"The Haunting Of Debishire Manor"

The Haunting

Of

Debishire Manor

-By-

-M. A. Jenkins-

The Haunting Of Debishire Manor

-Copyright © 1997, 2016 M. A. Jenkins-

This book, all information, its characters and /or events contained in and on this book are copyrighted and may not be published, stored, duplicated, altered, rewritten, broadcast, rebroadcast, or redistributed. You may not modify, rent, lease, let, loan, sell, assign, display, perform, or create derivative works based on any of the materials contained in or on this book without the prior written consent of the Author.

Thank you for purchasing this book.

M. A. Jenkins

Cover Art Created

By

Christina Paraskevopoulou

At

https://www.fiverr.com/vampitrela

-List Of Characters-

-In Order Of Appearance-

Falisha Debishire

Michael Tanner

Sloan Debishire

Dreama Wingate

Nicole Baxter

David (Domino) Trent

Rick Baxter

Maxwell Benjamin Debishire III

Jeff Warner

Randell Sheppard

The Caretaker

Mr. Walters

Officer Bob Roberts

Andrea Simone Renee Newman

-Chapter 1-

At the end of a long and winding road, high atop a darkened hillside, sits the home of one of the wealthiest men in the entire city. But not for much longer. For M. Benjamin Debishire III, life is slowly drawing to a close.

Where could Sloan be? Inquired Falisha. Falisha is Sloan’s mother and the widow of Benjamin’s only son, Maxwell. She stood by the window peering out through the thick blue velvet drapery, searching for approaching headlights in the thick darkness.

Rain thrashed ever so strongly against the window, more so now than before. She turned from the window looking back towards the corner of the room. Her long silky blonde hair gently caressed her soft pink formal as it fell gently from her shoulder.

More brandy, Michael? Michael is one of Sloan’s cousins, one of four to be exact, whom have found his way up to see Benjamin through his ninetieth birthday.

Michael’s hands shook nervously as he guided them through an immense selection of bottles. Dark and light ones, full and near empty. Looking for his particular crutch to lean upon, or one more or less near to hold him up. No, He replied. We seem to be out of brandy at the moment.

Several months ago, Michael secured his future when he purchased a moderately small, but lucrative mining company on the far side of town. An accomplishment many others would find satisfying or even become joyful with. Oh but not him. Something weigh heavily on his inebriated little mind. Something horribly sinister unrest in him tonight.

You know how I detest seeing you like this. Her strong English accent tempered with a soft voice, touched his heart for a moment as he sat down his glass on the bar before him.

He began to loosen his tie while filling his glass with ice. A single cube tumbled to the ground beneath his feet. He searched with almost desperate expectation, but his large stomach and the dark strings of hair he usually kept combed over a bald spot, now hindered his view of the surrounding floor.

No more, Michael. She pleaded with him once again. It’s grandfathers birthday in the morrow.

He’s not my grandfather. He’s my grandmother’s second husband. God rest her soul. She divorced him after she caught him with their maid. Briefly suspending his quarrel, he tried anxiously to slam cubes of ice into an ever-elusive glass. William Tanner was my grandfather and don’t you ever, ever forget, to, ever forget it, that he is, grandfather I mean.

He has always treated you like his own flesh and blood. It’s the least you can do to stay sober through the weekend. She lowered her head ever so slightly and wiped a single tear from her sapphire blue eyes, before resuming watch over the looming darkness.

In a moment the flicker of headlights drew near and Falisha could rest easy once again knowing that her son was safely home this dark and stormy night.

Sloan entered the main door, dripping from the rain, and chilled through to the very core of his being.

The maid thought to assist him with his cloak. I’ll bring you something warm to drink if you’d like, sir. And perhaps a blanket? Her voice was soft and sweet and gently laced with an almost indistinct Spanish accent. Her hands were warm and tender as she attended him, her soul seemed warm and kind.

Sloan couldn’t help notice the beauty of her hair. And when she brushed against him, he could smell the faint aroma of fresh spring flowers.

For a moment, Sloan forgot all about the cold. This angel seemed to have touched him in this one fleeting moment, deeper than any other woman has in all his life. His heart began to race as he heard his inner voice barely whisper, There’s something familiar about this girl.

Yes, thank you. That would be nice. Ah, where is everybody?

In the study, sir. She replied. Awaiting your arrival I presuppose.

Sloan turned to remove his hat. The light from the chandelier illuminated his face and struck fear into the heart of this young maiden.

The hands that once held his cloak were now pressed firmly against her open mouth. Withdrawn from his presence, she raced down the hall and into a nearby room, closing the door swiftly behind her.

Sloan was disconcerted by her odd behavior. He retrieved his garments from off the floor and made his way over to a half empty coat rack adjacent to an elegant French decor mirror, just past the portrait of a distant relative of whose name escapes him for the moment, but whose face still haunts his childhood memories.

He gazed into the mirror, and then placed the hat upon his head. Removing it once or twice he jested of himself saying, Na, must be my cologne.

It wasn’t your cologne, dear.

Sloan turned to see his mother standing in the foyer, closing the study doors behind her.

I didn’t mean to interrupt your, self admiration, as it were. But everyone is waiting to see you.

It feels rather awkward being home again after all this time. Sloan removed his comb and hurriedly tried to untangle his hair before he was to meet with the others.

It hasn’t really been that long, dear.

He looked into the mirror again and uttered silently to himself, I wouldn’t want to frighten anybody else off... On second thought. He turned toward his mother and inquired. Who is she? The maid I mean. I think I’ve seen her somewhere before. I take it by her reaction that I have.

Now that is a distinct possibility. She used to work for Carla Johnson, one of the ladies I play cards with from time to time.

Are you still playing cards with that old bat? I thought you gave that up.

Every Friday night. And she’s not an old bat, thank you very much. We’re getting pretty good you know.

They joked and laughed as they embraced one another. Why Sloan, you’re shivering. And you’re soaking wet too. What happened? Did your rental break down or something?

It’s not a rental, mum. It belongs to a friend of mine in college. He loaned it to me for a small, just until I get my auto. The fuse must have burnt out in the heater or something. The windows fogged up so badly, I had to drive half way here with the windows down just so I could get a glimpse of where I was going. By the way, how's David doing? Has he heard anything from Andrea yet?

You poor thing. Let's get you in by the fire where it’s warm. He’s heard nothing. And please don’t mention her name around him either. Upsets him so. Furthermore, precious. If you borrowed the car for a small, you really rented it. Didn’t you now?

Well, I guess I never really thought of it quite like that before.

Together they schmoozed as they entered the study through the eight-foot tall double doors of solid oak.

Hand carved intricate patterns graced their surface, as did the beautiful glossy finish. The silver hinges and handles, over laid in pure gold, were forged by a master silversmith in France, and dipped in pure Egyptian gold. The doors they adorned were imported from somewhere in England, and were hung, as were the others, by a master craftsman commissioned from Israel.

The room in which they entered was elegantly crafted with several picturesque windows along the two outer walls. The luxuriant plush carpet gave gently under foot, while light from a single crystal chandelier caressed the old English style furniture below. Solid gold candle-holders embellished the room as well did a large oak bookcase. Family portraits along either side of an elaborate fireplace added mystique and depth to the real wood paneled walls.

The first person to welcome Sloan was his eldest cousin by almost two years, Nicole Baxter. Her extremely long soft auburn hair flowed gracefully behind her as she stepped toward them both. Icy blue were the color of her eyes, and fire was the color of the clothing that modestly adorned her tan slender body.

Ah, Sloan. How nice it is to see you again after all this time. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it tonight, being so stormy out, I mean. She turned towards Falisha and declared, You know how slick these roads can get. And it takes a good driver to make it safely up that hill in the dark. I bet Sloan had all kinds of trouble. Oh, look at the time. I have to get up early tomorrow. Be a good boy and bid goodnight to everyone for me. Would you, please? Oh, and please. Whatever you do, don't mention Andrea around David. Nicole then kissed him on the cheek and said. Good-night, Junior. Then she turned and exited the room.

One lousy accident and I’m branded for life. And it wasn’t even my fault. And don’t call me Junior. He shouted as she closed the doors behind her. You know what she means when she calls me that don’t you?

Falisha, with her left hand pressed against her lips, began to chuckle ever so slightly at Sloan’s disposition. Yes I do.

Red? He inquired.

Blood red I’m afraid.

Oooh. She knows how much I hate that. Sloan removed a myriad of tissues from a box atop the fireplace mantel, and began to wipe bright red lipstick from off the right side of his face. Did I get it all off?

You didn’t get any of it off I’m afraid, love. Looks like you’re wearing rouge on one side of your face now.

Sometimes I think she hates me. She does me like that on purpose you know. Just to try and irritate me.

Works too, doesn’t it?

Ya think?

Well as much as I would love to stay and help you with your makeup problem, I’m afraid it’s time for me to retire as well, dear. We’ll talk in the morrow. Oh, right. A package came for you yesterday. I put it in your room. She kissed him, patted him upon the cheek and said. Good-night, Junior. And soon thereafter, Falisha also had departed to her chambers for the evening.

Sloan walked over to where Michael had been sitting. He was draining the last drop of something clear into the half full glass beside him on the counter top. You know, He said. It doesn’t take much to see something is wrong in your little world tonight.

Why if it isn’t raggedy doll man, sort of. Just on that side. What ever gave you and idea like that? His words were muttered and slurred as he now talked from behind a mostly empty glass.

You did. He answered. Some people drink like that because something happened to them they wish to forget. Some drink for courage. And then there’s you...

All the while Michael grumbled and teetered his head about his shoulders giving the appearance it was soon to drop clean off. He turned to gaze upon Sloan as he wiped his face again. You’re only making it worse. Andy on one side. He chuckled. One side, that’s funny.

...You drink like that because what you’re intending to do is so horribly wrong, you attempt to drink away what little morality you might still have left. Something to ease your guilty conscience into submission. How’s that working for ya, Mikey? Doesn’t work well does it? Another hostile take-over looming on the horizon? Hum? One more little guy to squeeze out of existence I suppose, like in Detroit. Or was that Tulsa where that guy tried to kill himself afterwards? How about Akron? Where that little girl lost her family's inheritance to you. That’s all they had. You disgust me.

You know, cousin. You remind me of an insig, inifgant, mouse little mouse. Nibbling on a tiny piece of, tiny mouse. Just then the trap, and the cheese goes off, bam. And crushes the life, the life right out of that mouse. All the while Michael clenched his fist and waved it about in Sloan’s face.

He mocked him saying. Is your disaster to befall me?

Michael grabbed Sloan by the back of his neck and stated, One of these days, you're going too far, with me. Too far.

I have a little friendly advice for you, pal. Don’t breathe near any open flames. You might become your own tragic accident. Sloan proceeded to knock Michael’s arm aside, and with a powerful thrust to the chest, Michael was sent crashing over his stool and onto the floor behind the bar, breaking several bottles on the bottom shelf with the heel of his foot.

Sloan leaned over the bar to see if Michael had been injured in the fall. He didn’t intend to hurt him, but he didn’t want to be perceived as being concerned either. Oh, He said. I almost forgot. Nicole said to tell you good-night. Sloan tossed a napkin upon his chest and jested. Here, you might want to ah, clean that up a little while you’re back there.

Wasn’t my fault. He shouted. I didn’t know, he. Wasn’t my fault.

Later Sloan found himself descending the staircase located in the back corner of the trophy and game room.

Benjamin had a collection of various kinds of wild game from all over the world. However, unlike most big game hunters, it wasn’t the sport, or the thrill of the kill that drove him. For him, it was something else, something sinister, much more than anyone alive could know.

Sloan recognized more than anyone else, the unorthodox relationship his grandfather had with the beast he was to hunt. It was a strange obsession of some sort. Nevertheless, not even Sloan could ponder the fringe of insanity his grandfather once stood upon, nor the darkened past that loomed over him continually.

Within his grandfather’s mind, these ferocious beasts represented a sacrifice. An atonement if you will, warding off some horrible unseen haunt from which there is no lasting moments comfort, nor hope of escaping alive. And now, this formidable darkness has descended round about him once again, and there is no place left for him to hide.

At the bottom of these stairs was one of three rooms that ran the entire span of the mansion. The first room was one of the few rooms to have a floor of solid granite, of which this one was layered with porcelain tiles imported from somewhere in the Orient. The luxuriant paneled walls were lined with various different types of popular arcade machines, all centering around a single elegant pool table of great detail and expense.

Hey, Rick. Guess who finally showed up?

Rick, Nicole’s only living brother, left the study shortly before Sloan’s arrival, and was joined for a game of pool thereafter by David. Rick is in his first year of college, and David is in his second year. Both attend the same college and they both spend most of their free time, of late, pal-ing around together.

Rick is about six feet two inches tall with warm blue eyes, and sports a full handlebar mustache with light blonde hair he likes to keep in a crew cut. He has a scar under his right eye that seems to add character to his rugged persona, along with a tattoo of a roaring tiger's head upon his left arm near his shoulder.

How about a game of nine-ball?

Not tonight, Rick. I think I’m going to go to bed soon. By the way, David. Did you call about my car today?

By David’s speech, one would think he had been raised somewhere in sunny California all his life, when in fact, he has never been to the west coast in his life. He weighs in at around one hundred and eighty five pounds of pure muscle, with eyes that are almost as black as his shoulder length hair. For some reason tonight though, he appeared to have not shaved in days, which was somewhat unusual for him. Bearing his shirt hanging from his back right pocket was his usual style, but tonight he wore a green muscle shirt with a band logo of some sort, across the back. He waited for Rick to break, with a lack of patience not typical of his usual self.

Got you covered, dude. Delivery first thing tomorrow morning. Oh, and, some dude named Christopher called. Said something about he was coming to get his car tomorrow.

Sloan, if I were you, I would get rid of that car before it gets rid of you. It’s been nothing but bad luck ever since you bought it.

Chill out, Rick. It’s not like he named it, Christine, or something. You didn’t, did you? Ha, just joking. Your break, Rick my man.

Pay no attention to him, Sloan. He’s been like that ever since his mamma dropped him on his head that second time.

Oh yeah? Words of wisdom from a man who thinks a cerebral cortex is a new ride at the local amusement park. Ah, you scratched. My shot. Watch this awesome shot combo I’m going to put on my man, Brainiac, over there.

If it’s going to be so awesome, Dave, call it first.

Alright, okay. Let it not be said that I, David, (Domino Dave) Trent, beat my geometrically deprived opponent, fourteen times in a row I might add, by luck alone. Off this corner of the number one ball causing a slight right hand English. Or is it left hand? Oh well, unimportant it is. And sending it off this rail and into the number five, then coming to rest against the number six ball shortly thereafter. Meanwhile on this side of the table...

Oh just shoot the ruddy thing. Demanded Rick.

David lowered his cue and proceeded to chalk the tip. You know, if you don’t mellow out just a little, your going to blow a gasket or something. Your temper will be your undoing my son.

See you two in the morning. I think it’s time for me to turn in for the night. Sloan ascended the staircase out of sight.

Turn into what, for the night? Ah. Just kidding, Dude. Later.

The twosome waited eagerly for his footfalls to fade in the distance.

Do you think he’ll go for it, or turn against us? Inquired Rick.

I told you before. The fewer people who know, the better. Besides, if he turned on us. Well, you know what we would be forced to do don’t you? David spoke cautiously and quietly before Rick, with a complete lack of his colorful valley accent. He lined up to make his next shot. As the nine-ball crept across the green and doped gently into the corner pocket, he remarked. See, everything is going just as I have planned it.

However he had somehow miscalculated the angle of impact from the three-ball. In fact, it caught him completely by surprise as it clipped the cue ball off the table for a loss.

Rick removed the cue from the pocket and slammed it upon the table. I hope you planned this thing out a little bit better than you did that last shot of yours, Domino Dave.

Don’t worry. I have it all covered. It will work out just as I said it would. Trust me.

Rick picked up a random ball and began to toss it from hand to hand. One miscalculated move from any of them, and the game is over for both of us. For all of us. He slammed the ball into the pocket next to where David was standing. Peering up at him, he began to speak. And I’ll sing like a canary. Then he too departed from David and retired to his quarters, leaving David to ponder his evil scheme well into the witching hour, alone.

The sun came up late this morning, but no one seemed to notice. No one, that was, except for Benjamin. Every day to Benjamin was a blessing and a curse. Just one more day of life leased to a tired old man, to do that which he had failed to do the day before, and he grew weary in it. He sat in his wheelchair at the end of the hallway, peering out across the horizon.

Benjamin took a moment to gaze upon a modestly worn solid gold pocket watch. This was a special watch to him. To say that it was like no other would be a wishful gesture, but a gross understatement. It was one of only three to be exact, and is most likely the only one still in service today. This watch was mined of devious origins, and forged in the fires of hell itself. So dark and sinister its past, he dare not speak of it to anyone living, or dead.

Thinking of himself for a moment, he shook his head from side to side and carefully closed the face before placing the relic back into his pocket.

Footfalls ascended the staircase at the far end of the hall. It was Sloan. Good morning grandpa, happy birthday.

Thank you my son. You’re up awful early for a city boy aren’t ya? He laughed.

Yep, and as soon as this here city boy downs this here sandwich, he’s ah going to bed too.

Come, watch the sun rise with me, Sloan.

Sloan, barely able to keep his eyes open, drug a rocking chair from down the hall and sat beside his grandfather.

You know, Explained Benjamin. This is kind of a tradition you know. Benjamin rolled his wheelchair around to face the window and pulled his blanket up around his chest. Getting up early to watch the sun come up.

There for a moment I thought you meant getting something to eat and going back to bed. Sloan jested.

Your father, Benjamin paused for a brief moment choking back a tear or two. You and I used to do this together from time to time when you were little. And this here is another tradition. Benjamin reached into his pocket and removed his watch. This old watch was made for me by a Swiss watch maker. It was forged out of the very gold I mined myself. And now, now it’s yours. I’ll have no use for it much longer anyway. It's my legacy to you.

He placed the watch into Sloan’s hand and closed his fingers tightly around it, leaving the chain to dangle between two of his fingers. Out of all that I have... Of all my money, my mansion, my cars. There is no worldly possession more substantial to me, than this watch has become. It is a two edged sword, however. One edge bares the love of one's father for his son. The other, a dark and horrible curse that plagues me relentlessly. Benjamin’s cold and quivering hands clenched tight against Sloan’s, as the chain swayed gently beneath. It was made to be a memento of a secret kept by three brothers. And I must preserve it and this legacy to the utmost of my ability. I am sorry to be the one to have give it to you. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke. How I wish, these hands that I hold, to have been your fathers hands. But they’re not. They are my son’s hands. He began to quietly sob.

Seeing his grandfather weeping, and the fact he was so very tired, diverted Sloan’s normal thought processes. He thought not to query further of the curse his grandfather had mentioned only moments preceding, but to console him. Out of all that you have to give me, there is nothing I could have wanted more. Thank you. I will carry on this tradition, grandpa. I will not let you or our family name, down.

Don’t thank me, boy. This is more than a watch. It’s a key.

I don’t understand. He opened the watch to find an inscription on the underside of the face, bearing the name, Maxwell Benjamin Debishire III. Maxwell Benjamin? Questioned Sloan. I always wondered why mom would, from time to time, call you Maxwell, when I knew your name was Benjamin. What's this mean, 2- Red -1-1-2?

I went by my birth name until my father died just to keep from offending him. I changed my legal signature to M. Benjamin Debishire III, oh about sixty years ago. He went to his grave never knowing how badly his own son hated to be called Maxwell. And that, my boy, is why your name is Sloan, instead of Maxwell Benjamin Debishire the forth.

Wow. I never even thought of that before, why the name didn’t carry on, I mean. But I would have been the fifth, not the forth.

His grandfather simply nodded his head. They both resigned to watch the sun rise above the trees this glorious morning, in a spectacular array of amber's adorned