30 Reasons To Read

Episode 16: Mansion

Our new house is unsettling, to say the least. It's a thirty-seven-year-old mansion, once home to a large French family. I, along with my elder sister and parents moved in just a month ago. From the very first day, I've heard strange noises- voices, laughter, footsteps, and, at times, even music. Objects seem to change places on their own and lights flicker on and off without explanation.

But the strangest part? Sometimes, I find food laid out on the dining table in the mornings, dishes that neither my mother nor the maids prepared. At first, I threw the mysterious meals away but one day, out of curiosity, I tasted it. To my surprise, it was delicious, and I've been secretly enjoying it ever since.

My sister, on the other hand, dismissed my concerns. "This house is ancient! Tons of people must have lived and died here. What do you expect?" she'd say. But I couldn't just brush it off. So one afternoon, when my parents were out, I slipped into the kitchen to speak with the maids. There were five of them- three elderly, one middle-aged, and one young. I was rarely allowed to converse with them as my questions always revolved around the mansion's history.

They froze when they saw me, clearly reluctant to talk. After what felt like an eternity of pleading, the eldest maid finally relented.

"You should stop digging into old stories, dear. Some things are best left forgotten," the oldest maid warned me. I sighed in frustration.

"I've already told you that I feel a presence here," I insisted.

"Your parents think it's just your imagination. We don't want to upset you or them," she said, her face etched with concern.

"I promise I won't tell them. But what happened here? Why is everyone so afraid to talk about it?" I pressed, my curiosity outweighing my fear for my parents. The maids exchanged uneasy glances but I wasn't about to let them off the hook.

"Thirty years ago, a wealthy French family lived here," she began, her voice low and trembling. "They were powerful and influential, and no one dared to oppose them. But their unchecked power led to unimaginable horrors."

A shiver ran down my spine as her tone darkened. The other maids remained silent, their expressions grim.

"The family employed hundreds of servants, including many young maids. The men of the house would abuse the maids daily, while the women turned a blind eye or worse, encouraged it. They never hired older women, only young ones. When the men grew bored of their 'toys,' they would take them to the attic where they tortured and killed them in unspeakable ways. Then, they'd replace them with new girls, as if they were nothing more than disposable objects."

I felt a wave of nausea. I was living in a house stained with such atrocities?

"But why didn't the maids leave?" I whispered, horrified.

"The families of the maids were bribed, and the girls' wages were paid directly to them. For those poor girls, there was no escape. What happened within these walls rarely left them. One maid managed to escape and exposed the family's crimes. Public outrage grew, and eventually, the family fled, abandoning the mansion for good."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "They say the spirits of those maids still roam here, unable to find peace."

A cold fear gripped me. I could almost feel their presence around me, echoing in the hollow halls of the mansion. Was I truly living amidst the restless souls of those who had suffered so cruelly?

"Then why do I only hear talking and laughing? Why not screaming or crying?" I asked, puzzled.

"I told you, they took them to the highest floor for torture," the eldest maid replied, her voice dropping to a hush. "You've never been up there, have you?"

I hesitated. I realized I hadn't explored the entire mansion, not even close. I made a mental note to convince my sister to go with me to the highest floor.

"Have any of you five been up there?" I asked, glancing around at the group of maids. The question seemed to drain the color from their faces.

"Five?" The oldest maid looked around, frowning. "There are only three of us. Including you, that makes four.

My heart skipped a beat. I turned to count them again, but before I could, a sharp voice interrupted us.

"What are you doing here?" My mother stood at the kitchen door, her face flushed with anger.

"I told you not to bother the maids!" she scolded, grabbing my arm and pulling me away. I glanced back, but I didn't dare mention the other two maids I had seen, the ones who, apparently, only I could see.

Later, I recounted the incident to my sister. She just rolled her eyes. "You're letting your imagination run wild. You've always been a bit dramatic."

But the visions persisted. I saw those two maids daily, going about their chores- cleaning, arranging things, cooking. They seemed as real as the others, but I knew they weren't.

Determined to understand, I began researching the mansion's history. I scoured articles, old case files, interviews with former employees, and even watched YouTube videos about its supposed hauntings. Everything pointed to a dark past. I showed my parents the evidence and told them about the two maids I kept seeing.

They were alarmed and soon took me to a psychiatrist. He explained that I was likely hallucinating, creating imaginary characters to fill in the gaps of the mansion's history that had consumed my thoughts. He said it was a common reaction to trauma or intense fascination.

But how could I explain to him that just two days ago, I had found an article with old photographs of the mansion's maids... and there, in black and white, were the exact faces of the two women I'd been seeing every day for the past month?

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