The Manor

It was the hallowed night of October the 31st, and at Kings’ University the festivities were well under way. The campus plaza was adorned with carved pumpkins, plastic skeletons and students clothed in an array of spooky costumes. Young scholars laid down their books, and picked up bowls of sweets, horror movie DVDs and six packs of beer. It had been a hard first term for all – several storms had cut classes short, forcing students to cram their missed lectures into the last few weeks. Tonight was heavily anticipated, the reward for the culmination of those long evenings of study sessions, and the many long nights spent frantically typing essays and theses. There was an air of relief amongst the student body, as they laughed and mingled in the chilly autumn weather.

Up in one of the dorm rooms, a young woman turned from the window, pulling shut the curtains. She was getting ready for a party as well, but this one was sure to be more spine-tingling than the more wholesome affair down in the plaza. Her boyfriend, Ciaran, had invited her to a party at a large mansion outside the city – the home of one of his childhood friends. Things had been getting quite serious for the couple in recent weeks, they had just celebrated their one year anniversary. Mairead has been badgering Ciaran for some time to let her meet his friends, but he had always seemed to brush her off. So when he presented her with the tickets for tonight’s party, all her niggling doubts washed away. He did want them to meet her, he had just been waiting for a special occasion! Mairead beamed as she adjusted her outfit in the mirror. She was dressed in a tight black body suit, with thigh high boots to shield her legs from the cold. On her head she sported some cute black cat ears, so she could at least try and pretend she was wearing a costume. Checking herself over once more, she realised she looked just like all the older girls she had seen at secondary, the ones she both admired and feared simultaneously. Confident, stylish and with a big smile emblazoned on her face. Before she could overthink her way out of this contentedness, a sudden knock at her door made her jump. “Mairead? You nearly ready yet, hun?” cried out the voice behind it. It was Sophie, one of her room mates – a tiny Scottish chemistry major, who Mairead had instantly bonded with on the first day of university. They had the exact same sense of humour, and had spent many a night on the flat’s bathroom floor, easing the pains of hangovers and heartbreaks with companionship and terrible jokes. “Be right out!”, she shouted back, as she grabbed a fluffy jacket and her purse. Opening the door, she was greeted by a terrifyingly realistic zombie costume, blood and gore included. Her cry of shock was immediately drowned out by Sophie’s howling laughter. “Ah ha, gotcha! Come on, the others are waiting downstairs!” Sophie chuckled, grabbing her hand, ignoring Mairead’s cries of protest at her little practical joke. The pair hurried down the stairs, and into the cold night’s air. The other girls were already piled into the taxi, engaged in lively banter with the beleaguered yet amused taxi driver. The two girls settled into the spare seats in the back, and off they went. Above them, the stars glinted and shined, as the car swerved through the evening traffic.

Nearly 40 minutes later, the looming towers of Aingeal Manor appeared through the darkness. It was a large, imposing building, with thick walls of stone. A tunnel of pine trees enclosed the driveway, obscuring the view from the main road. Everything about the place was clearly and consciously designed to intimidate visitors. Mairead felt like a small child again. As the taxi swung into the forecourt, everyone fell silent – they all marvelled silently at the grandeur on display before them. The silence was swiftly broken, however, by the taxi driver announcing the fee for the journey. His voice seemed to snap the women back into reality, and Sophie kindly offered to pay. As she rooted around in her bag for her purse, Mairead stepped out of the taxi, the gravel crunching under the weight of her boots. The cold was biting, and she shivered despite the warmth of her jacket. []

Sophie tentatively opened the wooden door. It creaked and groaned, and as it swung open, the girls were bathed in warm light, as they lay their first gazes upon the inside of the manor. It was truly a sight to behold – young men and women all dressed to the nines in smart evening wear, the walls lit with candles, tables laden with food and drink. A traditional band at the back of the hall played a fast folk tune, as couples danced joyfully. There was laughter, revelry, merriment. Before the women could even turn to each other to remark at this, a butler appeared before them, seemingly appearing out of thin air. He sported a black and white tuxedo, with a name tag pinned steadfastly to his breast. The name, however, was redacted, crossed out by a marker. How strange. His eyes were covered by a Venetian style mask, albeit one with no finery adorned upon it, rather one of dark black cloth. It seemed he had taken deliberate steps to remain anonymous, either on his own instructions or another's. “Good evening, madams!”, he remarked with a flourish of his hands, “Welcome to Aingeal Manor, may I take your coats?”. Mairead obliged with a small chuckle, bemused by this slightly odd man. Such formality was foreign to her, like something out of a film. Two other servants appeared behind the butler and snatched away the coats, scuttling away with them. They moved with as if being pulled back into the shadows, hurrying as fast as their legs would carry them. “Madam, could you please follow me? Master Ciaran is waiting for you in the upstairs drawing room.” asked the butler, staring directly at Mairead. He offered his hand to escort her, but she did not immediately accept. She looked around at the others, not wanting to abandon them within mere moments of arriving. However, they were already going – she could see them eagerly exploring the large banquet hall, starting to eat and drink and dance. She was relieved, not wanting to forsake them if they had been at all nervous about the party. But this thought was quickly discarded, as she remembered not everyone was as anxious as she about large crowds. Mairead turned again, and followed the butler up the steps.

The butler led the young woman down a long corridor. The walls were adorned by antiquated portraits of men, who Mairead assumed, were those who had previously walked its halls. The carpet was a plush red, quieting their steps as the butler strode hurriedly forwards. He moved with the speed of a man who dared not waste a single moment, lest he fall behind in his duties. They walked briskly for what seemed like an extraordinarily long period of time, swerving around party guests, dodging servants, rounding corners and ducking under banners and streamers hung from the ceiling. After a solid five minutes of walking, the butler stopped abruptly in front of a large set of double doors. “We are here.”, he announced, as if Mairead thought they were merely refuelling before continuing their trek through the manor. She smiled, and thanked him, watching as he walked, no, ran, away from her. Had she been impolite in some way? Despite being puzzled by this, she quickly pushed the thought out of her head. She had to focus. Behind these doors was Ciaran, and likely all of the family and friends she had been so eager to meet. Smoothing out her dress, she took a deep breath. Here we go, she thought, and pushed open the doors.

“Mairead! There you are, I thought the butler had gotten lost, he took so long!”, boomed a deep voice from across the room. It was Ciaran, her beau. He truly was an imposing figure, nearly six feet tall, and with a stocky, muscular frame. The young woman beamed as he embraced her in his arms, her returning the gesture with just as much affection. “How are you? Was the drive alright?”, he asked in a low tone. “It was fine, thank you, and I’m absolutely gre-”, her reply was cut off by a shrieking voice from a few feet away. The couple broke apart in shock, allowing Mairead to identify the source of the noise. In front of her stood an old woman, fury contorting her face into an ugly grimace. She marched up to Mairead and Ciaran, index finger pointing at both of them as she spoke, “You. Are. Late! We have been waiting for almost half an hour! This kind of behaviour is completely unacceptable!”. Her tone somehow became more pointed with every word, snarling at them like some kind of wild animal. Ciaran stood in shock for a moment, before regaining his composure, “Grandmother, I am so sorry. The butler was lost – I will make sure to reprimand him later. Come, Mairead, let us sit.”. This seemed to calm the old cow, and she turned to sit at the table as well, but not before shooting Mairead a death stare, clearly still unimpressed by this new arrival.
The room itself was a library, walls covered floor to ceiling in bookshelves. In the centre was a grand circular dining table, covered with an ostentatious gold tablecloth. Around sat around twenty or so people, each serious and stony faced. In the centre of the table itself lay what seemed to be a roulette wheel, although Mairead could not see any of the details of the contraption, the table was simply too large for an accurate view. As soon as she and Ciaran took their seats, the old woman rose from the table and began to speak. “My honoured guests, I am so glad you are able to join us tonight, on this wicked witching evening. Myself, and the rest of the Dunbar family, are so pleased to welcome you to our home. The weather outside may be bleak, but in this room we shall brighten the darkness through song, dance, and competition.” As she spoke, lightning illuminated the window behind her, as if to demonstrate her point about the weather. She continued, “I hope to see you enjoy many hours of entertainment, all courtesy of our guest of honour.” The last word had barely left her mouth before she fixed her hostile gaze upon Mairead. “Come, child, and stand at the head of the table”. The young woman was perplexed, this had not been something she had at all been expecting. Guest of honour? Her? She shot Ciaran a confused stare, wondering if he had simply forgotten to mention this part. Strangely, his head was bowed, and he refused to look up at her. He merely stared at his hands, seeming as if he wished to sink into the chair itself and cease to exist. Mairead slowly left her chair, feeling the eyes of all the other guests burning into her as she made her way to stand near Mrs Dunbar. Upon reaching the top of the table, she was motioned to sit upon the chair in front of her. It looked identical to all the others, save for one small detail – on the back, there was a black cross, drawn in marker. A rather odd addition to what surely must have been an expensive chair, just like everything else in this manor. But she could not ponder this oddity for long, as Mrs Dunbar aggressively motioned for her to sit. So she did. And as soon as she did – she wished she had not.

The second her backside touched upon the seat, the room seemed to spring alive. Two servants, who had been standing at the side of the room, moved towards the doors. A large rusted chain was hastily wrapped around the handles – locking them all inside the study. The seated guests leapt from their chairs. Two women thrust the roulette wheel towards Mairead, moving it with such speed she had to grab it with both hands, lest it fall off the table or be damaged. The male guests frantically picked up the chairs, stacking them against the back wall. Mairead’s ears cringed at the sounds of scraping chair legs, of shoes scuffing the hardwood floors. Then, just as quickly as they had started, they stopped. These bizarre men and women stood hand in hand around the circular table. Mrs Dunbar stood beside her, and motioned for her to place the roulette wheel in front of her properly – she had been cradling it like a babe in arms after it had been unceremoniously flung at her. Regaining her composure, Mairead slowly placed the wheel onto the table. Looking up, she realised that now all eyes were on her. Watching. Waiting. Did they want her to spin it? Did she need to say what she thought it would be before she did so? She thought for a moment to ask this, but the words caught in her throat. She reached out, and span the wheel. The quiet mechanical whirring was the only noise in the room. The wheel stopped on red.

The young woman who entered the manor that night was never seen again. An extensive police investigation was carried out, and it became headline news in Scotland. Alas, no leads were ever found. The other young women who arrived with her claimed not to have seen her after they entered, but no other guests reported seeing her at all. But local rumour has it that after dark, if you stand by the tunnel of trees outside Aingeal Manor, you can hear the distant screams of a girl, before her voice is carried off by the wind.