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- Nov 8, 2020
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By flickering candlelight, Thomas Collins concluded immortalizing his experiences in Havenhurst.
The young lord of Collinswood was leaning onto the makeshift desk, hard at work with his blue eyes narrowed, his black hair swept back from his face. The light smile hung upon his lips as the quill scratched at the paper again and again. The travelogue, along with the expenditure of sale, had not started off as anything so important, merely a way for him to preserve the experiences for himself and his ledgers, in addition to providing a brand new home for himself and his new bride. A glass of amber liquid remained close to his palm, the young lord not lacking for any such liquids should he require them and after so long writing, an aching hand did need some assistance.
Thomas gave his valet a friendly smile, hoping he would receive no awkward questions about his presence. He was just more than tired of the road now, wanting a drink, a good meal and to get some rest, along with his beautiful bride. And wasn't he the luckiest damned man in all Europe? He thought with a smile that spread over his face. He and his new wife had not been married long at all. As common in such circles, the marriage had been an arranged one by their families but Thomas could not have admired his beautiful and brilliant wife more. It was a reason he was so sure on getting this right upon their move.
The nearby manor of Havenhurst resided by a town, known for its beauty and blue skies. Features which, in England, were something indeed. The sparkling golden sands of the beaches were only a short distance away from the beautiful, lush green of the forests and the hills. The lovely architecture of the town had a rustic quality to it and, to Thomas's delight, the old manor overlooking the town from the great seaside hill where it was said the owner had vanished years ago, with only traces of blood ever found...it made the perfect experience for someone who relished in tales of horror and ghost stories, Thomas thought. Already they had people helping to clear out the old clutter and it was safe and ready to be resided in. So much better than the choking smog over London.
They were newly married, the world laying out before them. He couldn't be certain where life might take them, but little victories where he got them, he thought as he set down his money for the valet and walked out of the small room after finishing his drink. The cool day's air awaited him, the skies blue above. Of course there would be a great deal to handle soon, with the manor just a short distance away.
Thomas's mind turned towards the old stories he had heard. One could never get enough by way of ghost stories had they had ever been a fascination of his. Stories of the macabre, stories of horror, ever since he had paid friends many times what their little Penny Dreadfuls were worth so he might savor their contents. It was not a side he freely shared with others in the moral-obsessed Victorian societies.
He peered out, glancing off in the distance. And there it was, he thought delightedly. The manor was almost a living thing, with great white walls, windows like faded eyes into an empty soul. The great columns in front were faded and cracked, any hint of color faded from the passage of years. Thomas could not have appreciated it more, he decided with a small grin to himself. He had been assured it was being cleaned up within, ready for habitation.
He could not have been more ready, he thought. He hoped his wife was just as eager as he was.
By flickering candlelight, Thomas Collins concluded immortalizing his experiences in Havenhurst.
The young lord of Collinswood was leaning onto the makeshift desk, hard at work with his blue eyes narrowed, his black hair swept back from his face. The light smile hung upon his lips as the quill scratched at the paper again and again. The travelogue, along with the expenditure of sale, had not started off as anything so important, merely a way for him to preserve the experiences for himself and his ledgers, in addition to providing a brand new home for himself and his new bride. A glass of amber liquid remained close to his palm, the young lord not lacking for any such liquids should he require them and after so long writing, an aching hand did need some assistance.
Thomas gave his valet a friendly smile, hoping he would receive no awkward questions about his presence. He was just more than tired of the road now, wanting a drink, a good meal and to get some rest, along with his beautiful bride. And wasn't he the luckiest damned man in all Europe? He thought with a smile that spread over his face. He and his new wife had not been married long at all. As common in such circles, the marriage had been an arranged one by their families but Thomas could not have admired his beautiful and brilliant wife more. It was a reason he was so sure on getting this right upon their move.
The nearby manor of Havenhurst resided by a town, known for its beauty and blue skies. Features which, in England, were something indeed. The sparkling golden sands of the beaches were only a short distance away from the beautiful, lush green of the forests and the hills. The lovely architecture of the town had a rustic quality to it and, to Thomas's delight, the old manor overlooking the town from the great seaside hill where it was said the owner had vanished years ago, with only traces of blood ever found...it made the perfect experience for someone who relished in tales of horror and ghost stories, Thomas thought. Already they had people helping to clear out the old clutter and it was safe and ready to be resided in. So much better than the choking smog over London.
They were newly married, the world laying out before them. He couldn't be certain where life might take them, but little victories where he got them, he thought as he set down his money for the valet and walked out of the small room after finishing his drink. The cool day's air awaited him, the skies blue above. Of course there would be a great deal to handle soon, with the manor just a short distance away.
Thomas's mind turned towards the old stories he had heard. One could never get enough by way of ghost stories had they had ever been a fascination of his. Stories of the macabre, stories of horror, ever since he had paid friends many times what their little Penny Dreadfuls were worth so he might savor their contents. It was not a side he freely shared with others in the moral-obsessed Victorian societies.
He peered out, glancing off in the distance. And there it was, he thought delightedly. The manor was almost a living thing, with great white walls, windows like faded eyes into an empty soul. The great columns in front were faded and cracked, any hint of color faded from the passage of years. Thomas could not have appreciated it more, he decided with a small grin to himself. He had been assured it was being cleaned up within, ready for habitation.
He could not have been more ready, he thought. He hoped his wife was just as eager as he was.