Divine Manor

I'd already written a story by this name once, a while ago. Mainly to put the word 'Phantasmagoria' somewhere :P, and to give words to a scary experience I'd had, but I'd done gross injustice to a potentially good story. Here I am, hopefully to correct it :)...

The wind blew soundlessly over the deadened leaves, causing a slight rustle, as if attempting a salvo at disturbing the quietude of the place.

Father Ancelotti pushed open the gate and walked into the tiny garden that preceded the country home. The bushes were haphazard and the grass looked overgrown and uncared for. At first glance it would seem like the place was deserted, or the owner of the house did not care in the slightest about the place. The father knew what the reason was.

He went up to the porch and knocked on the door, lifting the heavy brass knocker. The door was opened by a short, frail woman of about thirty-five, with waspish tufts of hair, worry lines running across her delicate face. Mrs. Yazzie, the owner of the house. Ever since she and her two kids had shifted into Divine Manor last week, they had not had a single peaceful and uneventful night. Flying vases, banging doors, it had been a week straight out of any horror movie, only it was painfully real for them. Finally, Mrs. Yazzie had resorted to calling the Father, in a bid to exorcise the hostile entity.

As he sat in the living room and she gave him a glass of water, he quietly noted her native Indian features and saw a hint of determination there. The Father marked her as a woman of great strength, and admirable reserves of courage. But even those reserves had failed against the storm she had endured.

'You asked for me' he said in a monotone.

'Yes Father. As I told you over the phone, there have been some things happening in the house ever since I've moved in last week. On the second day after our arrival, we first started hearing the first creaks and thuds in the night. I tried to dismiss as it a common phenomenon in big houses, but later that night, my sons heard a dog bark fiercely outside their rooms. We have no dog Father. I searched the entire house, but there was nothing to be found.'

He merely nodded his head, and gestured to her to continue.

'The next morning, I woke up to find everything in the kitchen thrown around, as though the place had been ransacked. We were really scared, but we put everything back in its place. Then it just started getting worse.

'The wine cellar and the second floor bedroom' she answered.

'All right. I want you and your kids to stay someplace else for tonight. I will be alone in this house for the night and I will try to communicate with the spirit. Can you trust me enough to let me have free run of the house?'

'If you can rid us of it Father, you have my permission to do whatever it takes.'

'I will come at night then' saying so, he got up and placidly walked up to the door. That night he came back again, and noted the all-new appearance the manor had now taken. The house had suddenly seemed to come alive, leaning forward menacingly in the darkness, as if frowning upon him. The turrets at the higher levels looked like live beings, shape-shifting in the slinking shadows. A haunting, dead wind blew through the trees, making melancholic music. Father Ancelotti could feel the presence in the air now. It was strong, and it was violent, but it did not cause a great flutter in the Father's heart. His faith was iron.

He got in and after a brief chat, the Yazzies left the house, handing over the keys to various rooms to the Father. He walked through the house, noting the more disturbing areas. He waited in the second floor bedroom, but nothing significant happened. He knew the spirit would make itself felt very soon. He made his way to the cellar and on the way it started. Lights started flickering, doors started banging open and close. Once he got to the basement, the door shut itself firmly behind him. He knew a confrontation was afoot, and he waited calmly...

WHAM!!

A strong force from behind him pushed him violently towards the wall, and he crashed to the ground. He turned around to see no one. Then the one flickering light in the cellar went out all of a sudden, and a flutter coursed through his heart. Then there was a low, angry growl from a corner that suddenly seemed to come closer, and in a moment, he was acutely aware of the presence standing right next to him, and now he was really scared.

The lights came back on and the Father found himself caught in the vice-like grip of the apparition, with its face now inches away from his. It looked vaguely human, but just as inhuman. Its eyes were blood-red and it had no irises. The nose was long and aquiline. The lips were thin and red, and the teeth sharp and cruel. It was dressed in the robes of the priests of yore, and its long hair hung behind its gaunt face. It spoke and its voice was a reedy rasp.

'Get..out...of...my...house'

And then with a flash, a series of images flashed through Ancelotti's mind. A small room with no windows, full of torture devices...screams of dying and pleading woman and children...a small native Indian boy looking up with big eyes and a begging look...another native mother protecting her young mother against a group of four men...Indians with severed limbs, eyes gouged out, and left bleeding to death...a huge dog tearing limbs off a half-naked girl's corpse...

It was the most gruesome phantasmagoria.

And right then, his mind was flooded by a torrent of information, forced into his brain no doubt by the ghost. The house had been a torture camp during the days of the conquest of this land, and this house had been the site of innumerable violences. All perpetrated and overlooked by the man, the old world priest, whose spirit was now ordering him out. It would never leave this house, it was this house itself now. And it was angry that an Indian family had decided to live here, and it would not permit that. The Father knew there was no fighting this spirit, it was too powerful, too ancient...

Then, in an instant, everything became quiet, the light came back on...and the Father lay trembling on the ground, still absorbed in the images swimming in his head.

By the next week, the Yazzies had vacated Divine Manor, and had lived a peaceful life elsewhere. And Father Ancelotti's body was found hanging from the ceiling in his humble little apartment, with the words, 'I cannot forget it' written on the wall behind him.

Divine Manor would never be occupied until it was demolished. But until then shadows had still fallen across the turrets, the house had come alive every night and the trees went on making that melancholic music...