The Curse of Arnford Manor

"There are still too many unknowns for us to begin speculating," Nina said, ending the largely theoretical discussion. "We've made progress this morning, we're getting closer to discovering what caused the curse. So I think we should follow the leads we've found with an open mind.

"After lunch, Levinia, you and Demi should get started on those records the council clerk digs up. Swift Coyote and Nerine, why don't you go to the cemetery and see if those priests' graves can tell us anything?"

"What about you?" Swift Coyote asked.

"I'm gonna go have a talk with this Gerald Colby. He might just be a guy who happens to own a cursed hotel. But then again, he might know something pertinent about The Arnford's history," Nina answered, before finishing her sandwich.

------------------------------------

Residence of Mr. G. Colby, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 12:39pm

After a brief wait in the house's impressive living room, Nina was collected by the shy housemaid and led upstairs, to the study on the second floor.

"Good day, miss," Gerald Colby greeted Nina as he got up from behind his desk. He was a middle-aged man with brown hair, dressed in a smart, grey tweed suit. He had a thick, but neatly trimmed moustache and he wore spectacles that shined in such a way that made it hard for Nina to see his eyes, at first.

"Mr. Colby, It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Nina politely responded. Colby's friendliness surprised her. He was far less hostile than anyone else she had encountered in Holliston thus far.

"Gerald, please," Colby smiled. He gestured towards a small leather couch opposite a matching wing chair. "Now, Ingrid tells me that you're some kind of academic aide?"

"Yes, I'm gathering information for a professor who is writing a book on late-colonial period buildings," Nina fibbed, convincingly. "Arnford Manor is a particularly interesting example. If I'm not mistaken, you're the current owner of the property?"

"Yes, that's right. We don't call it Arnford Manor any more, though. My grampa turned it into a luxury hotel almost fifty years ago. Now we just call it 'The Arnford,'" Colby confirmed.

"Yes, I'd heard about that," Nina said. "Tell me, what do you know about the building's history before its conversion?"

Colby thought for a second before answering, "Not much. It was built by the Arnford family some time in the 1700s, although I couldn't tell you when, exactly. They owned most of the land in the area, including a large tobacco plantation near the manor. I believe they left the manor some time in the... 1820s? 1830s? Regardless, I think there were a few brief residents after that, but otherwise, the house was more or less deserted until grampa bought it in 1878.

"You shouldn't rely on my details, though, miss?" Colby stopped, realizing that he didn't yet know the young lady's name.

"Haydn," Nina replied. Haydn was the surname that had been borne by her coven's high priestess of fire since time immemorial.

"Miss Haydn." Colby continued. "History was never a passion of mine."

"Oh, that's a shame," said Nina, "It can be quite fascinating if you focus on the events rather than just the names and dates."

"How's that?" Colby asked.

"Well, for example, do you know any interesting stories about The Arnford's history? Perhaps something unusual happened there, or perhaps some of its occupants had reputations of being... unconventional?" Nina prompted.

"No, not that I... Oh, wait... Let me think," Colby said, suddenly recalling old memories in bits and pieces. "Yes, if I remember correctly there was a crazy lady who used to live there. What was her name? Mad Mary? Mad Margo? Mad... Marcia! That's it! Mad Marcia Arnford!"

"Really? What did she do to earn herself such an unkind nickname?" Nina asked, genuinely intrigued.

"She committed suicide," Colby replied, "Or so the story goes... Yes... I remember now! She was said to be very beautiful, but used to spout these bizarre ravings about... some kind of 'divine retribution', I think. She was a cold lady - very bitter, even to her own children. Then one day, all of a sudden, she kills herself.

"I heard the story from my grampa. The first few years after he opened the Arnford for business, the staff used to say that Mad Marcia's ghost was haunting the place."

"A ghost?" Nina scoffed. She tried to sound sceptical for Mr. Colby's benefit, even though she knew that earth-bound spirits truly existed. "Pray, what made them think that the hotel was haunted?"

"Well, several members of the staff kept claiming that they'd seen her," Colby said. "It was always the same story -- the staff member would glance into a mirror, or a reflection on a window and they'd see a strange woman staring right at them. But when they turned around to where she'd been standing, the woman was nowhere to be found."

"Mad Marcia Arnford... Could she be the shadow lady?" Nina silently asked herself. "If so, she's far too powerful to be an ordinary ghost. There must be something else."

"People who knew the story used to say that Mad Marcia was buried somewhere near the house. But grampa had several extensions done when he turned the place into a hotel and the foundation diggers never found any sign of her," Colby added.

"Well, I'll be sure to remember that," Nina smiled. "It certainly sounds like an interesting story, though whether it'll be included in the book, I can't say.

"Now, What about the building's recent history? Has there anything particularly interesting happened there since your grandfather opened it as a hotel?" she inquired, curious as to how much he knew about the suspicious deaths and the babies.

"No, not really," Colby said, shaking his head. She believed he was telling the truth. It seemed that the management of the hotel never told him about the mysterious occurrences. "She's been renovated to include all the modern amenities since then, of course. But otherwise, nothing's really happened between '81, when it opened in, to when it closed last year."

His mood turned sombre. He sighed and said, "It just wasn't getting the business it used to, you see. I was losing too much money on it to keep it open." Colby rose from his wing chair and wandered slowly over to the window. He wasn't looking at Nina any more, though he was still speaking to her, "I had to lay off 37 people... Had to lay off another 80 at the cannery just four months ago. That was the last thing this town needed, but still, it's better than letting the whole place go broke. I guess things are no easier anywhere else..."

Then suddenly, a warm smile appeared on Colby's face as he stared out into his back yard. Curious as to what had provoked such a radical change in his mood, Nina stepped up behind him and peered over his shoulder.

There was a young couple strolling through the garden outside. The man, who looked to be in his late twenties, had short, wavy black hair and wore a simple, but dapper dark suit. Just shy of six feet in height, he had a strong nose and chin, but weak eyes. His haughty demeanor could not conceal the attraction he felt to the young lady. She appeared to be somewhat younger than he, perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age. She was an especially attractive woman, with a very pretty face. Her thick mane of long, golden hair tumbled all the way down to the small of her back. A pristine white lace dress hugged every curve of her torso and draped loosely around her legs, drawing particular attention to her slender waist and impressive bust.

Nina suspected that neither the young man, nor Mr. Colby had noticed the two male gardeners and Colby's chauffer, leering rudely at the young beauty from across the yard. Looking the way she did, Nina suspected that every man in town had, at some stage, fantasized about bedding her.

"Did you happen to meet my daughter, Theresa, on your way in, Miss Haydn?" Colby asked after a protracted silence.

"No, I haven't had the pleasure," Nina quietly replied.

"You'll think I'm biased for saying so, but she's a lovely girl. She's clever, but kind to a fault... And she has her mother's eyes," Colby stated with pride.

"She looks very happy," Nina commented as the young, smiling couple bought their faces scandalously close to one another. "Her boyfriend?"

"Fiance. That's Dean Fielding, he's a local attorney. He's not what you might call a loquacious boy, but I know I can count on him to provide for my 'Resa."

Even from a distance, Nina could read Theresa's body language like a book: The distinct mix of excitement and trepidation upon her face, the conflict of flirtation and restraint in her stance. It was clear that Theresa's hymen was intact and she intended to keep it so, for Dean and Dean alone to take on their wedding night.

Nina marvelled at how Theresa's happiness seemed to flourish in spite of the curse upon their town. Young love was truly one of the most beautiful things in the world. Watching them reminded her of how precious the bond she shared with Swift Coyote was. She smiled and gave silent thanks to the God and Goddess for guiding him into her life.

"As joyful as it'll be to give my little girl away to a good man, I have to admit that I'll be sad to see her leave. My wife, Abigail, passed away twelve years ago - Spanish Flu. Ever since then, it's just been me and 'Resa. I'll be all by myself once she's married..." Colby lamented.

Nina sighed. She felt true sympathy for Colby's plight, but unfortunately, there were far more pressing matters at hand. After an appropriate pause, she returned the conversation to the history of Arnford Manor. "Gerald, just one last question: Do you know anything about three priests that were associated with Arnford Manor, in some way?"

"Hm? Oh... I... I remember hearing something about that," Colby muttered. "I couldn't tell you when, but I think they all died in the Manor in quick succession, maybe within a year of each other? Awfully bizarre coincidence..."

"Indeed," Nina agreed. "I wonder what they were doing there in the first place? Do you suppose they were just visiting the Arnford family?"

"No, as far as I know, each of them was the Manor's chaplain."

------------------------------------

Holliston Cemetery, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 12:39pm

"These men all died in a state of extreme turmoil. Their sprits are confused, troubled," Swift Coyote told Nerine. Before them layed a row of three similar graves -- the graves of the three priests. All three black granite desk monuments were severely weathered and two had large cracks with tall grass growing through them. The black granite tombstones were in extreme disrepair. They were mouldy, crumbling and nigh unreadable. Only the distinction of 'Reverend', barely visible on one of the tombstones, assured Nerine and Swift Coyote that these were the graves they were looking for.

"...But they aren't wicked. They do not torture themselves with guilt, either. I don't think these men brought the curse upon that hotel, intentionally or otherwise."

"I agree," Nerine nodded. "Their bones would reek of dark energy if they had been the progenitors of it." She quickly checked to make sure that nobody else was around, then she extended her hand and cast a spell. Mystic waters bubbled up from the soil and washed over the tombstones, partially removing the decay and restoring clarity to the epitaphs. She had hoped that the inscriptions would contain some useful information, but instead all she uncovered was the deceaseds' names, dates of birth and death and an irrelevant biblical verse on each stone.

"These graves can tell us nothing," she sighed. "But there is still a lot of history in this place. We should explore further. We might learn something about the curse after all."

Row by row, the witch and the warrior strolled past each and every grave in the lonely cemetery. They kept their minds open to the silent voices of restless spirits and the natural flow of ambient energy. At one point, Nerine realized that she was walking alone. She turned around and discovered that Swift Coyote had stalled several graves back. She retraced her steps and stopped by his side.

"Some of these graves are inhabited by the lingering spirits of the deceased. Others are peaceful grounds, because the spirit of the person buried there has moved on to the next life. But this grave is neither," Swift Coyote commented, with noticeable unease in his voice.

Nerine paid special attention to the epitaph on the headstone. "Charles Donelly," it read, "Died: November 22, 1912. Aged: 23". The name seemed instantly familiar to her. On a hunch, she removed her knapsack and began to rummage through the disorganized contents.

"On this grave... is a void," Swift Coyote continued, "where the departed one's spirit is supposed to be, but isn't. His spirit never moved on, and yet it's not here... It's not anywhere. But when I look into that void, I can see the shape of the spirit that is meant to fill it. What worries me is that I recognize that shape... It's the shape of the monster we fought in the cloth factory..." That last claim caught Nerine's full attention. "Except it was back-to-front and inside out... It's hard to explain," he huffed in frustration.

"That's okay, I think I understand... kind of," Nerine muttered, engrossed in two sheets of paper she'd produced from her knapsack. "Look here! I thought I recognized that name! Charles Donelly was one of the suspicious deaths. And if our theory is right, then judging by the dates he fathered... baby Katherine! The girl who went missing from the orphanage!"

"So what does that mean?"

"I have an idea..." Nerine replied as an exotic theory began to brew in her mind.

------------------------------------

Archives Room, Town Hall, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 1:52pm

Demi gently layed the old sheet of paper she had been reading upon a nearby pile of records. She rose from her chair and began rifling through the large archive box in front of her. Her sudden exuberance was a stark contrast to Levinia, who was sitting across the table, listlessly rolling her sore eyes through a 19^th century land roster. Demi sighed in frustration when she realized what she was looking for was not in the box. As luck would have it, the clerk came pacing past the ladies' table at that exact moment.

"Excuse me," Demi began, "But are these all the books you have pertaining to the local church?"

"I put everything we got in that there box," the fifty-ish year old clerk replied, without even bothering to look at her. He was carrying a couple of official-looking folders, though his hands were far from full.

"You're absolutely sure?" Demi pressed him, irritated by his callous attitude.

"Missy, when I get told to do something I do it right. That way I don't get people coming back and bugging me a second time," he snapped.

Demi slumped back down in her chair and sighed again. The brief intermission in the room's stifling silence had caught Levinia's attention. She was about to ask her sister what was wrong when Demi suddenly lifted her head and said to herself, "Maybe it never left...

"I gotta go check something out," She told Levinia as she rose from her seat once more, "I shouldn't be too long."

"Okay," Levinia responded in a confused tone. Demi set off at a brisk pace. She bumped into Nina at the doorway.

"Hi," Demi greeted. Nina responded likewise. "Just need to go find something. Back soon," Demi quickly explained.

"Where are you off to?" Nina asked.

"Church!" Demi called out, already halfway to the staircase. Nina shrugged and continued into the center of the archives room. The clerk seemed miffed at the thought of another bothersome woman in his work area.

"Hi," Nina quietly greeted Levinia as she approached her table.

"Hi," Levinia replied, looking up from her research. "Any Luck?"

"Maybe. Have you come across any mention of a Marcia Arnford?"

"I've seen the name mentioned in a few places... why?" Levinia asked.

"I think she might be worth looking into. She has a troubling life story and I was told that there were numerous confirmed sightings of her 'ghost,' late last century. I'm thinking that it might've been the shadow lady..." Nina explained.

"Okay, I'll see what I can learn about her," Levinia said. She put the book she had been reading down on the table and went searching through her archive box for documents that seemed to pertain to Marcia Arnford's lifetime.

"Need a hand?" Nina offered with a friendly smile.

"If you like, you can carry on from where Demi left off," Levinia suggested. "She's been looking through the church records, whilst I've been looking through records on the manor."

"Okay," Nina agreed, sitting down in the seat Demi had occupied only a minute ago.

She reached into the box containing the church records and pulled out the nearest book. She completely ignored the small pile of books and documents on the right side of the table which, as she correctly assumed, had already been examined by Demi. Topping the pile was a fragile, yellowed sheet of paper with a message that read, "Dear Reverend McGregor,

"I write this letter with a heavy heart, but can no longer conceal the terrible things that I know.

"I know not what you have heard about the priests who served in the Manor house, before the village church you now serve was built. But suffice to say many terrible things have happened in Arnford Manor these past 14 years and I am afraid I might know the reason why, all too well. I fear that if such tragedies continue, it might be necessary for you to call to the Lord to grant mercy upon Arnford Manor. I have made many such prayers, but they go unanswered. I hope that you, as his pious servant may achieve what I cannot.

"When that time comes, I suspect you may need to know the history of these happenings and more importantly, the terrible memory I have never spoken of in thirty-two years. To this end, I include with this letter my journal. It should tell you most of what you need to know. However, I pray you do not open it unless you find it absolutely necessary to do so. The information within would destroy several reputations, including my own, if it were to become known. An entire family would be humiliated. I do not wish my journal to do any harm, if it can do no good.

"I am taking my family and moving west. I cannot continue to live in this place. Perhaps some day, Arnford Manor shall be a place of comfort once more. But I shall never return.

"Farewell, Reverend.

"Your penitent servant,

"Riley Vandelul

April 6, 1813"

------------------------------------

Basement of the First Church of Holliston, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 2:14pm

Demi carefully descended the old wooden staircase. It turned out to be much sturdier than it had looked from the top. "Now don't you go making a mess down there, y'hear? You can let yourself out," the deacon instructed from atop the staircase, before wandering off to resume his own business. From his abrupt manner, Demi got the impression that he did not like having strangers in his church. It had been most tiresome convincing him to let her search the church's forgotten keepsakes for 'missing records.' She hoped coming here would be worth the trouble.

Groping blindly through the musty darkness, Demi soon found the pull-string switch for the basement light. She pulled on it and with a click, three dim 30W light globes revealed the basement's contents. The large collection of paraphernalia looked as if it had been built up over more than a century. Demi took a deep breath and began to explore.