Since it's the wee hours over there, but early evening here
I'll post a story to greet you in the morning.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 27 Aug 2008, 1:37, 10 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Swannanoa
Swannanoa is a large mansion out in the mountains of western Virginia. You get there by driving up along this long narrow road that snakes up Afton Mountain, then turning up along the driveway. When you reach the end of the drive you find yourself parked next to the main building.

How to describe it? The building is immense, a sprawling elaborate mansion of white marble with two square towers and balconies, and blank old windows that stare across the landscape. As you approach the building you begin to notice the disrepair- the crumbling mortar that allows the stonework to lean crookedly, the weeds poking up through the paving stones of the terraces, the ornamental finishes crumbling or rusting. But above all you notice the silence.

James Dooley built the house in the early 1900s for his wife Sallie, completing it in about 1912. It was a very impressive mansion, even by the standards of the day- a huge Tiffany stained glass window depicting Sallie in the garden is at the top of the stairs, there are frescoes and carvings throughout the house, leather covered walls and gilded moldings, an exquisitely carved marble mantle with cherubs, and Italian marble throughout. The price tag was somewhere around $2 million- at the time, an unbelievable amount.

The Dooleys lived there during the summers until his death in 1922, and Sallie continued to inhabit it until her own death three years later. A country club then bought the estate and built a golf course on the grounds, and committed what many would consider to be an unforgivable sin by painting much of the marble inside a dull brown. One can only imagine what Sallie’s outrage would have been like had she seen it.

The Great Depression hit in 1929, and like everyone else the owners of the country club felt the pressures of running such a place, but they grimly persevered as long as they could. But then in the early 1930s they too vacated it, and it sat open to the elements for the next sixteen years.

Think about that for a moment. Here stood a huge mansion, elaborately carved and decorated, with animals wandering through it at will. No one entered it or lived in it for all those years- it just stood there, a silent and decaying monument to one man’s love for his wife. What could have caused it to be abandoned like that?

I admit it, I was somewhat obsessed with the place for a while. I spent quite a bit of time in the area asking around about it. The strange thing was that no one wanted to talk about it- they would almost instantly change the subject whenever I brought it up. It was as though it was unlucky to even talk about the place or something.

Finally my luck broke one afternoon when an old woman happened to overhear me asking about it. She admitted that she knew something about it, and would tell me the tale over a cup. So I followed her to a little family restaurant that seemed to be her favorite haunt, judging from the greetings of the people inside, and we sat in a booth in the rear of the dining room. As soon as the waitress heard us talking she gave us a wide berth, except when my companion would irritably signal for more tea.

Me, I all but forgot about my coffee as I listened to her tell the story.

*******

It was 1931 when Mary O’Brien arrived at the house. She was nineteen and had just come over from her native Limerick in Ireland, and had answered an ad for domestic help. She had no particular illusions about what her job would be like, but she willingly accepted it as a reasonable way of making a living.

When she first stepped out of the car and onto the driveway she stood for a moment under the sprawling magnolia trees, staring up at the enormous white expanse of the building. And as she stood staring at the building, other eyes were staring at her.

Kevin Flannery rested for a moment on his shovel out in the garden as he watched the new girl’s arrival. He had heard that she was Irish, and though he himself had been born in Staunton he nonetheless took pride in his ancestry as the son of successful immigrants and so was intrigued by this new development. As he looked at her his interest increased, for here was no stout raw farm girl, but rather a tall slender woman with long curly dark hair. He was a good two hundred feet from her and couldn’t make out any details, but he somehow knew that she was well favored, perhaps even beautiful.

Robert Carter, on the other hand, stood just inside the house behind a window as he gathered up the glasses that had been left there by the four gentlemen who had just left to play a round of golf, and could see her perfectly. Her eyes were an intense blue, and her fair skin was as smooth and free of blemishes as the marble of the wall beside him. She stood with a grace that tugged at his heart despite his forty five years, and it was with regret that he saw her move away and out of his sight as she went around to the back entrance.

Over the next three weeks Mary became more acquainted with the house and its inhabitants, which mainly consisted of the cook, another housekeeper like herself, the gardener, the major-domo and the handyman. The rest of the house’s inhabitants varied as the members of the country club came and went, staying for a few days to play golf or to ride horses around the mountainside. Mary found that her duties included everything from the expected dusting and scrubbing and laundry to helping to serve meals and fetch odd things for the guests, from glasses of sherry to newspapers. She didn’t mind these varied duties, as it kept her job from getting stale.

Mr. Carter seemed to be especially friendly and attentive to her, which she took with fair grace despite the fact that he made her somewhat uneasy. He was the major-domo, a rather stiff man with a somewhat military bearing and very little sense of humor. He was of average height with thinning brown hair starting to go grey and a bristling mustache that he kept clipped short, watery grey eyes and rather large ears. She had heard him barking orders at the gardener and the cook, but always had a pleasant tone for her.

Mrs. Finley, the other housekeeper, loved to fill her in on the gossip. “Oh yes, Mr. Carter has been here for many years,” she told Mary one evening. “The Major himself hired him on back in 1918. I think that the Major liked him because he reminded him of himself many years ago. Mr. Carter had just gotten back from the War in Europe and came looking for work, and the Major took to him straight away. The two of them would stand by the fireplace in the evenings, exchanging stories of battles that they had been through… in fact, I would say that Mr. Carter was the Major’s closest friend toward the end of his days. He used to go back to Richmond with them in the winters.” She sighed and shook her head. “The poor man took it very badly when the Major passed on, but the Lady insisted that he stay on with her. And a good thing she did, as he has no other family- he never married, and his parents died young. The Major and the Lady practically adopted him. And when she died he was beside himself, but he stayed here anyway when the country club offered to keep him- after all, this was his home, and he knows the house and the grounds better than anyone else.”

Mary thought about this. “So he’s been here for thirteen years now and has never married? ‘Tis no wonder that he takes his position so seriously.”

Mrs. Finley laughed. “Yes, that he does. This house has become his life, really. He’s never shown any inclination to go anywhere else, although I thought that he would come to blows with the man who oversaw the redecoration of the house when the country club bought it. When they first started to paint the walls he turned the strangest shade of yellow, then flushed deep red and strode out of the house and wouldn’t come back in for days, just staying out in the servants’ house with the gardener and the handyman. But then he got control over himself and resumed his normal duties.”

Mary’s work rarely took her out of the house, but she made special efforts to get out into the garden at least a few times a week to gather fresh flowers for the dinner tables. It was during these excursions that she got to know the gardener, Kevin. He seemed to be out there at all times, digging and trimming and planting and pulling weeds, but no matter what he was doing he always stopped to talk to her and recommend particular flowers for the table. He was rather tall and thin, with sandy brown hair and freckles over his cheekbones and a warm smile. He asked her about growing up in Limerick and she tried to tell him what it was like, but she often found herself losing her train of thought as his dark grey eyes found hers.

Over the next few months she took longer and longer trips to the garden, listening to Kevin tell her all about the different plants and how they grew and what conditions they preferred, getting to know them almost as people. Her skin took on a faint bit of color, a smooth warm ivory that contrasted beautifully with the deep brown waves of her hair as it framed her face. In the evenings she sometimes went with him out to the pergola and walked beneath the wisteria and they talked of the world beyond the house and its grounds.

What she didn’t realize was that other eyes were paying extra attention to her movements.

One afternoon she came back in from the garden softly humming as she put the fresh flowers in vases, and Mr. Carter stopped as he came through. “Where have you been?”

“I went out for a bit of air and to get fresh flowers for the table. ‘Tis a glorious day out, is it not?” She smiled and continued humming.

Mr. Carter frowned. “Where did you learn that song?”

“Kevin taught it to me. I think it’s beautiful, don’t you?” She smiled absently as her slender fingers stroked the stem of a flower before slipping it into its vase.

Mr. Carter stood stock still for a moment. “No, I don’t particularly care for it at all.”

Mary’s eyes snapped back to the present. “Oh! My apologies then, Mr. Carter. I’ll stop singing it.” She put the vases on the tray and carried them out to the dining room.

Mr. Carter stood for a moment, then strode from the room. He left the house and marched straight to the garden, where Kevin was weeding out the tulip bed. “Mr. Flannery, may I have a word with you?”

Kevin looked up in surprise, then stood. “Certainly, Mr. Carter.”

Mr. Carter’s gaze was distant as he looked over Kevin’s shoulder. “It has come to my attention that of recent times you have been seeing Mary quite a bit. This is not acceptable.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because she has her own duties to attend to in the house, and doesn’t have the time to spare.”

Kevin’s face flushed. “With all due respect, Mr. Carter, I’m not interfering with her duties at all! She comes out when her tasks are done, and I never call on her otherwise.”

Mr. Carter’s eyes met Kevin’s for the first time during the conversation, and Kevin was surprised by the cold fury he saw there. “It is inappropriate, Mr. Flannery! Her duties are in the house, and yours are out here! I suggest that you remember your place!” And he turned and stalked off back to the house.

*******

The following day Mary was passing by an open window when she heard raised voices from the garden. She looked out and saw Mr. Carter angrily talking to Kevin, and Kevin trying to stay calm as the older man spoke. Finally Mr. Carter barked, “Enough! You are to leave her alone!” and strode toward the house. She heard the back door slam and heavy footsteps, and he froze in the doorway as he saw her. “Oh! There you are. Could you please dust the main ballroom today? And after that the dining room could use it as well.”

“But Mr. Carter, I just dusted it two days ago!”

“Yes, I know, but it’s been so dry lately and windy that the dust has blown in from the driveway. We won’t be needing any more flowers for the time being, by the way. In fact, Mrs. Finley can fetch them from now on.” He strode out of the room, and she heard his footsteps go up the stairs. She stood looking after him for a moment, then went after the dust rags and the wax.

The next day he seemed friendlier than usual to her, which made her even more unhappy as she looked out at the sun shining on the marble fountain and the glowing colors of the flowers. He continued to chat with her through the day and her answers became increasingly terse until she excused herself just before dinner and vanished into the servants’ bathroom. She silently assisted him in serving dinner, and didn’t respond to any of his pleasantries as they cleaned up after. When they finished she excused herself again and retreated to her room.

Mrs. Finley tapped at her door that evening, and Mary answered rather listlessly. She entered and found Mary sitting by the window, staring out at the garden. “Mary? Is everything all right?”

Mary turned to her, and she saw the tears on the girl’s face. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Finley. I will be fine.”

Mrs. Finley sat down on the end of the bed. “Come now, dear. Something is bothering you. Out with it.”

Mary faced the window again. “It’s just… I’m not to go to the garden anymore, it seems. Mr. Carter has told me to stay away from there.”

“Oh he has, has he?” Mrs. Finley’s face took on hard lines. “Well, you may go out to the garden as you wish, as long as your chores are getting done. He has no right to keep you inside.”

“But he keeps adding to my chores!”

Mrs. Finley patted Mary’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll have a word with him in the morning. Now get some sleep.”

Mrs. Finley was true to her word, and Mary could hear low intense voices through the door as she folded laundry. After a time she heard a door slam, and Mrs. Finley came in a moment later. She smiled a sad smile. “I think it will be best if you keep some distance from Mr. Carter for a little bit. His feelings are a little tender at the moment.”

“Tender?”

Mrs. Finley hesitated a moment, then set her chin. “You need to know the full situation, I think, since you’re in the thick of it… Mr. Carter has developed… well, feelings for you.”

Mary stood numb with shock. “He told you this?”

“No, of course not. I demanded an explanation for his adding on to your duties, and he became very evasive and defensive. The more he blustered the more I saw the truth of the matter.”

Mary turned away mutely.

“It’s really no surprise,” Mrs. Finley continued. “As you know, he’s led a very lonely life here, and has had very little contact with women. So when a bright, pretty young girl such as yourself came along, he… well, it’s an old story, isn’t it?” She smiled sadly again. “Many a man has reached his forties and found himself longing for youth and freedom, and has sought it in a younger woman. I told him that at his age it is very inappropriate to pursue a girl less than half his age, and he did not take it very well. So for the next few days things may seem a bit awkward and tense, but it will work out for the best. Just give him a bit of time.”

Mary stood there for a few moments more, then left. Mrs. Finley watched her go with a sympathetic sigh.

*******

Over the next week relations among the household staff became increasingly strained. Mr. Carter continued to be friendly to Mary, but there was obvious tension between him and Mrs. Finley and outright hostility toward Kevin Flannery. Mary avoided him whenever possible, which made him seek her out even more. This in turn increased the tension between Mr. Carter and Mrs. Finley and caused Kevin to be even less friendly, until the tension became so heavy on the air that it was obvious even to the guests.

And so it was that on one bright afternoon Mr. Carter looked out the window and saw Mary and Kevin standing close together in the shade of the old trees near the caretakers’ house, and as he watched they leaned close. He saw their faces touch and heard Mary’s faint laughter, and the glasses he was taking to the kitchen slid from the tray in his nerveless fingers.

That night during dinner Mr. Carter was unusually quiet and avoided even glancing toward Mary. Gone were the gallantries and witticisms, replaced by a stony silence and very terse orders. Mary said nothing, keeping a respectful silence and responding evenly. After dinner he cleaned up rather more hastily than usual and excused himself, and was seen no more that evening.

As she was getting ready for bed Mary thought she heard voices outside in the distance, but could see nothing from her window. She raised the sash and listened… yes, there on the wind she faintly heard men’s raised voices, but couldn’t make out any words. They seemed to reach a crescendo, then abruptly stopped. She listened for a time, but no further sounds reached her ears and she finally went to bed.

The following morning Mr. Carter seemed somewhat nervous and agitated over something, but his manner toward her had thawed again. Indeed, he seemed even more forward than ever, to the point where she retreated to Mrs. Finley’s side and spent the day helping her.

Late that afternoon she went to the garden, then returned rather puzzled a half hour later. Mrs. Finley found her absently polishing some silver and frowning toward the window. “Mary? Is something wrong?”

Mary jumped slightly. “No, mum. It’s just that… well, have you seen Kevin today?”

Mrs. Finley paused. “Now that you mention it, no. Perhaps I should ask Mr. Carter.”

She found Mr. Carter in the library putting away books. “Mr. Carter, have you seen Mr. Flannery today? I had need of him for some vegetables earlier, and had to fetch them myself.” She was secretly proud of this little white lie, for she typically did this task herself anyway but knew that Mr. Carter would be ignorant of this.

Mr. Carter put the book in his hand away with a sharp thump. “No, I haven’t seen him at all today. I shouldn’t be surprised if he has simply gone off and quit his employment here- he has always struck me as a most undependable type.”

Mrs. Finley was somewhat taken aback. “Well, surely he would have said something were he planning on leaving! I spoke to him the day before yesterday and he seemed quite cheerful.”

Mr. Carter gave her a frosty look. “I wouldn’t know. He was always skulking around the house on the pretext of gardening, but I rarely saw him put a shovel to the earth. If he’s gone, then good riddance.” And with that he strode from the room.

Mrs. Finley stood there for a moment, then made up her mind. With her jaw set she went to the caretakers’ house and knocked on the door. The handyman, Angus, opened the door and looked out at her in surprise. “Mrs. Finley! I didn’t expect to find you here. Is everything all right?”

“I hope so, Angus. I’m looking for Kevin, and haven’t seen him all day. Is he in his room?”

Angus scratched his chin. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him either. Come in and I’ll go knock.”

A moment later Angus came back downstairs with a bewildered expression. “Mrs. Finley, he seems to have left! His room is empty and his clothes are gone! And not a word to anyone!”

Mrs. Finley whirled and ran back to the main house, and in minutes the entire household had been questioned. No one had seen Kevin leave, or had any indication that he was intending to go. Mary followed Mrs. Finley back to the caretakers’ house and went upstairs to his room, then came back a few minutes later with an odd expression but said nothing.

Finally Mrs. Finley and Mary left and returned to the main house. “How strange!” Mrs. Finley exclaimed. “Kevin has been with us for over a year, and seemed quite happy here! Why would he have left so suddenly?” She noticed Mary’s pale and silent face. “Mary? What is it, child?”

Mary looked down at her hand and opened it. Folded on her palm was a red ribbon. “I gave him this yesterday, after he kissed me. It was sitting on top of his dresser.”

Mrs. Finley looked at her sharply. “He kissed you?”

Mary’s eyes got wild. “Yes, he kissed me. And I took the ribbon out of my hair because he needed a string to secure the rosebush to the trellis, and he said that he would never allow it to be used for something like that, that he would keep it in his shirt pocket so it would be near his heart.” Tears streamed down her face. “But there it was, on his dresser as though it had been forgotten.”

Mrs. Finley stood stock still for a moment, then quietly said, “Mary, please go upstairs. I will go talk to Mr. Humphries about this.”

Mr. Humphries, the country club’s administrator, was not pleased to receive a call so late from an employee, but after talking with Mrs. Finley for twenty minutes he agreed to her request. An hour later he arrived at the front door.

Mr. Carter stood back in shock when he opened the door. “Mr. Humphries! What in the world-“

Mrs. Finley rushed forward. “Mr. Humphries! Thank you for coming so quickly!”

Mr. Humphries set his hat on a table. “I arrived as quickly as I could. Please gather the staff in the dining room.” And he left the foyer without another word.

An hour later he finished questioning everyone as they all stood in the dining room. As nearly as they could tell, Kevin had had an argument with someone at the door of the caretakers’ house for a moment before they moved out to the garden. Later Angus thought he had heard Kevin come back in and heard him in his room, but as it was very late he was half asleep at the time. And that was the last that anyone knew of him.

Mr. Humphries looked around the room. “Well? Who was he talking to? It had to be someone here at the house.” He looked from face to face, then noticed that Mr. Carter was unusually pale and looking away. “Robert? Do you know anything about it?”

Mr. Carter jerked as though caught on a fishing line. His face got even more pale as all eyes turned toward him. “No, of course not. Why would I?”

Mary turned to him. “It was your voice I heard! I knew that I recognized it!”

He stared at her. “No… I…”

“It was! I heard you shouting at him from my window! What did you do to him?” She was standing directly in front of him now.

“I… No, it wasn’t like that-“

“What did you do to him!” she screamed into his face.

“Mary! I… I did it for you! For us!” He was backing away from her now.

“For… us? What in God’s name do you mean, for us?”

“Mary… He was backing away from her fury as though it would melt him, stumbling backward from her with his face white and ghastly. “I love you…”

She reeled back as though slapped. “You… you…” she whispered, her face nauseous as she sank into a chair. “My God… I…”

He stepped toward her and tentatively laid his hand on her shoulder. “Mary-“

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

He jerked back and stood with his mouth slack, sweat pouring from his face, then with a strangled sound ran from the room. The other men stood in shock, then as one raced after him.

Through the house they ran, out the back entrance to the garden and through it. Out through the carefully tended roses and boxwoods, out through the pergola, over the footbridge that crossed the pond they ran. Carter screamed and pelted over the ground to the old stone tower at the back edge of the property and vanished inside.

Angus was the first one to reach the door, but stopped short of entering the pitch darkness of the tower. He barred the others. “No! We don’t know if he has a weapon in there!”

They heard his footsteps on the stairs, then his ragged sobbing from the room at the top. They backed away from the tower, craning their necks to see up in the open chamber at the top of the tower.

“Carter!” Humphries shouted. “Come back down here!”

A pale face looked over the side of the tower, then jerked back inside. They heard his sobbing suddenly stop, then a choked voice. “No… no… not you…” Carter’s voice raised to an incoherent scream and they heard his steps on the stair. Then the scream changed to terror and got suddenly louder, and there was a sickening thud just inside the door.

“My… God…” someone whispered.

“A light!” Humphries shouted. “Someone get a light, damn it!”

A flashlight was brought from the house, and Humphries took it and shone it inside. They stood silently looking at what lay inside the door, then Humphries shut the light off. “Angus. Go call the police.”

Angus staggered off toward the house, and the others all stood back from the stone tower. As one they looked up at the top room.

A pale face with blond hair stared down at them for a moment, then vanished. When the police arrived and they went up to see who was inside, the tower was empty.

*******

My companion nibbled on the last of her scone as she watched me absorb this.

I finally asked. “So where did they find Kevin’s body?”

“They never did. They searched the place high and low, but no sign of him was ever found. Mr. Carter knew that house better than anyone else- when the Dooleys died they had it in their wills that their papers, including the plans for the house, were to be burned. There are all kinds of strange little passages in it for the servants to use so they wouldn’t disturb the gentle folk, and I’m sure he knew of places there that no one has found since. And remember that these hills are limestone and full of caves. I happen to know of at least one cave in the area that was used for storage of things like cheese and roots. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to find out that there is a cave under the house somewhere.”

I thought of Kevin’s body lying in a cold, dark damp cave and shuddered.

She picked up her cup again and held it in her hands, warming her arthritic fingers with it as she looked off into the distance. “They say that some nights you can still hear Mr. Carter arguing with someone out in the gardens, and can sometimes hear a scream from the old tower. And there are nights when people swear they’ve seen someone in the top of the tower. But either way, no one wanted to be there much after that, and after another two years the country club abandoned the house. And so it stood for sixteen years until the Russells took it over.” She smiled slightly. “And even then, there were still strange stories told of it. More than one person came away from there telling of seeing someone walking the gardens in the night, stopping to tend the flowers. Even now you’d be hard pressed to find many locals who will set foot there.”

“And how about you? Have you ever been there yourself?”

She smiled again as she gathered her things and stood. “Oh, you might say that,” she replied with a hint of an Irish brogue, and left.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 27 Aug 2008, 1:44, Reply)

A few notes
Swannanoa does exist, and its history is as I have stated in the story. Wikipedia has a good article on it here, and there are other articles about it online. Check it out for yourself.

I've been there a few times now- it's kinda sad and creepy there. The caretaker's cottage is a nice little stone house off to one side, and the tower exists as I described- but it's not open inside, as it's actually a water tower supplying the house and the grounds. There's an enormous tank within, with a spiral staircase winding around it like a corkscrew.

The Dooleys existed, of course, but all of the other characters in the story are merely products of my own twisted imagination. And no, as far as I know there was never actually a murder there.

Sure would be a great place for one, though.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 27 Aug 2008, 1:51, Reply)

I like it
you have a pleasant style.

I still think the Home Despot one is my favourite :-)
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Wed 27 Aug 2008, 13:16, Reply)

Heh.
The feedback I've been getting lately seems to indicate that it's my humor pieces that shine, more so than my serious efforts like this one.

Maybe I should concentrate more on that...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 27 Aug 2008, 13:20, Reply)

that might just be the audience that is receiving it here
we like to be amused

but your serious pieces definitely have merit and I wouldn't be too hasty about concentrating more on the funny stuff
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Wed 27 Aug 2008, 13:22, Reply)

I rather liked that tale
now that I've had ten minutes to get through it properly.

More of this sort of thing please, Loon.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Wed 27 Aug 2008, 13:51, Reply)

Another good 'un, Loon
wish I could *click*
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Wed 27 Aug 2008, 13:57, Reply)

There's a Sean Nos quality to this one
maybe it's just the shameless Paddywhackery but it's the kind of yarn my great grandparents always spun. It wasn't that they told you stories though. It was that they would give you hints of something happening and then gauged your wit by what questions you asked to piece the story together. Then they would laugh through their gums and make a whistling noise as your eyes widened.

EDIT: Sean Nos is 'old stories' more or less, usually told by Seannchai (raconteurs) in shebeens and the like.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Wed 27 Aug 2008, 14:02, Reply)

Thanks, all.
It was a fun one to write, as I had to do a little research for it. I mainly wrote it because I was so captivated by the tower and the caretaker's house- they're very moody and brooding, made from native limestone and long neglected. They have fascinating details to them, such as decorative tiles in the masonry, and the door and window frames are rotting. The entire place has this air of desolation and tragedy about it... so I put together something fitting for it.

I have one other historical-type story that I've written, but on re-reading it I think I need to fill in a lot on it.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 27 Aug 2008, 14:08, Reply)

I still think your funny and strange stories are better.
I think you could probably get even better at those.

Oh! and I've been to Swannanoa....Woo!
( girlinthehole, Wed 27 Aug 2008, 14:17, Reply)