Please forgive the really weird ones, for example this first one. "Morley Mansion" was originally written for a project for work, but quickly got out of control. Realizing that to shorten it would ruin it, I put it to the side and wrote a new short story for the project. When I got home that night, I finished this one. It's very HP Lovecraft or Poe, not sure which one its more like.
Douglas.
The Mirror of Morley Mansion
This is my story. You may or may not believe it. Were I in your place, I would certainly not, yet, as a central figure in this tale, I cannot help but be sure of the events as I will now relate.
Three years ago, I was attending a private Catholic School in Brighton . I had three very good friends during that time, Steer, Archie, and Annie. We had been thinking about making a trip to perhaps Spain or France Alva
In a new tactic to get the place popular, the owners had decided to issue a challenge to any group brave enough to spend a weekend in the haunted halls of Morley Mansion 6:00 Friday evening until 7:00 Monday morning in order to collect the 1,000 £ reward.
While the reward was nice enough, our group was more interested in the challenge. We prided ourselves in being brave enough to tackle anything that came our way. As well, we figured this would be much more interesting than lounging around in stuffy village’s in small South European towns. At the very least, when school started up, we would have some interesting tales to tell our fellow students.
We contacted the owners by letter, and explained that we were interested in the challenge and would arrive at the Manor by Friday of the following week. We packed lightly, taking only one suitcase each, and booked four tickets for Stirling , which was as close to Alva as we could get by train. And we set up on an early Monday morning.
Our journey to Stirling was fairly uneventful, although the trip did provide with some great scenery of the English and Scottish countryside. We got off the train at about 7:00 Friday morning and caught a coach the rest of the way to Alva. This part of Scotland Scotland
It took us only 2 hours to reach the old manor, during which we were able to travel through the town itself. It seemed a town lost in time. The houses and shops looked as they must have looked over 200 years ago. The people, themselves, were no more up-to-date, wearing the outdated clothes of peasantry long passed. As we drove past them, we saw them stare at us with wide, unblinking eyes, filled with either unending amazing or bottomless fear. I, of course, only could imagine the former, as I could see little in our laughing little group of friends that could inspire fear. But we had not understood that their fear was not directed at the contents of the coach, but the direction to which it was heading.
The mansion was close on the outskirts of the town, set at the top of a large dark hill. Archie laughed at this sight, commenting on the predictability of the scenery. When we at last long reached the entrance to the mansion. The owners, a middle-aged Scottish couple of humble-appearances, seemed jovial enough. After sharing with us some of the brandy they had been carrying with them, they gave us the keys, and wished us the best of luck, reminding us of the three night stipulation.
It was Archie’s turn to laugh, and he helped them on to their horses, and we bid them farewell, watching the beasts lumber into the rapidly darkening woods. As soon as the hoof beats were beyond the range of our hearing, we headed into the old manor.
We quickly set about to settling in., taking rooms on the second floor, where the guest rooms seemed to be the most numerous. Annie and I took a room in the west wing, letting the boys share one in the east wing. We quickly unpacked our meager belongings, and set to freshening up, finding one thing unusual. The wardrobes for which our room’s were furnished, as expensive as they appeared, were missing the mirrors.
Sure enough, there was framing for the mirrors, but the actually surfaces themselves were gone. Thinking that time had probably allowed for events to smash a couple of such fragile objects, I suggested to Annie that we make use of mirrors in the room next to ours. But when we entered the room directly next to ours, we found the same strange circumstance. No mirrors. In fact, there appeared to not have been mirrors here for quite some time.
I made a joke about the former owners being quite unattractive to Annie, which sent her into a flurry of giggles when we heard a ladies voice behind us say huskily “Look not upon yourself.”
Thinking perhaps there was a maid staying here we were not informed of, I spun around with Annie, expecting to see an elderly lady stooped from work and years of cleaning. But…like our expectations of mirrors, we were sorely mistaken. We were alone, and the door was closed as we had left it.
Although we would have been loathe to admit it, Annie and I both were both more than a little frightened by these last few findings. We quickly made our way downstairs finding the boys setting out some of the food we had brought with us for the trip. After a pleasant meal and some warmed coffee, we felt less nervous about the earlier events, and related them to the boys. We were startled to find that the boys had encountered the same trouble with mirrors at their end of the hall, but neither of them recalled hearing any voice, or seeing any other lady within the building.
“Why don’t you fess up, dear” Steer said to me, “You’re trying to scare Annie again, aren’t you.”
I began to reprimand him heavily, which, of course, only made everyone laugh all the harder.
Gradually the conversation turned from mirrors and voices, to recollections of our school year. We spoke of our other friends, and wondered how they were faring in their oh-too ordinary and boring vacations in London or Paris
We were just about to turn in for the night, when we heard a door slam downstairs. When we got up, we realized the floor felt very cold. Annie grabbed my arm and I held her close by, sticking the lit candle outwards like a sharp sword, as I reached to open the door to the hallway.
However, before my hand could touch the door handle, I heard the old voice again, this time louder and directly behind me, sharply stating “Look not upon yourself.” I felt an icy breath on my neck as if someone had blown a blizzard storm down my back. I didn’t dare to look, but I could FEEL that woman.
Annie and I screamed and fled from the room, without turning around once. We ran out towards the staircase, bumping into Steer and Archie, who had come out to investigate the loud door slamming. They quickly pulled us behind them, and stormed towards the room, certain that this was a trick of the owners, to frighten silly children.
Archie slammed the door open and the boys stormed in, with us shambling in, trembling afterwards, but the room was empty. There was, in fact, no sign of anyone else but Annie and myself being in that room. The lady, had she been there at all, must have vanished, for She could not be seen under the bed, and windows were bolted shut, with no signs of recent use. The only thing that did remain was the icy feeling through-out the room.
Although still shaken, Annie voiced an agreement with Archie and Steer, that it must be our hosts playing a trick, but suggest that we should all stay in one room, just for the night. The boys were agreeing with this when upon exiting the room, a sight met our eyes that sent shivers of terror shooting through our bodies.
Written on the wall opposite our room, in large blood-red letters that had not been there minutes before, were the words, “Look not upon yourself”.
Archie caught Annie just in time as she fainted, and Steer began storming up and down the hallway.
“Enough jokes, Madame. Your joke has worn thin.”
“Steer!” I shouted, “Stop it! Come on, Let’s just sit in the living room, and think this out….”
Archie seconded my opinion, and he carried Annie down the stairs as I led Steer down the steps by the arm. When we reached the landing we found all the closet doors downstairs had been opened…and slammed so hard that many of them were hanging off their hinges.
“But…we only heard one slam!” Archie stammered.
“This is a hoax…” Steer said calmly, “It’s a game….these doors were all broke before. We never checked them when we came in. We assumed they were all in good condition and that’s why we’re shocked now.”
Archie cradled Annie’s head, and said “Does anyone have some smelling salts? I want to awaken Annie.”
“I do…” I started but then stopped… “But they’re in my room.”
Steer started towards the steps, “I’ll get them.”
I grabbed his arm, “No…let me…I’ll be fine. Really.”
“Candice. Are you sure….” He said seriously.
I nodded firmly, “Like hell I’m going to let some old-aged prankster scare me away from my purse. If we go to pieces, they win.”
He nodded, but watched me go. I prayed he didn’t see the fear in my eyes as I descended the staircase. I slowly retraced my steps to my room, slowly treading past the dripping letters, now barely readable, although their message remained emblazoned on my mind.
I flinched as I pushed my bedroom door open, expecting the worst….
But there was nothing.
I rushed to my purse, fumbled around in it for what seemed an eternity, grabbed the salt container, and spun around again. Nothing. I edged slowly…slowly…slowly out of the room, and began to glide gently across the hallway towards the staircase.
“Don’t…”
I spun around! “WHO ARE YOU!” I cried out.
No one there. But it came from the end of the hall. I could see there was a turn-off at the end of the hall. Only THEN did I notice it. My fear turned into anger.
“Right! Enough of your games!”
I stormed down the hallway, which I’m sure only took me a minute or less, though it seemed at that time to take an hour. I spun around the corner ready to face my adversary.
For what I saw when I turned the corner, I can give no evidence, no proof that what I saw was not some figment of an over-active imagination that is so common in young adults. But I am sure, even to this day, that it was no dream. And the fear that struck me like shards of ice piercing my heart, still brings shivers to me to this day, when I think of it.
I do not remember all that happened afterwards. I was told I came screaming down the stairs, my hands clenching at open air, my eyes wide as saucers, as I ran into Steer’s arms. They said I had turned white as a ghost, my skin was cold as ice, and that my eyes had the look of a doe that was being stalked by a flock of hungry wolves.
They quickly gathered me, and without collecting our few weekend provisions, set out the door, and ran down the length of the hill, where we spent the remainder of the night. I would eventually regain much of my color and warmth by the rest that evening, but I would remain paralyzed with fear until we finally reached our Brighton home. I was asked many times to related my tale, but I left it to the others, letting people imagine what they would. We did succeed in one thing, we certainly gave our friends at school a tale, even if it was not a complete one.
I have tried for the last few years to either forget or to reconcile the events in my own mind. Regardless, to this day, I will remember the horror as I stared straight into the eyes of the bloodied figure of my own ghost!
