The Ancestral Home

This is my submission to the Halloween contest 2023! Happy reading, hope you enjoy!

Thank you to Roxy.

*

My name is Steven Ordway, and I am an international realtor. I started small in my rural little college town just outside of Indianapolis, but through ambition and vigor, I made my way into the international market before I was even thirty. As luck and serendipity would have it, my first big job opportunity was here, in this strange place that only appeared on my radar when an unusual request landed on my desk. A Romanian citizen, who wanted to remain anonymous, wanted to sell his or her ancestral home, as it had been abandoned for centuries. He or she wanted me to appraise it, take pictures, and negotiate when we came that far. Basically, I had all the cards while whoever it was got all the money after the fact. Why an anonymous seller was trying to sell a property through a small crew in Indiana I do not know, but my little company was hungry, so I agreed.

That is how my story begins.

I have done a lot of unusual things over the course of my career, from dealing with angry husbands and wives of sellers over the sale of their lake houses to getting rid of the smell of old people that had permeated their mansion. I have gotten into and escaped bodily harm during the wild real-estate parties of Vegas, and I have seen many homes and buildings, even several other mansions. But none were ever as... diverse as the property known simply as "The Ancestral Home."

Romania. The whole project sparked a curious part of me. Looking at the map one would expect them to be like any other eastern-European country, but as I did my research I discovered several things that I never expected. Like how they descended from the actual Romans, they were sort of the last remnants of the Roman Empire. At least somewhat culturally. Not only did the stereotypical Romanian look almost like what you'd expect a Roman to look like, but their names were influenced by their predecessors too. Constantin, Valentin, Catalina, and so on. I mean, I expected a bunch of Ivan's and Olga's, but nope. Romanian culture seemed like almost a sexy mystery to me as I set out.

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In addition to reading up on Romania's culture and history, I figured I'd brush dust off on some of my nerdy obsessions from when I was a kid, such as studying the Ancient Greek alphabet, Latin, and Byzantium history. In the case of Transylvania, where the property was, there were some cultural and mythological overlaps. Something I found even more curious was how there had been a long-rooted community of Celts in the area, but even overlapping with when Alexander The Great conquered the area.

After being crammed into a metal tube for almost twenty hours, with several connecting flights on several other, tinier metal tubes, I finally arrived at a deserted stretch of woods in the middle of what seemed to be nowhere, which should by all rights have nothing here. I paid the driver and got out. Being six foot four and north of two hundred pounds all these travels had been weary on my joints and knees, my whole body ached. Yeah, I'm twenty-eight, but long lanky limbs don't fit too well in small cabs, small airplanes, and so on. The man didn't look at me as I paid and got my small suitcase.

"It right up road," he said, the words so thick with an accent it took me a second to register them.

As the car sped away, leaving me in a dust cloud, I looked up the winding road and saw it. Not too far ahead of me was a small gated circle of houses, that looked as old, maybe older than time itself. The black wrought iron fence loomed above me, threatening me.

"That looks ominous," I said to myself. A wind picked up as if responding to my statement and rustling my hair, a sudden cold chill sending goose bumps up my arm. I smirked and ran a hand through my shaggy sandy blond locks as my phone's cell reception dropped, then turned on and off again.

"Perfect! Just peachy," I growled, my green eyes falling upon the mansion that rose from beyond the tall gates.

"Think this will be easy? Haha, you stupid fucker," I sneered. This would sell itself, more or less.

With that, and against my own common sense and instinct, which told me not to, I took a picture of it and posted it to my Snapchat, along with the caption, "Guess who found an old scary haunted mansion. Wish me luck!"

I didn't usually post about the jobs themselves on social media. I don't know why I did it. It was like my brain told me to let people know where I was... or that I still existed. Weird. I had sold creepy old castles and mansions in the States before, but this seemed different.

I shook it off and made my way down to the gate, kicking leaves out of my path and swatting away gnats. Even though fall was settling in, there still seemed to be plenty of little bugs roaming around this forest. I shoved my phone and pocketed my sunglasses, and as I made it to the gate I grabbed the padlock that held it closed and gave it a tug, just to find it solid, locked, and rusted shut.

I stuck my hand into my leather jacket, searching for the key. The owner had sent me it, so it should be here somewhere in this mess of pockets. Once my fingers wrapped around the rusty skeleton key, I pulled it out, feeling the awkward shape of the key in my hand. I took hold of the lock, immediately feeling clumps of rust against my hand. The rust was, oddly enough, warm.

I drew the key from my pocket and then went about finding the perfect spot to insert it into the lock, then, using all my weight I pulled the lock. A huge clunk and bang rattled the chain, but otherwise, it did no good. The damned thing wouldn't budge!

"Oh come on, you stupid piece of shit," I snarled. Nothing I did made this lock open, so I eventually stopped, grunting and groaning.

I looked around and felt around the ground near my feet for something to break the damned thing with. I searched the leaves for rocks or a stick but came up with nothing, then I looked inside my small bag.

Nothing.

I looked back up to the abandoned village beyond the gate. The property was huge, a whole village in addition to the castle, or mansion, whatever... so no way all of it was fenced in? But as I looked at the old rundown buildings a chill went through me. I was miles away from anyone with a creepy old village where no one had lived for hundreds of years to keep me company. Suddenly an unexplainable sensation crept into my mind... a warning. A silent whisper telling me to not go further...

'Something is wrong.' I felt a wave of déjà vu settle on my mind as the hair rose up on the back of my neck and my stomach clenched.

"No need to scare yourself, Steven. Calm down and think." I spoke to calm my nerves and jumped slightly at my own voice. "Jesus Christ, pull your head together, get this gate open, take some pictures, get paid, and get the hell out of here."

The sound of the wind answered me. There were no birds, no noise. Nothing.

Okay, that was a bit weird. No bugs or birds or sounds of the usual buzz of forest life. The absence of sound was deafening. But it is all because I am standing in front of a creepy old gate after a long tiresome travel. I slowly breathed in the fresh, crisp cool air. All right...what next...

I shoved my phone back into my pants and decided I would just climb the damn gate. So I grasped the bars, pulling myself up. Luckily the rust didn't cut up my palms as I climbed, making my ascent easier. I heaved myself up until I had both arms draped over the pointy end, and suddenly I was looking up at a clear, deep-blue sky and the beautiful Romanian sun beaming down on my skin. That was an encouraging sight. At least not everything was horrible and creepy here! It took me a few minutes more to hoist the rest of my weight up and over, my backpack clanging off the iron rods.

The soft crunch of leaves echoed around me as I made my landing. Okay, what now? Looking down the road towards the small abandoned village I saw the wooden rundown huts create a cross in the road with a stone well-house in the middle of it.

Okay. Where the hell to now? The village was full of crooked, broken buildings. All wood and stone and red roofs. I sort of figured I'd stay in one of the houses rather than in the castle, but that didn't seem feasible as I looked at the almost charred, moldy structures cling to life around me.

The smell was the first thing that hit me. Rotted eggs and decaying wood permeated the air. Mold was growing on the crumbled stone and wood. Shards of glass hung from the windows. I guess some shithead kids had stopped by for some weekend vandalism. Or maybe the frames couldn't hold the glass anymore? Either way, no thank you, the houses looked unfit. I was not sleeping there.

Beyond the stony well-house, behind the last small row of buildings, stood what I was here for. The big Gothic structure was looming, waiting for my gaze to fall upon it. As my eyes traveled from top to bottom a chill ran down my spine as a wave of even more déjà vu engulfed the pit of my stomach. It was as if it was whispering to me, enticing me to come closer.

It was terrifying in its beauty, but it was unlike any architecture I had encountered before. This structure looked more like the images and paintings of medieval cathedrals than a proper mansion. Gargoyles leered down from high on its walls, their pointed maws curled into snarls. Windows stared down at me from so high in the castle it seemed inhuman, the huge stone-and-mortar blocks put together so clean and tight. How could this building still be standing? How old must it be? I remembered that Romanian architecture was one of the most beautiful in the world, but...this? This was incredible.

Okay, Steven, concentrate. It doesn't matter how old the building is or how incredible its history and origins are, all you need to focus on is your job. My inner thoughts broke the spell and I was able to focus. I made my way down the small street. I made sure to not go near the well-house, making a deliberate turn away from it. The last thing I wanted was to fall into some forsaken pit.

Instead, I rounded the corner and found the path leading towards the castle. I looked back at the village, the feeling still following me. Why did it feel as if it had a pair of eyes on the back of my head? Shivering slightly at the strange notion, I took a breath and cleared my throat, heading away from the town square and down the path to the estate. Built during the High Renaissance during the late Middle Ages it stood heavily inspired by the Gothic and the Baroque style. Doing the little research I could in Bucharest I learned it was said to be a labyrinth. Almost a maze that changed every hour and every month. Who knew. But the Internet was hardly a reputable source when talking about something like this, let alone it being over hundreds of years old. The tales, the stories that came along with this castle made it seem like a fairytale of sorts, like a world straight out of fiction or folklore.

There was nothing magical, fantastical, or frightening about this building. Sure, maybe it was ancient and seemed somewhat foreboding, but once you realized it was just a building the feeling faded. I approached the rumors with caution.

"Well," I laughed and kicked some leaves out of the path as I advanced. I didn't really have anything to follow up with, so I just made my way.

My mind began to conjure a thousand stories to explain all the mysteries and hidden truths around it. Was there really a monster in its basement, a powerful evil, or were all the murders and demonic possessions real? Had there really been a cult here where human sacrifices were performed and families were torn apart at their hands? My imagination and dark sense of humor could get carried away as I gazed upon the monstrous fortress.

As I crossed under the portico's threshold I looked around, my mind finally grasping the sheer size of it. The courtyard was bigger than some people's homes. Several little alcoveed sections housed statues and stone tables, as well as the occasional potted plant that sat limp and lifeless, devoured by bugs. Surely someone would be interested in the potential of something so big and grotesquely glamorous, but it would take a real salesman to get it done.

I turned to take in the slightly elevated view of the town. The sun was setting, so I snatched my camera and took some nice photos. I also took pictures of the magnificent entrance and the courtyard, and when I finally reached the big iron door that loomed above my head like a demon itself I began to do a video of my first explorations, narrating what I was saying, just in case this was worth watching later. If not, I could use the best of the videos to create scenic video snippets. I also had a drone and stuff for that purpose.

"So I arrived in the small town somewhere in the Transylvania region, not quite finding anything here but a haunted castle and a town. It looks abandoned. The morning sun will likely rise on the far side of the castle, as it is currently setting over the village. Anyway, I'm heading inside," I mumbled into the microphone before putting the camera back in my backpack.

I looked over to the huge, ugly dragon's head doorknocker, but my hand immediately retracted as I laid eyes upon it. Something wasn't right. There was something almost too ominous and foreboding about its iron face glaring at me. Its wide maw and curled snarling lips could easily hide any number of unsavory secrets. As I moved from its eyes, those deep sockets black and seemingly never-ending, my skin tingled, the tiny hairs on my arms rising. It wasn't a dragon, after all. It looked human, but malformed and horrifying. As a frame for the protruding tongue, it had sharp teeth, and a terrifying smile plastered across its iron face. It didn't seem old and was pretty much clean from rust.

But if I were to get inside and do my job, I had to sack up. I mean, I couldn't travel all this way to just give up, right? And what would my colleagues say back in the US when I came slinking back due to some silly doorknob? With a sigh, I took a deep breath.

"Stupid things can't bite you, Ordway. Grow a fucking pair," I said to reassure myself.

I pulled my leather jacket down over my wrists and stepped forward, grabbing the heavy iron with the palm of my hand. The tongue, even being made out of cold iron, felt slick against my skin. It was probably just the cold, but it was like the fucking thing was licking my hand as I turned the knob and shoved. Surprisingly the large slab of metal opened easily with the tiniest of squeals. It must've been well-oiled for the rusted squeaks to be barely audible.

The main hall opened in front of me and was dark. The only light filtered through small windows high up on the walls. Thick dust floated and swayed in the sun's rays like thousands of tiny ghosts dancing about, illuminated and looking almost beautiful. My jaw dropped as I tried to catch my breath at the enormity of the interior. From the outside, the place looked huge, but inside, even with a bit of dilapidation, it was beyond belief, with paintings and artifacts covering every inch of the walls and dust-encrusted, threadbare curtains hanging everywhere.

Maybe it is silly, or dumb, but I was beat, so I kinda hoped to find the fastest way to a bed rather than explore the castle in the darkness of nightfall. So I took out the small map I had gotten from my contractor and saw that just behind the giant staircase I was facing now, there was a large bedroom. Bed chamber, I mean, I'm still not sure what the difference between a bed chamber and a bedroom was.

I hoisted the backpack and started down the arched hallway and down into a short corridor that led indeed to a series of rooms, one of which was the aforementioned bedroom. I creaked the door open and peeked inside. Not sure what to expect, but being in a big creepy castle you better act the part, I guess? I never came across anything spookier than a couple of bugs, so no problemo.

The room was unkempt, old wallpaper stained with rot, and a huge canopy bed sitting in the middle of the dusty room, the only light coming from the curtained windows on the opposite wall. I pulled the door shut behind me with a hard thud. Apart from the torn wallpaper, the room itself was not overly dirty, which surprised me, considering no one had stayed there since the forties when the war started. Just in case, I had brought a sleeping bag, but the sheets didn't look dirty at all in fact. When I said it was dusty it was a mere assumption, but on closer inspection, the room was well-kept in general. It was almost as weird and ominous as the whole estate itself. It was like someone had prepared the room for guests.

"Huh?" I mumbled, turning around. I thought I had heard something, but nothing was there except the darkness that swallowed the door I had just entered through. I must have been more tired than I thought, or my mind was playing tricks on me.

With a tired and annoyed grunt, I went about unpacking the little belongings I had brought: my bedroll, phone, toiletries, and a few changes of clothes. Food, water. I had no idea what was here, so like a good former Boy Scout I came prepared. The biggest problem was the damned power not working in the castle, but who can you blame? If no one has been living there for ages the power is cut off. You gotta bring your own.

I was happy to see there were some candles on both bedstands, though. So I took a moment and lit them, and got a clearer view of the bedroom. It was luxurious, that was for certain, with an antique-style furniture set with gold leaf carvings, and ornate, old curtains in red satin. The bed posts and bed frame were both carved with what looked like angels with wings, flowers, and trees, but also vines of what looked like some sort of... pagan deity in the middle. Almost tribal.

Stopping and staring for a bit as my brain started making up some really strange stories of what these symbols meant and where they came from, I figured I would ask someone if I found anyone I could talk to after my stay. Either way, I took several pictures of the detailed bedposts and the carvings along the bed frame before heading to bed. Before I blew out the candles, I stole one final glance towards the door before tucking myself into the warm and silken bedsheets, the weight of fatigue taking over and drawing me into the world of sleep almost instantly.

*

I was awake. I woke up. Or I think I did, but everything was so dark. I tried to sit up, but it was like a giant weight held me down. I was awake, but I couldn't move. Was this sleep paralysis? I had heard of it, but never experienced it. Everything was so lucid, even in the darkness, still, I was lodged under the sheets like in a warm cocoon. The warmth would normally feel comforting, but now a cold wave washed over me and gooseflesh pebbled all over my body.

Then I noticed. In the darkness, right in front of my blinded eyes, was something breathing. I felt its breath on my face. Its exhales had a tinge of warmth to it, and when it inhaled I could hear it pull and pull air into its lungs. Slow and deliberate breathing. A silhouette cocking its head while peering down at me.

Gathering all my strength, I shoved myself up from the bed. But alas, nothing held me back. Nothing at all. Sleep paralysis. That had to be it. I lit some candles and the room showed itself to be empty.

"Jesus fuck," I snarled. I wasn't an easily-scared person, but this place got under my skin. But to be sure, I slipped out of bed. I yanked my pants back on and started towards the door.

My heart raced, and even though I could breathe normally, my breathing still felt labored and rushed. A ghost-story-worthy chill shot through my whole body as the image of the iron door knocker still imprinted on my retinas flashed into my thoughts. It was ridiculous! To be afraid of an inanimate object.