Old houses have this effect on me. I need to see them. I must go and investigate an old house when I find them. It calls to me, and this particular old house on the outskirts of town had been calling me for quite some time. Finally, I had the chance to go and see it. It was October 31st, Halloween.
Upon arriving, I found the old wrought iron gate hanging open, swinging in the breeze. It was hard to tell where the rust ended and the iron left off. The brick pathway up the porch was almost nonexistent. What few bricks were still there were broken or pushed out of place, and grass and weeds had taken over the whole path and lawn—judging from what I could see of the property in the moonlight—weeds.
Reaching the porch, I found it to be about what I expected, the steps crocked from sinking into the ground. When I finally arrived at the top, the porch planks were damaged, primarily bare wood, the paint worn by traffic and weather. Many of the remaining planks had rotted to their center. All in all, the porch was a dangerous place to be. How the porch roof was still standing was a mystery of its own.
After carefully navigating the porch, I found the front door. With my powerful flashlight, I examined the door, which, at one time, had been a handsome door with a stained glass window and brass hardware. Now the glass was gone, save a few pieces around the edge. The brass doorknob hung loosely in the door. Jiggling it a bit, I managed to get it to work.
With several loud creaks and moans, the door slowly swung open. Inside the house, dust and cobwebs assaulted me as I pushed the door open enough to slip inside. Standing in the door frame, I waited a second. Using the flashlight, I looked around the room. Satisfied it didn’t look immediately dangerous, I carefully stepped further into the entrance hall.
Entering the room was essentially stepping back in time. The furnishings were of the late 1800s, Victorian, as near as I could tell. As I began to get a little more comfortable being in the room and started walking around, I started feeling at home. Then I seemed to feel a presence with me. Looking around behind m, I found a gentleman standing n the hallway entrance.
He was old. The suit was formal, complete with a morning coat. He stood tall and stiff as if he’d been standing like that for decades.
“May I help you, Sir?” he inquired.
Whether he was surprised to see me or not, I couldn’t tell, but I was shocked to see him standing in an old abandoned house.
“I have been admiring this house for a long time and had time today to take a look. May I ask who you are?”
“I am the butler, Sir. With your permission,” he said as he lit an oil lamp on the table. “You should be able to see better now, my.”
Upon the light coming on, I could see the rest of the room—a typical Victorian house.
“It is late, Sir? I’ll turn down your bed.”
It was as if he knew me and was not surprised to see me in the parlor, even at this late hour. I was finding it difficult to come to grips with the proceedings.
“If I may ask, what is Your name? I seemed to have forgotten.”
“Arthur, Sir.” He replied, unfazed by my question or response to him.
“Arthur, do you know who I am?
“Yes, Sir, you are Lord Edward Nelson, the master of this house.”
“Arthur, when was the last time you saw me ?”
“This morning, Sir, as you were going into town on some business.”
Arthur seemed unmoved by the whole turn of events. As if it was normal for him to have his master appear at midnight.
“Arthur, one question, what is today’s date?”
“October 31, 1895, Sir,” Arthur answered my question without blinking an eye in surprise.
I wasn’t sure what to think or do. My name is Edward Nelson, and I seemed to remember that I did have a grandfather, a British lord, who had come to the states about the year Arthur said it was. I noticed, over the fireplace, a portrait of a very distinguished gentleman.
“Arthur, Who is that?” I pointed to the portrait.
“That is you, Sir.“
It was me, looking down on me.
Returning to the front door, I found it as it should be, pristine and policed, and the window filled with stained glass. Looking out at the yard in the moonlight, it looked completely different from when I entered the old house. The porch is now perfect, and what little I can see of the lawn is in excellent shape. I had a sense of familiarity and calm slowly come over me. Perhaps, I should stay awhile and learn more about my ancestor, or maybe I would stay.
“Yes, Arthur, I believe I will be spending the night.”
Upon arriving, I found the old wrought iron gate hanging open, swinging in the breeze. It was hard to tell where the rust ended and the iron left off. The brick pathway up the porch was almost nonexistent. What few bricks were still there were broken or pushed out of place, and grass and weeds had taken over the whole path and lawn—judging from what I could see of the property in the moonlight—weeds.
Reaching the porch, I found it to be about what I expected, the steps crocked from sinking into the ground. When I finally arrived at the top, the porch planks were damaged, primarily bare wood, the paint worn by traffic and weather. Many of the remaining planks had rotted to their center. All in all, the porch was a dangerous place to be. How the porch roof was still standing was a mystery of its own.
After carefully navigating the porch, I found the front door. With my powerful flashlight, I examined the door, which, at one time, had been a handsome door with a stained glass window and brass hardware. Now the glass was gone, save a few pieces around the edge. The brass doorknob hung loosely in the door. Jiggling it a bit, I managed to get it to work.
With several loud creaks and moans, the door slowly swung open. Inside the house, dust and cobwebs assaulted me as I pushed the door open enough to slip inside. Standing in the door frame, I waited a second. Using the flashlight, I looked around the room. Satisfied it didn’t look immediately dangerous, I carefully stepped further into the entrance hall.
Entering the room was essentially stepping back in time. The furnishings were of the late 1800s, Victorian, as near as I could tell. As I began to get a little more comfortable being in the room and started walking around, I started feeling at home. Then I seemed to feel a presence with me. Looking around behind m, I found a gentleman standing n the hallway entrance.
He was old. The suit was formal, complete with a morning coat. He stood tall and stiff as if he’d been standing like that for decades.
“May I help you, Sir?” he inquired.
Whether he was surprised to see me or not, I couldn’t tell, but I was shocked to see him standing in an old abandoned house.
“I have been admiring this house for a long time and had time today to take a look. May I ask who you are?”
“I am the butler, Sir. With your permission,” he said as he lit an oil lamp on the table. “You should be able to see better now, my.”
Upon the light coming on, I could see the rest of the room—a typical Victorian house.
“It is late, Sir? I’ll turn down your bed.”
It was as if he knew me and was not surprised to see me in the parlor, even at this late hour. I was finding it difficult to come to grips with the proceedings.
“If I may ask, what is Your name? I seemed to have forgotten.”
“Arthur, Sir.” He replied, unfazed by my question or response to him.
“Arthur, do you know who I am?
“Yes, Sir, you are Lord Edward Nelson, the master of this house.”
“Arthur, when was the last time you saw me ?”
“This morning, Sir, as you were going into town on some business.”
Arthur seemed unmoved by the whole turn of events. As if it was normal for him to have his master appear at midnight.
“Arthur, one question, what is today’s date?”
“October 31, 1895, Sir,” Arthur answered my question without blinking an eye in surprise.
I wasn’t sure what to think or do. My name is Edward Nelson, and I seemed to remember that I did have a grandfather, a British lord, who had come to the states about the year Arthur said it was. I noticed, over the fireplace, a portrait of a very distinguished gentleman.
“Arthur, Who is that?” I pointed to the portrait.
“That is you, Sir.“
It was me, looking down on me.
Returning to the front door, I found it as it should be, pristine and policed, and the window filled with stained glass. Looking out at the yard in the moonlight, it looked completely different from when I entered the old house. The porch is now perfect, and what little I can see of the lawn is in excellent shape. I had a sense of familiarity and calm slowly come over me. Perhaps, I should stay awhile and learn more about my ancestor, or maybe I would stay.
“Yes, Arthur, I believe I will be spending the night.”
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