acted like an insane serial killer, but let me get on with my story. As I was saying, we were invited to Baxter's country house.
"I don't know why you like him," said Mary. "Frankly, I think he is a crazy monster."
"Why do you say this? You know, and I know that he is a very nice man. I want you to be on your best behaviour when we see him, all right?"
"Very well. But, I will do this on one condition. You must never leave me in a room with him alone."
We continued to drive up a large hill until we came to a gate. There appeared a hunch-backed man in a large trench coat with a hat. I assumed he was the gatekeeper. He beckoned us in and we continued along the path when flash of lightning illuminated the house, or mansion, as the house was the size of a palace. It was like one of the houses they describe to you in horror books, with dead trees towering above it. We followed along the path and there stood Baxter. He was soaked to the bone and it seemed to me that he didn't care a bit. We got out of the car and ran into the house.
"Welcome,welcome. I was worried you couldn't find your way, what with the storm and all."
He showed us our rooms and fed us with a light supper.Then we went up to our rooms and went to bed.
The next morning, I awoke and got dressed. A waft of bacon and eggs passed my nose and I tumbled down the stairs for breakfast. There was Baxter at the stove cooking some bacon.
"Good morning. Did you have a pleasant sleep?" inquired Baxter.
"Yes, thank you," I replied. As I sat down to eat I noticed Baxter was staring at me strangely. I started tasting the bacon, I noticed a faint powdery texture.
When I questioned this, he said he might have put in a bit too much salt. After breakfast, I wondered at Mary's late rising. She hadn't come down for breakfast yet, so I went upstairs to wake her. When I entered the room, she was still sleeping soundly. I shook her lightly, but noticed that she was pale and her skin was very cold.
"Baxter!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Baxter came up the stairs and into the room. "Call the doctor, quickly mind you!"
When the doctor came we hustled him up the stairs. When he entered the room, he shook his head gravely. I waited while he checked her pulse.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said sadly, "your wife is...dead."
My heart stopped. The love of my life...gone. I felt like I also would die. Tears fogged my vision. John came out of his room.
"What is it, Dad? What's happened?" I didn't answer him. Instead I ran into my room, locked the door and sobbed.
I didn't eat lunch, nor dinner, for that matter. I spent the night sitting beside the corpse of my wife crying.
The next morning, however, I ate breakfast. The breakfast had the same powdery taste. When I checked John's room, all my sorrows were fulfilled.
There was John lying lifeless with a great gashing wound in the place of his heart. I heard a thump behind me and I spun around. There was Baxter weilding a giant axe. Blood covered the blade. He raised the axe above his head and brought it down. Mary was right. He was a crazy serial killer.