The Twilight Garden

1

Leland Scott arrived at Whitmour Manor with enough time to spare a glance at the dilapidated structure of the house and the land surrounding it. The trees grew in dense clusters, and vines had snaked their way up the side of the building, leaving little room for the soft grey stone to show through. He took note that a few of the windows had boards nailed over them, albeit haphazardly, and much of the grass (which seemed to grow in untamed clusters all over the front gardens) was a dead yellow and whistled in the wind. Were it managed properly, the manor would have been both charming and exceptional in its appearance. It was surely not a place for a child—the bricks of the front steps were cracked and crumbling, and there seemed to be more than a few rusted and broken tools and such scattered throughout the grass.

Whitmour Manor had towered over the town of Braedon for centuries and had changed hands nearly every generation. Before agreeing to meet the recently widowed Mrs Bray, Leland had pulled a few articles and documents on the manor, hoping to find something that could explain the young lady's experiences— though he had read through pages of information, there was nothing scientifically telling of what could be causing her hallucinations, not even in her family's medical history. There were many accounts of the paranormal at Whitmour Manor, but Leland did not deal in the pseudo-science of the supernatural; he had been hoping for something more concrete, or perhaps something a bit more substantial than satanic rituals and ghastly hauntings.

The front door opened and a middle-aged woman dressed in dark red stepped from the house. She beckoned for Leland to leave his car, which he did—of course, he locked the doors, through discreetly, not wanting to cause offence to his hostess.

'Dr Scott, a pleasure to finally meet you. I fear I did no justice to my daughter's current situation over the phone. It is something you will have to experience yourself, to get a full grasp of what seems to be happening.' The woman explained, her face contorted—but not with concern, at least not of a maternal nature. No, her concern was less than that of a mother for her child, it was more the concern of a person for their assets. He had gotten the notion that Mrs Bray did not regard her daughter as much from their conversations over the previous weeks, but he had hoped her lack of affection was due to the passing of her husband. Now, standing before the woman, he could guarantee that she felt little for her daughter.

***

Josephine peered out the window, pulling the curtain back only an inch in order to see outside. Her room looked out over the front courtyard of the house, where the drive wound around a crumbling fountain. She watched as her mother talked, feverishly, with a man dressed in black. She wished that she could hear whatever they were saying, but she had a good idea as to what the conversation entailed.

Her mother believed that she was insane, that the devil had snaked its way into her soul and had corrupted her mind. Lady Bray, her mother, had hired all manner of priests, doctors, shamans, and wise people to take a look at her—but each person was unable to confirm either demonic possession or an actual medical condition. And that was because there was nothing wrong with her. Yes, Josephine Bray saw people and things that weren't there, heard the voices of unseen entities, and could, without a doubt, perceive that something was wrong in the house they called home.

It started when she was just a child, and as she watched her mother pleading with the man outside, Josephine remembered the first time her mother had shown horror at what she had described. Shaking the memory, Josephine stepped away from the window and sat at her desk—she pulled out her journal and a pen and opened the book to the next blank page.

For what it is worth, I am not insane. What I see and hear and feel is not mere hallucination—it is real. There is something buried in this house, something dark and sinister, that is plotting a way to be released. Something horrific happened here, I am sure of it. Mother refuses to believe me, and whenever I bring up something that I have seen, she hushes me and stuffs me in my room, away from our neighbours and anyone that might come calling. I have promised myself that I will get to the bottom of this mystery, for my own sake and for those around me. I cannot stand these flashes much longer. I must solve this.