The Curse of Arnford Manor

She rifled through a half dozen of the basement's many unmarked boxes and thoroughly inspected two dusty old bookshelves, still lined with books. Then she happened to notice an old writing desk pressed against the wall. It had been buried under so much junk that she had not noticed it earlier. Judging by its carving and fixtures, Demi surmised that it could well have been built before the 1800s.

One by one, Demi opened the drawers, working bottom-to-top and alternating left and right. None of the contents were of any interest to her. There was a simple brass lock on every drawer, but only the top left drawer was locked. Demi tapped her fingers upon the desk as she thought for a moment.

The key might have been somewhere amongst the junk in the basement, but even if that were so, finding it would take far too long. On the other hand, she had no intention of giving up on the desk without inspecting that last drawer. Instead, Demi opted for a direct approach. She pulled a pin from her hair, letting her bouncy ebony locks fall loose upon her shoulders. She had never picked a lock in her life, but she was well aware of the theory behind it.

Thanks largely to the simplicity of the 18^th century lock, Demi managed to pop it open after several minutes of trying. With a squeal of triumph she excitedly pulled the drawer out to reveal...

A couple of antiquated pens... and some blank stationary. A rather disappointing booby prize.

But then she noticed that the drawer was shallower than its counterpart on the right. She emptied the drawer of its contents and on closer inspection, discovered it had a false bottom. She removed it and found a single item hidden beneath: A small leather-bound book, with a taut leather strap wrapped around it. Scratched into the cover were the letters 'R' & 'V' -- Riley Vandelul! A broad grin washed across Demi's face as she grabbed the book. This was what she'd been looking for!

A brief, hollow sound, like a metal pot scaping on stone emanated from the dark corner directly behind her. Demi whirled around instantly, but saw nothing out of place. "Must've just been rats," she thought, trying to reassure herself. All the same, the noise had spooked her just a little. For a moment she thought it was the deacon. If he caught her with the journal, he might try to confiscate it. She couldn't afford that.

She secreted the journal into the folds of her frock and then hurriedly restored the desk to its original state. Then she stepped lively back to the basement exit, switching the lights off as she left.

From the shadowy corner at the far end of the basement, the shadow lady watched Demi's legs disappear up the stairs and sneered.

CHAPTER VI: Toxic

Residence of Mr. D. Fielding, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 6:57pm.

Dean paraded down his front porch with his usual cocky stride. He approached the swing seat at the end, preparing to have a good smoke. This was a habit of his. It was his way of winding down after work. The porch seat faced towards the sunset, but Dean chose to sit there for less romantic reasons. He liked it because it was comfortable, and because it was out in the fresh air.

Dean had just finished filling his cherrywood pipe and had retrieved the matchbook from his back pocket when an icy breeze suddenly rushed past him. He looked up, towards the street-side corner of the porch. He was certain he must've been mistaken, but he could swear the shadow in the corner was getting darker... much, much darker. Looking around, Dean could see that everything else had an appropriate dusky glow. No cloud had drifted in front of the sun. But that corner was becoming as black as midnight!

Then, when it seemed the shadow could grow no darker, Dean saw something stirring within -- something big. The shadow lady rose from the darkness, though Dean could not fathom how she had gotten there. She advanced on him in a calm, graceful manner. Dean quickly realized the stranger was a woman, with a superb hourglass figure. For the most part, all he could make out was her silhouette, as the sun was behind her. But there were two things he was acutely aware of: the woman had long, shiny hair and she wasn't wearing a single stitch of clothing! As she came within arm's reach, Dean was also able to see that her breasts were full and very firm. Not as large as his fiancee's, but still incredibly desirable.

He was totally paralyzed. A potent mix of arousal and shock rushed through his veins, making him tremble. He was mortified by the way his anatomy was responding to the woman's presence.

The shadow lady seemed to relish the man's helplessness. She gently took one of his limp hands and placed it against her smooth navel. She brushed his fingers over the surface of her breast and stroked his palm a single time with her erect nipple. Then she raised his hand to her mouth and laid a soft kiss upon the tip of his index finger. After a brief pause, the shadow lady put his finger between her tepid lips once more. Only this time, she began to gently suck on it.

Dean's pipe slipped from his mouth and fell to the floor, breaking in two.

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Albright Road, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 7:04pm.

Theresa Colby moseyed merrily along the footpath, admiring the picturesque orange sky above the distant hills. She was on her way to invite her fiance to join her and her father for dinner.

Soon arriving at the familiar home, which she would soon call her own, she stepped through the picketed white gate and started up the front path. But after a just a few steps, she saw something that stopped her in her tracks. Her fiancé, Dean, was sitting in the swing seat on the front porch, tightly gripping the back of the seat with both hands. His gaze was turned towards the porch ceiling and he had a bizarre look of great urgency on his face. At first, Theresa assumed he was having some kind of seizure and was about to race to his side, until she caught sight of a head cloaked in raven hair bobbing up and down between his legs.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. Theresa had never performed fellatio, but she knew what it was, thanks to a lewd young lady at her finishing school, who often boasted about her expertise in the act. She looked on, shuddering, snivelling in despair. When she could stand it no longer, Theresa fled from the sickening spectacle as fast as her legs could carry her.

Oblivious to what his fiance had seen, Dean winced as his mysterious partner bought him to climax. His solid maleness throbbed over and over, with mighty ejaculations. But a brief instant of bittersweet ecstasy quickly became a horrific end. Dean's lungs failed, leaving him unable to breathe. His muscles froze permanently in their tense state, like petrified wood. He could actually feel his health and vitality leaving him through his cock. Finally, the world became dark and so very cold and then he was gone.

Dean's skin contracted closer to his bones and turned a jaundiced yellow. His face froze in a distorted moan of coital triumph. The flies wasted no time in settling on his lifeless meat.

Between his legs, the shadow lady's throat undulated as every last drop of Dean's thick, salty load descended into her unholy stomach.

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Residence of Mr. G. Colby, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 8:30pm

Alone in her dark bedroom, Theresa had been laying on her bed, weeping into her pillow for over an hour. She had no tears left in her, though she still couldn't stop crying.

How could he do this to her? She had never so much as thought of other men since he began wooing her. She had kept her body pure and she would've eagerly given herself to him on their wedding night, if he had only waited...

The closed door to her room had not shifted, yet Theresa suddenly felt like she was no longer by herself. She lifted her head from her pillow and immediately saw the shadow lady standing near her wardrobe, buck-naked. Theresa was too emotionally exhausted to be afraid of the intruder, or to scream for help, so she just stared at her, quizzically. Theresa hadn't gotten a good look at Dean's illicit partner, so she didn't even suspect that the stranger before her was the same woman.

The shadow lady smiled at Theresa and walked over to her side. She kneeled by the bedside, reached over and began gently stroking Theresa's hair. At first, Theresa was wary of the uninvited intruder. But in her deeply depressed state, it wasn't long before she welcomed the shadow lady's comfort. Theresa scooched over closer and the shadow lady embraced her. It bought back fond memories of the way her late mother used to hold her whenever she was upset. She nuzzled the shadow lady's supple bosom and stopped sobbing all together after a just few minutes.

Being coddled in such an intimate way awoke nascent instincts in Theresa. Without even thinking about it, she lifted her lips to the shadow lady's teat and began to suckle, only lightly at first. Within seconds, Theresa was actually drinking from her breast.

The substance the shadow lady secreted was icy cold and so bitter it seared Theresa's tongue like vomit. Yet, trickling down her throat, it felt wonderfully refreshing, like a glass of ice water on the hottest day of summer. It was a powerfully addictive sensation, which only made Theresa crave her mysterious wet nurse's 'milk' even more. She wrapped her arms around the shadow lady's back and held her hungrily. The shadow lady grinned and pulled Theresa's head tighter against her breast with one hand, while gently petting her own nether regions with the other.

Both women began to moan -- louder, louder, louder...

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Room 4, Redford Inn, Holliston, NC

July 15^th, 1931, 8:41pm

The four witches and Swift Coyote were gathered around the main bedroom discussing the discoveries they had made that afternoon. Swift Coyote, who had eagerly removed his chafing shirt and jacket upon returning to the room, sat on the double bed alongside Nina. Levinia was seated on a stiff wooden chair nearby and Nerine was leaning comfortably against the bathroom doorframe. Demi was uncharacteristically distanced from the others. She was stretched out upon the single bed, engrossed in the leather journal she had so shrewdly recovered from the church.

"...As for the priests," Nina continued, "The first one just dropped dead one day, with no apparent cause. His replacement hanged himself about a year later and the second replacement 'fell' out a glass window and died of his injuries. Though I'm sure that the word 'fell' is just a kind euphemism for 'hurled himself.'

"By then, the proper church in the town had been built, so it was decided that the manor house no longer needed an exclusive chaplain."

"These priests are starting to sound more and more like early victims of the curse, rather than the ones who cast it," Levinia opined.

"We got the same impression from their graves," Nerine stated. "We also made an interesting discovery at the cemetery. We found the graves of four of the men who suffered the unusual deaths. At each one there was a... what did you call it?"

"A spiritual void," Swift Coyote responded. "It means that their spiritual journey has been interfered with. Their spirits are not where they are supposed to be."

"Yes," said Nerine, "but in particular, the void around one of those graves was connected to the manifestation we fought in Applebury. Now, we worked it out and if we're right about these men fathering the babies abandoned at the Arnford, then the man in that grave is the father of the orphan Katherine."

"Katherine?" Nina exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, the one whose body was never found."

"Not only that, but it was in her bedroom that the manifestation first took physical form," Nina clarified.

"And that was the same room where they found the first victim, as well, wasn't it? The young man, Daniel, who had also come from The Arnford?" Nerine asked. Nina nodded. "Then I think I understand how the manifestation came to be. Bear with me here:

"All living things have a life force that is created by a melding of their mother and father's life forces, yes? But these babies have an abnormal parentage. Their fathers seem to be ordinary men, but their maternal heritage... is something very dark. I suspect that the essence of those children is a balanced fusion of life-force and death-force, or corrupt energy.

"I think that on the night that the manifestation appeared, one of those offspring, Daniel, donated the corrupt half of his soul to another offspring, Katherine. When it combined with her own corrupt half, it produced a full body of corrupt energy. Katherine was the manifestation!"

"But how could Daniel donate his corrupt energy to Katherine?" Swift Coyote asked.

"How does a man usually donate his essence to a woman?" Nerine responded with a facetious smile.

"Oh. Right," Swift Coyote sheepishly acknowledged that he'd understood.

"I expect that they were all of a sudden drawn to each other, once they'd both reached maturity... like a sort of biological clock. These offspring would have powerful instincts to unite their energies and create a manifestation if ever the opportunity came about." Nerine theorized.

"Do you think the man knew that she would kill him afterwards?" Swift Coyote asked.

"I don't think she did. I think he died the instant he came," Nerine answered. "Nothing can survive with only half a soul. Once his dark half had been passed over to Katherine, his body would have been destroyed. But to answer your question, I wouldn't be surprised if he knew the deed would be a self-sacrifice. Many creatures willingly sacrifice themselves to serve their life cycle. The male black-widow spider deliberately impales itself on the fangs of its mate, during sex. Such is the power of instinct.

"Of course all this is only a theory... But even if I'm right, it still only leads us back to the bigger question: who is the shadow lady?"

"I think her name might be Marcia Arnford," Nina offered.

"So do I," Levinia agreed. "Marcia Arnford lived in the manor during the late 18^th century. She was the wife of the local landowner. According to the records I read today, she had an extremely dark temper. She was reputed to be very abusive to at least one of her children. She used to have furious outbursts where she would scream about her intentions to, 'Escape God's judgement.' She flagrantly shunned the religious beliefs of the rest of the family and had some kind of conflict with the manor chaplain, the first of those three priests you investigated," Levinia explained, nodding at Nina.

"Then in 1799, she suddenly committed suicide and shortly after that, the manor suffered a long series of misfortunes," she continued.

"Like it had been cursed?" Swift Coyote hinted.

"Indeed," Levinia replied. "Three years later, one of her daughters disappeared without trace, never to be seen again. Within five years of her suicide, the manor chaplains started dying in quick succession. The crop yield for the plantation began to decline over the years, though the yields of every other farm in the region fluctuated normally. By 1830, the manor had been abandoned by the Arnford family all together."

"Gerald Colby told me that Marcia Arnford was supposed to be buried somewhere close to the manor," Nina said. "But when the hotel extensions were built around the original house, they never found any trace of her. It's possible that her grave was in an area where no renovation was done. But the work was extensive, so that's not likely. The other possibility... is that Marcia Arnford didn't stay buried."

"You're thinking that her body is still walking around?" Levinia guessed.

"Our lore makes mention of several forbidden spells that can make a person immortal. If she was a dark sorceress and tried to perform such a spell upon herself... a ritual suicide would have been required," Nerine said. "The caster rests until they've gone through rigor mortis, then they awaken. By that time, the family may have already buried her. The entire process would have imbued her with dark powers."

"Powers like the shadow lady's?" Nina asked.

"Possibly, yes," Nerine answered.

"Then that might be the answer," said Nina. "But there's only one way to be sure: we need to go back to the Arnford and find that grave."

"I don't think so!" Demi proclaimed, looking up from her musty old book with excitement in her eyes. "Listen to this..."

CHAPTER VII: Curse

Arnford Manor, NC

October 31^st, 1780, 5:22pm.

Tightly clutching his rifle, 19 year old Riley Vandelul, a farmer's son, wandered through the vacant rooms of the manor house, searching. Before leaving, his father had firmly instructed him to, "Never go anywhere without that rifle." Riley's father, along with most able-bodied men on the plantation had left the manor to join the colonial army in their campaign against the British. Mr. Arnford, the landowner, had particular zeal for the dream of independence.

Riley himself was unfit for combat, due to a leg injury he sustained when thrown from a horse some weeks ago. He could walk okay, but he was unable to march or run. As such, he was charged with protecting all the women and children of the plantation, should the redcoats make it past the colonial army.

The smoke of battle could be seen on the horizon and every few seconds the sound of distant cannon fire would ring out through the air. The advancing redcoats had been intercepted, but dreadfully close to Arnford Manor.

As he stepped into the manor's chapel, Riley breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He had found who he was looking for: Mrs. Arnford, the lady of the house.

Marcia Arnford was seated in the front pew on the right-hand side. Her head was bowed solemnly. Riley's footsteps upon the wooden floorboards echoed through the chapel, so Mrs. Arnford probably heard him approaching. But she didn't flinch.

"Mrs... Mrs. Arnford?" Riley nervously announced himself. "Everybody else is down in the bunker. We should go, too." The bunker, hidden behind a secret door in the cellar, had been dug as a hiding place from the British.

"Should we?" Marcia Arnford sadly retorted. A howitzer went off in the distance. "The king's army is coming for us. Can't you hear them? They are less than a day's march away. They shall seize us and we shall all be drawn and quartered. This chapel is as good a place to await them as any. God alone can stay our execution now."

"No. If we go to the bunker... the British will think there is no one here and leave," Riley stammered, trying to reassure himself perhaps more than Mrs. Arnford.

"It makes no difference. We have been branded as traitors to the crown. They will never stop hunting us, now. What matter if they find us tonight, or in a fortnight, or a month or a year? That bastard fool, Washington, has sealed all our fates. A pox on him and his inflammatory rhetoric! He promises liberty... but what liberty is there in being nailed inside a pine box?" she argued. Riley, now realizing the depth of Mrs. Arnford's despair, sat down quietly beside her. He wanted desperately to escort her down to the safety of the bunker, but he hadn't the confidence to order the wife of the master to follow him.

"My husband pledges Arnford Manor's support to Washington's cause. I begged him... begged him not to defy the British. Begged him to keep company with me here, instead of riding off into some pointless war. But it seems he prefers his frivolous 'independence' to the love I could offer him." Mrs. Arnford lamented. Knowing not what else to do, Riley tentatively placed a hand upon her shoulder, in an attempt to comfort her. Only then did she lift her gaze from the floor and take notice of him.