...Hauntings..

...The Daughter's Wail...

The Daughter's wail

My uncle lived in a farmhouse in the mountains. Retired army colonel; well decorated, he was. Had a nag for old collectibles, walls were lined with trinkets from the raj and different finds from various archaeological sites. He had a Ph.D. in tomb archeology and had spent a lot of time in Libya and Lebanon.

He had left though long ago and had now adjusted himself in this life of the hermit. Though sometimes he still went to read a paper or two in the Singapore College of archeology.

His place for me was a summer escape from the northern heat. I never ever remembered visiting his farmhouse in the winter months as the north was already chilly and here in the mountains it would be freezing.

This was my first visit to 'the armory' in winters. That was what uncle had named his farmhouse. The farmhouse was spread over acres and acres of land. Two ancient cannons brought in especially from the state of Bikaner flanked the front of the farmhouse. The tapestry inside was very antiquated and delicate as well.

Uncle loved me and I always put on a few kilograms after leaving from here. A retired soldiers life; expensive scotch and mouth-watering food served by the best butlers in the most exquisite arrangements.

The rooms were huge too. I was given the best guest room on the third floor of the huge mansion. The room was literally the size of a party hall. You could easily hold a party of around 12 people in the room by keeping everything in its original place.

The house though big hid a dark secret; a mysterious tragedy, the death of uncles one and only daughter Misha. No one had solved the mystery yet. Just that she was in her room at night and was found thrown over a tree the next morning with her wrists slit and tied to bleed.

My uncle had taken the loss bravely and Misha was buried next to her mother in the family graveyard behind the mansion. The mother had also died only a few years ago of cancer. The soldier had lost everything he had held dear to him in a fraction of months.

My uncles only solace was Remmy; the hellhound. He was the infamous dog named after the famous Remy Martin. For those of you who have read Conan Doyle's hound of Baskervilles would know how scary this breed can be in terms of size and strength for those of you who have not let me put things in perspective by stating that Remy actually resembled a werewolf in the dark.

I did not expect the winters to be so harsh. Even with the fire lit in the fireplace in my room; I was adjusting with two blankets over me and trying to read a book held in my shivering hands.

Only two rooms were occupied in the entire mansion that had a sum total of fourteen rooms. One was my uncle's room on the ground floor and one was my room on the third floor. Misha's room was just below me on the second floor and had been locked after her death. The butler was given a cottage adjacent to the mansion.

My room had two large French windows; one, overlooked the forest trail that lead to uncles mansion and the other opened out into the view of the graveyard where one could see two tombstones one belonging to the late wife and the other belonging to the late daughter.

The beauty in the hills here was so magical that one could easily forget the pinch of the cold. Even in the night the forest from the window looked like a thick carpet swaying in waves in the winds. In places where the moonlight reached the forest floor one could see some or the other nightly creature lurking in search of prey or food.

'Not only the house but the amenities here too were ancient. The area experience power cuts after eight in the evening but people did not mind using lanterns because the whether was cold in summer and chilly in winters. The light of the lantern provided assistance as well as convenience in either whether.