The Demon of Mansfeld Manor Read online

  Some articles stated that no cause of death was confirmed, and that his body displayed nothing out of the ordinary except his bloody eyes. There was speculation of drowning, strangulation, and even a morbid tale stating he was brutally murdered for his organs. There was so much information here, but it was so scattered. It was impossible to come to any realistic conjecture. The only certainty I took away from the files was that that the situation in that house was nothing short of tragic.

  Meeting Kat that evening gave me the opportunity to stop thinking about the house. Seeing her was both intoxicating and refreshing. I didn’t bring up the house, and while with her, I was able to not think about it at all.

  Once I returned home, I started researching again. As I pulled out my laptop, a memory popped into my head. It was the memory of Florence referring to the house as Mansfeld Manor. All my previous searches had revolved around the name Villa Ortenberg.

  I started to Google ‘Mansfeld Manor’. The result was listing upon listing of haunted directories. Some were simply directories of haunted places while others allowed users to submit their stories. I spent hours reading every story I could find. Most of these were in line with the tales Florence had referred to but with much greater detail. The more I read, the more I was able to identify many similarities between them. First, no one writing any of these had been in the house itself. They all referred to the grounds of the Villa.

  The pond I had felt uneasy at was the center point for most of these tales. Many of them included some sort of wolf or rabid dog that appeared near the pond. At which point the wolf would urge the person to follow them and would slowly walk to the forest edge near the pond. Some people ran away at that point. Others brave enough to enter the canopy of trees found the wolf urging them on to a clearing. Once there, the wolf would vanish, and everyone reported blacking out and waking up hours later.

  My mind wandered back to my run. Seeing the house, then the pond, and finally the forest. A shiver ran up my spine. That voice echoed through my head. “Discover his secrets and bury him with them.”

  I hardly believed in ghosts, but this all felt uncanny. Was it really possible for me to visualize the exact spot where all these hauntings supposedly took place? I forced my thoughts away from that question. I tried to impose logic. I understood that all these reports were probably written by the same person, who had never been there, but heard the story on the playground. As much as I tried to qualify it all, it was impossible to deny the fact that it was the same spot.

  Intrigued, I decided to look beyond the haunted directories. There were a couple of message boards for urban explorers. Those, however, had no information aside from wanting to know if the place still existed. Then, I found multiple listings pointing to the same site. As I clicked through, I found a site completely dedicated to the estate.

  That site's navigation was divided into three sections; The Estate, The Grounds, The Ruin. Each section was filled with photos of the estate. The first two sections were mainly composed of photos I had seen at the historical society. There were some additional ones that looked like scans of newspaper articles. The section titled, ‘The Ruin,’ contained a massive number of photos of the estate in its decay. It started with old black and white photos taken when the estate looked perfect but boarded up. As I scrolled down, the photos transitioned in time until I reached a set that looked very recent. The decay of the estate mirrored what I had seen with my own eyes.

  On the left side of the site, there was the story of the estate. The author went from the family's background, to the planning and construction, all the way through to the court cases about the will and the final closing of the estate. Clearly, whoever owned this site understood more about it than anyone. I looked at the bottom of the page to find a contact button.

  I then came across a link to comments. I clicked on the link. There were about one hundred comments. I scanned through them. Most of them praised the author for chronicling the property. A few mentioned always wanting to know about the house and never knowing the details. Then, there was one that stood out.

  “A very conservative chronicle of this estate. I wonder though, in all your research did you not see the darkness covering the estate? These are the stories we all know, but what about the real stories? PM me: [email protected]”

  Without even thinking, I opened my email and typed a message to him.

  Hi,

  I saw your comment on the website about Mansfeld Manor. I want to know the real story. Can you help me?

  Thanks,

  Jim

  I hit send. I wondered for a moment why I was so quick to reach out to this one person in particular. I had seen countless posts from people claiming to have first-hand experience while this person had none to speak of. I couldn’t come up with an explanation. It was just a feeling. When I read this comment, I felt I needed to speak to him.

  The next evening, Kat and I decided to go to a quiet little pizza place where we could just sit down and be together. I walked in a couple minutes late and immediately spotted her across the dimly lit restaurant. It had been less than a day since I saw her last, but I had missed her. I made my way over to the cozy booth and sat down. She started to talk about her day and her job. It was nice just to exist for a moment without being consumed by the house. That was until she asked me about my day.

  “Kat, do you believe in ghosts?” I asked.

  “Wow, nothing like diving right in.” She stuck her tongue out at me sarcastically.

  “Seriously, do you?” I asked.

  She paused for a moment as if thinking about how to respond.

  “I don’t not believe in them. I think there’s a lot we don’t know. But at this point, I haven’t ever seen anything that would make me say I’m a believer… This isn’t a random question, is it?”

  “Of course not,” I replied.

  “Is this about that dream?”

  “I don’t know. I mean sure, that plays a part but no different than anything else about the house. I mean, I guess I just thought it was all really strange and inexplicable.”

  “And now something is making you rethink that?” she said, interrupting my words.

  I talked through everything that had happened; the blackout, the research Paul provided, then the online information, and the comment I replied to.

  “I guess I don’t really know what to think. Even your mom obviously feels something, giving me that sage to burn and everything.”

  “That’s kinda just my mom. I mean she has always done stuff like that. I never really thought anything of it other than that it was a little odd.”

  “Yeah, that’s all I really thought at the moment. But now… It just seems like there is too much improbable stuff to not believe something is happening.”

  I glanced up at Kat and was relieved that she wasn’t rolling her eyes at me. She looked genuinely interested in what was on my mind. This gave me the courage to ask more questions.

  “Did your mom ever go to the house? I mean, there is obviously a connection there. Maybe she went and felt something.”

  “I have no idea,” she said with a sigh. “I mean, it wasn’t like it was dinner conversation at home.”

  “I suppose not,” I said.

  The waiter came by with a pitcher of beer and two frosty glasses. He couldn’t have come at a better time. I so needed to change the conversation. I felt like the more I talked, the worse it was getting. Kat immediately started pouring the two glasses.

  “You contacted him, didn’t you?” she asked handing me a glass.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The ghostbuster guy you found online who knows about the house,” she clarified.

  I smirked and took a swallow of beer. “Of course I did.”

  “Okay. Why?” she asked.

  I looked at her in silence for a moment. I really didn’t know why. I just did it.

  “I guess I’m just looking to understand everything. Who knows. He might have some
insight. Why? Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

  “No. I just don’t want to see you jumping down some wormhole wearing a tin foil hat. Information is good. Stay open-minded but know that everything you hear may not be the truth.”

  “Oh, so now you are telling me Big Foot doesn’t even exist?” I asked with a chuckle.

  “No! Big Foot is real. He hangs out in the forest by my house. I’ll ask him if he has ever seen anything strange over at the villa. Seriously though, do you want me to talk to my mom and see what she knows?”

  “Yeah, if she’s comfortable with it. No sense working her up though.”

  “No, I think she’ll appreciate it. She’s still beaming from when you came by.”

  We spent the remainder of the evening just talking and laughing. We were genuinely having a great time together. One pitcher turned into two. Time raced by, and soon we were the only ones in an empty restaurant. Then, my phone beeped. It was an email response from that paranormal person I’d contacted. Without realizing it, I’d started staring at my phone.

  “What is it?” she asked with a concerned tone.

  “Um well, you remember how I said that I wanted to learn everything I could about the house? I guess this is my shot.” I put the phone down, letting her read the message.

  It was a simple response. The paranormal archaeology person only replied with a phone number.

  “Wanna call it with me?” I asked.

  She looked around the restaurant seeing that it was deserted.

  “What the hell?” she said. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

  I dialed the number and set the phone on the table, turning the speakerphone on. He picked up on the second ring.

  “This is David,” said the voice on the phone.

  “Uh…yeah… I got this number in an email,” I said stumbling over my words.

  “Ahhh, Mansfeld,” he said interrupting me. “Is that your site?”

  “No, I just came across it. I would like to know what you were referring to though.”

  “Look, I do this for a living. Mansfeld Manor came up in some research I was doing for another client. I kinda posted that hoping I could get a gig investigating that place.”

  “Well, tell me what you know,” I said. “Maybe I’ll hire you to investigate the place.”

  There was a long silence on the phone. I saw Kat shrug her shoulders.

  “What have you seen?” he asked.

  “Listen, do you know anything or not?” I was getting irritated.

  “Oh, I know plenty, but I want to know what you have seen. Like I said, I haven’t been there. I haven’t investigated it. I know about some dealings that took place involving it and seeing as the place was just left to rot, there has to be some residual energy there. So, I ask again, what have you seen?”

  “Just dreams,” I reluctantly offered.

  “Okay, tell me about these dreams.” He silently waited for me to continue.

  I gave him the full account of the dream I had. Then I talked of the daydream I had while I was running. Kat shot me a look when I mentioned that. I must have forgotten to mention that part to her.

  “Look, I’m just trying to understand everything,” I said.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Do you know anything about the KGC?”

  “I have no idea what that is,” I replied honestly.

  “Figures,” he said with disdain in his voice. “Listen, I’m not here to give you a history lesson. Why don’t you research that a bit? Then, give me a call back when you know the basics.” He paused. “Who are you anyway? I mean, what are you really looking for?”

  “Well, I own the property. I’m just trying to put the pieces together.”

  “Wait! From the will?” Now I had his attention.

  “Yes. I inherited the estate.”

  “Well, that certainly changes things. How about I drive up there this weekend, and I can go through everything then?”

  “Well yeah, why not,” I said. “We can even meet at the house.”

  “No. Not at the house. Not yet. You need to understand everything before we get to that point. I will email you some info and we can set this up. In the meantime, learn your history…. or at least the public history. Research the KGC.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “Okay, talk to you then.” He hung up the phone.

  “What the hell was that about?” I asked.

  “I have no idea, but you’re gonna to find out I think.”

  I reached for her hand.

  “No, we’re gonna find out.”

  9

  The week went by quickly. I dove into researching the KGC, which felt like a homework assignment. It was interesting, sure, but I didn’t really see anything in it at all connecting it to the Villa. From what I found, it sounded like a Confederate secret society. This made no sense to me as we are in Illinois, the Land of Lincoln. I couldn’t imagine any ties to a Confederate society here.

  In addition to my KGC research, I decided to weed through the quotes I was provided for restoring the mansion. This felt like an insurmountable task. There were many different aspects to tackle from the grounds to the swimming pool, to the house itself. Each area had quotes from different local specialists. In order to keep my head straight in making sense of all those, I decided to first focus on the house. Ideally, I thought I could first get the house habitable. Then, I would be able to focus on things like the grounds.

  When it came to the house itself, there were again certain parts of the project quoted by different specialists. I called and met with them all. After what felt like a hundred meetings, a plan started to form. The first priority was working on the foundation. Every other effort was on hold until that could be completed. Following the foundation repair, we would be fixing and rebuilding the roof. From there, the windows could be replaced. Of course, by the time we got to that point, it would be time to work on everything else. Plumbing, electricity, etc.

  Based upon the initial inspection, the foundation was not in bad shape. The house, despite its neglect, was very solid. The foundation work we would be paying for was not intended only to make sure it was okay now, but to ensure that it would be for decades to come. It was estimated to be a three to four-week job. So, I signed on the dotted line and scheduled work to start in two weeks.

  I also began the process of trying to get the house listed as a historic landmark. This was important since it would dictate any of the upcoming renovations. Fortunately, because the foundation only involved solidifying the existing structure, it could be done with no repercussions on achieving landmark status.

  As I tried to plan out everything on a timeline, I realized that one of the most expensive parts of the renovation would be the swimming pool. It was so cost prohibitive to restore that when complete, it would easily become one of the most expensive pools on the planet, even though it was still a simple swimming pool. As I learned, the reason for this had nothing to deal with the pool itself, but with the location. First, being on the lakeshore, where erosion had overtaken it, meant there were massive environmental hurdles involved in trying to give it a new life. Secondly, the location was next to impossible to get equipment to. These quotes called for a barge to float the needed equipment to the pool area. I felt the importance of bringing the Villa back to its original state. However, when it came to areas like this, I struggled with justifying such efforts. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to move forward with it. It was just insane to me to spend more money on a pool then I made all last year working.

  Of course, the bright side of the week was spending every night with Kat. Every evening, we had dinner together and ended up talking all night long. It was a bit surreal. I usually struggled with knowing how to act, what to say and what to do. Yet with Kat, on top of the pure attraction I felt towards her, there was also a comfort.

  Saturday morning, we were scheduled to meet the paranormal investigator. I picked Kat up, and we headed to the Holiday Inn he’d set as the
meeting place. We were both silent as we drove there. I think we were both a little unsure of what we were getting into. As I pulled into the parking lot, she leaned over to give me a quick kiss.

  “You know, if there’s a camera crew waiting for us here, I’m leaving,” she said.

  “You and me both,” I agreed.

  “I still don’t get it. You randomly find some ghost hunter on the internet that supposedly knows everything about your house, and we can only talk to him by meeting him in private. Did you even Google him?”

  “Eh, no. You were there when I called him. It just kinda happened.”

  “Alright, but if he turns out to be one of these Craigslist killers, I fully expect you to be using those amazing muscles of yours to protect my ass.”

  “Oh stop. I am sure he’s harmless. He will definitely be super weird, but that is it.”

  We walked into the hotel and headed to the elevator. I started getting nervous as we walked down the hall to his room. I hesitantly knocked on the door, half expecting it to swing silently open to reveal a man in a black robe standing before an altar with red candles. I immediately regretted not fighting to have this meeting in a public place like a coffee shop.

  The door opened, and I was almost surprised to see a normal hotel room. Instead of a black hooded host, there stood our investigator. He was short, about 5’7” and slightly overweight. He wore jeans and a Baja poncho. From the looks of things, he clearly hadn’t used the hotel's shower nor the complimentary bottle of shampoo.

  “David?” I asked, extending my hand. “It’s Jim and this is Kat.”