Ludwich Manor
by Liam Brennan

A pin prick on the prevalent skin of humanity, Ludwich Manor gave no immediate fetid impression. A quaint, two storey residence cast in a pale yellow shade with the most resounding blue shutters and cherry entryway, the home was the very face of unbridled delight upon emerging from the surrounding woodland gloom. As if descended from the heavens, it was born atop a rise in the thick of King’s Wood, where not even a single weed would grow. It was this clearing that I came upon whilst journeying to The Cotswolds in the fall of 1908, and it was this house that, aside from my terrifying recurring nightmare, I hope I shall never witness again.

With a banner of mist strung amongst the treetops, the sun had been an unfamiliar companion for days. After setting out in the relative luxury of Bristol, a clean-shaven fellow with his heart on his sleeve, all was well in heart and mind. However, when at once the air grew stale with the putrid stench of decay flooding my senses, my heart became firmly tucked away and aghast, my dear friends, I do admit I grew anxious. Through the thick underbrush that cut into my every chosen path, I wandered off trail and found myself lost by midday. As the skies threatened tyranny over the land, I witnessed a sickly sheltie emerge from what seemed the very core of a towering evergreen. Alas my eyes deceived me, as it had simply scaled the face of the tree in hope that I, good fellow as I am, would be its master and provide nourishment.

Though never exceedingly partial to the lower species that chomps at your heels and claims each territory for its own, I took pity on the meager lad; a small tangle of reddish brown fur and two clouded eyes that looked more like pools of the purest. Alas we set out once more into the dreary afternoon, knowing full well that should I not find shelter at haste, I would certainly be caught in the torrential downfall and ruin my stunning new suit ­ now what gentleman could ask for a lady’s hand in matrimony without a marvelous new suit? With the blind boy leading the way, his remaining senses seemingly heightened by his lack of sight, I witnessed an extraordinary spectacle. The trees gave way to a clearing where the sun did shine upon the aforementioned residence.

With shutters drawn and not a peep heard upon landing at Ludwich Manor, as a handcrafted plaque above the entryway proclaimed it, the home seemed to be in a slumber. When at once I knocked upon the large cherry door, there came no answer and the skies overhead did rumble. Though the sun’s beams poured down upon me, I feared the warmth would not last and thus entered the home ­ a fabulously silly thing to have done! The blind boy was hesitant and halted on the step, unwilling to enter whilst I made my way into the landing and called for assistance. When no reply came, I decided to take a seat in the cumbersome dining area just off the hall. Blind boy, as anxious as he was, followed in time, curling into a ball at the base of the grand staircase that spiraled up to the second storey.

Positioning myself at a rather ornate dinner table which seemed to perspire before my very eyes, I patiently waited, announcing my arrival every so often in case I had not been previously heard. After an hour in which the temperature grew increasingly tepid, I thought it best to venture upstairs and search out the proprietor of Ludwich Manor. Stepping over my fair companion, whom I was growing increasingly fond of, I ventured to the second storey. With a series of small bedrooms, each drably decorated with nothing more than a bed and a foggy window, I found no one home at present. The weather being as it were, I set aside a set of fresh linens and claimed a room to my own before popping into the lavatory to wash up. A stunning marble wash basin set before a clouded mirror, I thought it best to wash the dirt of the woods from my face should the proprietor return to find a filthy hiker in their midst and panic. It was then, as I turned the faucet and the water began filling the basin, that I heard it, or should I say her.

Sir, dearrrrrrrr sirrrrrrrrrrrr! called a voice from afar, though I could not place its location. I replied but to no avail, as the voice faded and I knew it wise to wash quickly and return the entry should someone be wandering in from the cold. I closed my eyes and submerged my face in the basin, allowing the fluid to warm my skin and appease my growing headache ­ what a most gruesome thing! For when I stood up, my eyes shut as I searched for a towel to dry off, I opened them and caught glimpse of the most revolting sight. Dark crimson blood ran down my skin as I clawed at the mirror and ran my arm along my face to wipe it clear, shrieking in the vilest manner. And it was then that the voice returned, AWAYYYYYYYYYY! it cried in a tone so deep and threatening I thought it the dark lord himself.

I scrambled out of the lavatory, my face still drenched in blood, and tumbled down the staircase ­ I would surely crush my sickly companion! With outstretched arms to break my fall, I crashed to the floor and placed my hand in a rather sultry substance ­ was it my dear Blind boy? No, for as the front door whipped open, I could see that he had been massacred on the front step, as if the home had chewed him up and refunded him on its very porch! I hesitated no longer, feeling the muggy and rancid warmth as I reclaimed my things from the dining room and squirted out of the entry just as the door chomped shut. Sprinting from the manor into the surrounding woods once more, I turned and caught glimpse of the residence watching me ­ the stunning blue shutters having opened and the cherry entryway chomping its massive jaws in hunger. For there was no proprietor of Ludwich Manor but the evil and heinous home itself!