The Manor's Invitation

An unexpected letter arrives at the Narrator's house, claiming to be a long-lost relative who wishes to reconnect. What awaits them in this meeting is more than they bargained for.

I recently received an unmarked letter with no return address and zero indication of its sender. Unfortunately, my curiosity overcame me, leading me to open the letter instead of discarding or shredding it. Perhaps the writer of this mysterious letter never intended for it to reach me, as evidenced by the charred edges of the tampered-with piece of paper. The sound of the paper crinkling rang through my house as I attempted to unfold it carefully so it wouldn’t crumble to pieces in my hand. Once I successfully unfolded it, I tried to decipher the sender's identity, hoping to find their name, but was dismayed to discover that no name was present. Despite this, the sender claimed to be a "lost relative" on my father's side.

To my dear nephew, I do not know if this letter will reach you, as I have fallen ill recently and have struggled to get out of bed lately. Several doctors and self-proclaimed healers have come and gone, yet I may be short for this realm. I find myself reluctant to write outside of what happened to me, as the last time we met was someone I am not proud of. Still, some force drives me to contact you for one last meeting. Attached are directions to my manor if you so desire.

Signed, Your long-lost uncle.
I felt my brow furrow at the scratched-out signature and assumed it was simply a scam letter; indeed, if it were a lost relative, they would have left their name legible somewhere. I had decided to toss the letter out and went about my day. After a week, a similar letter unexpectedly surfaced in my mail. With a sigh, I disposed of it without opening it, hoping the scammer would receive the message. Weeks passed, and the letters piled up faster than I could discard until I finally shouted, “Alright!” At my lowest point, “I’ll visit your manor.” I decided to visit the manor tomorrow, hoping the madness would eventually end. The next day, the letters finally stopped appearing in my fleeting bliss. The influx of letters boosted my suspicion that this was a scam, but I knew I would never find peace if I didn’t keep my word. That same day, I set out relatively early, enjoying the crisp air against my face and the scent of plants and trees, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the fall season. These walks used to bring me comfort as I observed the changing seasons and the bustling of people on the sidewalks beside the roads. Nowadays, I'm fortunate to see another person, let alone receive a "Hi" or even a smile; occasionally, they'll cross the street or turn around quickly. It wouldn’t usually bother me, but recently, it began to burn and sting with voice-pounding negativity, growing in strength with every encounter. I shook my head, trying to clear it; we don’t need their kindness. Let’s just get this over with, I thought.

I continued down the path until I reached what I could only imagine had been my “uncle’s” manor, with a silver gate fence towering over me slightly. The sigil on the main gate symbolized the family crest, which I vaguely remember my father proudly displaying on his coats and around our old house. Beyond the gate, lush green gardens tended to bloom recently, with a ceramic fountain spouting clear water and fish-looking creatures gliding near the surface. As I strolled through the gardens, I caught sight of the manor perched on the hill; it would be an understatement to say that its sheer size up close unnerved me. The granite base foundation rose to the dark oak and marble conjoining together, and the windows were polished and pristine, with bright scarlet curtains held up with golden rods. Even the stairs leading up to the two enormous wooden doors had a personality; the railings were smooth and slick. As I neared the entrance, the ring-shaped door handles beckoned me in, yet the thought of turning around and fleeing to the hills raced through my mind.

Before the chance to flee came, I heard the two doors begin to open with a grinding screech and a painful creak that made it clear I was now lying in my grave. “Ah, you must be the master’s grandson,” the old skinny man said. “One moment, please.” With that, he disappeared behind the doors for only a moment that felt like an eternity in my now uneasy mind. My foot tapped quickly, my hands went from my pockets to frantic motions, and my breathing became like a dog left out on a hot summer’s day; did I have the wrong house? I had played into the scammers trap?""There you are!” The voice jolted me from my thoughts as my gaze met that of a shorter man than the one prior; his stature refined. “I was worried you weren’t going to show up!” His voice seemed jollier than the previous man's, his face and arms gesturing for a hug, but my body remained frozen still and refused to move any closer. The short man, who I assumed was my uncle, recognized that I was not approaching him and changed his posture to put his left hand into his pocket and extend his right arm for a handshake. “Like your father, not much for hugs, I see?” Shaking out of my anxiety, I reached out to grab his hand. His grip felt like an iron clamp, yet somehow warm and comforting. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to meet you.” As I stammered through my words, he released his hold and slipped his right hand into his other pocket, chuckling. “Ah, quite alright. I must have frightened you with that letter; however, I have never felt better since I sent it. His words puzzled me; after all, the original letter he sent made it sound like he was ill.

Unfortunately, he swiftly invited me to enter his manor before I could ask about his condition, asserting that we had a wealth of information to discuss; if this was a fraudulent scheme, he put up an incredible act. The foyer aligned with a similar, scarlet-colored rug that seemed to run through every hall and up the wooden stairs. He hung a six-light black painted iron chandelier lightly from the ceiling, and several paintings, ranging from self-portraits to other commissioned works, hung on the wall. “Grand, isn’t it? This manor is the result of dedication and determination! Our family is renowned for its strong work ethic. As he spoke, he spun around, his arms raised in the air, gesturing to the entire manor, its grand scale his source of pride and joy. The tall and slightly lanky man from earlier emerged from one of the rooms, cleared his throat, and gestured to my uncle, indicating the room he was in. "Ah, if you could just wait here," my uncle hurriedly said, following the man into the room. The thud of the door closing echoed through the now-empty foyer, leaving me once again with my anxiety and the deafening silence. Once again, I found myself tapping my foot, twiddling with my thumbs as my mind darted from thought to thought. Sensing that standing there would yield no results, I wandered off, intending to return shortly.

I swiftly glanced back to confirm if my uncle had made his way back first, ensuring the coast was clear. I headed north past the staircase to observe more of the manor. The layout now sprawls out into various hallways and corridors that lead nowhere and everywhere. I began to feel uneasy; my skin crawled, and my heart raced again. What was it about this place that made me feel ill and made me want to leave? Despite my constant desire to flee, I pushed further into the manor and made a left turn at the intersection of the hallways. Both looked similar; momentarily, I doubted myself, thinking I had made a mistake by going to the left instead of the right. I felt consumed with the increasing fear that this place would be my demise. All I could hear was the sound of my footsteps as I cautiously moved forward, anticipating the possibility of something or someone snatching me. At the end of the hallway, I saw a spiral staircase that led to the next floor above me, but it also seemed out of place. I stopped a good couple of feet away from it, not feeling overwhelming dread or anxiety, and perhaps I should have.

In contrast to the rest of the hallway, the stairwell appeared deserted, engulfed in dust and cobwebs; each step appeared teetering on the brink of collapse due to age and neglect. Despite this, the desire to climb the stairs and uncover hidden mysteries only intensified. I had no doubts about my uncle's approval, but it didn't matter then. Grabbing the railing, I mounted the first stair and felt it creak and shake, each step adding more uncertainty than the last. The shift in the atmosphere shattered the courage I once possessed; the floor has now become desolate, with boards up or nails dented. The wallpaper was peeling off, accompanied by a stench that assaulted my nostrils and damaged my other senses, as if I had entered a completely different place. The doors were deteriorating and breaking down as if a flight had occurred, but there were no other broken objects or signs of struggle. In front of me, a single door stood out sharply; it was in perfect condition and appeared to have had zero use recently. My hand reached for the handle, unsure of what I would find; perhaps this was where my uncle hid his riches, I joked.

The door swung open, and in the dark-lit room, the humor left my body at the exact moment. Documents were scattered across the floor and upon the desk, drawers yanked out and stacked upon one another, and somebody pinned a map of the county to a board. The map featured red pins with strings connecting them, displaying the numbers and addresses of various individuals, some of whom I recognized from my walks. Is this where they all went? Did they receive similar letters inviting them to this location? Upon closer inspection, I noticed a spot marked with several pins and a red pen that circled several times, causing my heart to sink deeper into my chest. It was my house.

As I sprinted out of the room, my only thought was to get as far away as possible; I no longer cared who this man was. Back in the foyer, I reached for the door, only to find my uncle surrounded by a group of people laughing and drinking. Hoping to sneak by and avoid the group, the skinny man from earlier pointed me out to my uncle and ruined my last chance to escape. “And this is my nephew! He is the shining future of our family!” While the others clapped in response to my uncle's comment, I feigned a smile, feeling sick to my stomach with each word. “Now,” my uncle said, “I know you’re in such a rush to leave, but won't you stay for dinner?” I stared at all the eyes on me, then turned back to my uncle. A voice I had heard several times began to creep into my head, but I couldn't make it out. The pain intensified as the voice continued to pound. Trying to maintain composure, I simply complied and followed them into the dining hall. The pain persisted as the voice grew increasingly distorted and excruciating, growing louder and louder until all was black.

Waking up, I could still feel my head pounding, but the voice was no longer present. Looking around, I realized I had returned home, but I was still unsure how I had left that cursed manor. I walked to the bathroom, splashing water onto my face, hoping the warmth would at least numb the pain in some capacity. But when I tried to stare at myself in the mirror, I could not look myself in the eye. I must be crazy or insane, I thought to myself; I simply dreamt the whole thing up, but no amount of assurance made the uneasiness that lingered go away. As I returned to the bedroom, questions began racing through my mind. Was it a dream? It felt so real; indeed, it couldn’t have been, but what about the other people who seemed to have just vanished from the earth? Perhaps they never existed; after all, it wouldn’t be the first time my head had played tricks on me; they had to have been just hallucinations or something personified of my self-doubt or anxiety, but a part of me simply could not accept that as the case. I gazed out of my window, attempting to dismiss the entire experience and move forward, determined not to repeat the same mistake, even if I were to receive another letter of that nature. In that fleeting moment, I experienced a sense of tranquility; everything had transpired as it had, and I felt fortunate to be here still. It was genuinely euphoric to feel this way after such a long time. I walked to my desk, sat down, and started moving books around and rearranging them in preparation for an upcoming interview. However, my heart froze when I moved a green notebook and saw a similar signed letter from earlier.

Author's Note

This is my first time posting a completed short story, and it is not strictly within my standard field of writing, so I am looking for any feedback. I also felt the twist could have used more time to breathe or build more, as this is the edited and revised one where the original idea didn't fit. Thank you for taking the time to read!