Mansions of Madness/The Crack’ d and Crook’ d Manse: The House Ate Him!

It was getting crowded in our new office, Crimson Detective Agency, here in Boston. Why we used Betty’s name…well if we fell flat-on-our-face, better her name than anyone else. A conglomerate of entrepreneurs: B. Crimson our writer, Morgan Mastiff our businessman/legal expert, Pennyworth our antique dealer, and myself Rusty Nile explorer. You see what I mean; not a detective among us. But hey, ya gotta start somewhere.

“Hey, checkout our first piece of official mail. Who do we know that lives in Connecticut who would have recommended us?” The faintest of smirks creases Morgan’s face, “It’s called seeding. Newspaper ads in major nearby cities. Obviously money well spent.” A lawyer requesting our services to find a missing Arthur Cornthwaite…who has an estate! Money! “Hell yes, we’ll accept the offer. Just don’t sound too eager to the man.” B chimes in, “You mean don’t sound too desperate. Two months in business and we’re already behind on bills. We’d best get money upfront to pay expenses, such as gas there and back, let alone boarding.”

It was a two hour drive south to Gamwell, Connecticut about 90 miles away. Enough time to read and re-read the letter and attached newspaper article. “Scholar, millionaire, either off studying or vacationing. Sounds like a simple check for train tickets. You sure we’ll earn enough to cover expenses?” Gamwell is a small town, so easy to find 14 Main Street and the building labeled ‘Dodge Attorneys at Law’. A bell jingles as we enter, finding a frumpled old man behind a desk, “We’re here in response to a letter from a Walter Dodge.” Walter himself sits before us. Sure doesn’t dress like a rich man’s lawyer. And the office…no better than our own agency.

Walter Dodge

Arthur Cornthwaite

“Thank you for your prompt response. Yes, Mr. Cornthwaite is our best client so you can imagine our concerns when he became overdue asking for his standard check to pay his staff. It’s been almost a month. I went out to his mansion weeks ago. No answer; had to let myself in. Maybe he dismissed his staff as he’s on another exploration. But he’s always forewarned us in the past. Like his recent South American Amazon trip. Even brother Bob at our Episcopalian church has noticed Arthur’s absence.”

Morgan is quick to speak for our agency, “We’ll have to shuffle some of our current jobs around, but we should be able to accommodate your needs. At a price of course. $25 a day plus expenses.” No haggling at all; Walter quick to accept. Damn, I knew we should have asked for more! “Yes, yes, to include room and board. Would you like to stay at the estate or here in town at the boarding house? Estate huh? Reinholt, bring them the Fitzgerald Manse keys.” Pleasant goodbyes as we depart for the estate so we can search for ourselves and find a receipt for the train tickets. But first, a stop at the diner as I’m starved.

Pennyworth settles onto the diner stool with a smile as he orders, “So darling, what’s your recommendation? Mr. Dodge says you have the best food in town.” What a suck-up; but then that IS our business. A shy blush colors Ginger’s cheeks, “Herbert said that?” Ah, a younger Dodge we haven’t meet yet. The door is open for Pennyworth to converse, learning even the millionaire Arthur came in here often (2-3 times a week). “Last time? Probably New Year eve, by himself. Seemed preoccupied.”

A rush of air announces the diner door opening as sheriff Whitford enters, “So you’re the fellas old Walter invited. He and his 2 brothers trying to maintain their grasp of Arthurs accounts. Hell, he goes missing and they’re giddy in hopes they can foreclose his estate. Reap their fees while they can. Yeah, Dodge called me out to the mansion about 2 weeks ago. Empty. Arthur on one of his jaunts. Yeah, his servants Susan and Gloria not there. Hell, even I wouldn’t want to stay in THAT haunted house. Oh, you didn’t know that old manse is cursed? Tragedies; murders. I’m still hunting for that bastard Corwen who owned the house prior. Chopped up his whole family he did. House been empty for near a decade before Mr. Cornthwaite moved in.”

We’re quick to announce our intent to stay at the mansion, “Here’s Mr. Dodges’ letter and the keys.” Real official. Don’t want to get in trouble for vagrancy or burglary. A ten mile drive south only to find the entry gate closed and locked. Vines already rampant over the stone wall and intertwined in the iron gate. Gone for a month and the grounds in such neglect? But Morgan surmises, “Hey, we’re on the clock. It’s Dodge money for their forgetfulness in not giving us ALL the keys.”

Miss Ellie

Sheriff Whitford

We drive back to town looking for the boarding house. The 65 year old Miss Ellie quite huffy, “Ain’t no mind to me whether you stay or not. Mr. Dodge done paid for rooms. But I ain’t gonna have you coming and going at all kinds of hours. Prompt. And respectful you be. Breakfast at 7am sharp, else you go hungry.” As I try to sweet talk her with apologies and compliments, Morgan excuses himself to stroll the town. Noticing sheriff Whitford watching from his jailhouse, Morgan enters with charm to maybe glean more info.

Morning breakfast is filling, with B joyful for the grits until, “No bacon grease? No butter?” As two teams, we’re off to the library and townhall. Hours later comparing notes gleaned from the sheriff, Susan the librarian, and Simon the court reporter:

1.   The 3 Dodge brothers are frugal, passing down their suits. Arthur their only client.

2.   The Fitzgerald Manse was built around 1805. Almost 60 years till Johnny Fitz put a bullet in 4 of his family members’ head, then one in his own.

3.   Ainsfields moved in but were evicted around 1894.

4.   The Corwens bought the place but within a decade, the husband Arthur Corwen chopped up his family before himself disappearing.

5.   House empty for a decade till 1919 when Cornthwaite took ownership.

6.   Arthur C. a bachelor. But a supposed girlfriend no-one has seen.

7.   Arthur took many South American trips. Always returning with donations to the library and trip summaries for the local newspaper.

8.   His Amazon diary donated to the library has margin notes referencing a great dome and the people who worship an ancient god.

9.   Shortly after his return from the Amazon, Arthur checked out a book written by Thomas Pratt titled “Missing People.” Still overdue.

A noon drive back to the Fitz Manse and thru the now opened gate. Yard run-amuck! Vines everywhere; so thick they are pulling down tree branches. The ground and trees thick with moss, yet not an animal nor insect sound. Silence. ERIE SILENCE! B Crimson pauses to notice, “These are not indigenous plants. More jungle. Did Arthur transplant cuttings?” 

We pull up in the driveway before the 2-story house. Vines climbing the walls, paint blistering, cobwebs thick in the windows. The 2^nd floor round windows appear as eyes watching our every move. Spooky! “Click.” As Morgan opens the doors with the key, we enter to a musty smell. “Bam!” Startle as a chunk of plaster falls from the ceiling. “Hello?” Tensions high as Morgan opens the door to his right. Then panic as a cloaked body lunges toward him! “Relax. It’s only a cloak you knocked off its peg.”

Stairs before us leading up to the 2^nd floor. But we open the left door instead, finding his library. The air thick with moisture. The books lining the shelves swollen from water damage. “Over here. I found this knothole loose in the wall.” A string tied to its end; the other end trailing inside the wall. A scroll attached. Also water damage but clear enough to read non-sensical scribble and the initials ‘AC’. Morgan shoulders the next door open, stumbling inside a parlor with 3 water-logged chairs and nothing else. No letters on the lamp tables. No cigar stubs.

Out the door, into the hall and left to another door that reveals a ballroom. The wooden slat floor warping from moisture. B reminiscing, “Oh, it would have been grand to be invited to one of his cotillions.” Back out to the hallway and backdoor only to peer out into the overgrown landscape. Then on into the kitchen; Morgan shouldering another stuck door (that won’t budge), while B is drawn toward the spice rack, “What’s the gap between the 5 cannisters? Look, a dust ring indicating a missing can. Salt! OH NO! That means evil. The devils’ ward! I knew something sinister was going on here!” Morgan scoffing, “Don’t get your panties in a bind. Could have been the money jar. Arthur or the staff removing it for the trip.” Now that pissed B…panties…her fist balled tight. She’d show him as she led the group to the next door that opened unto a pantry. “RALPH! Blaaa.” Everyone running out, gagging from the putrid smell of rancid meat. A once empty kitchen sink now filled to the brim.

Everyone catching their breath before proceeding across the hall to the dining room. A long table but setting for only one. “Look. See, pepper shaker but no salt! Listen to me; I’ve studied the occult. This house isn’t haunted. It’s be-deviled!” Now I gotta admit, I was skeptical at first. But now…just a coincidence? We step into another musty room; this the study with high-back chair and roll-top desk.

It doesn’t take much searching to find the book, “Missing People.” B settles into the chair and begins to read. And that’s when we hear a knock. Even Morgan jumping. 

Another knock; someone at the front door. Pennyworth and I go to answer and confront a man wielding an axe! P slams the door looking for his own weapon (umbrella stand) while I draw my pistol.

“Hello? I’m Joe Virelli from the newspaper here to write an article about your findings. Mr. Dodge said I’d find you out here. This axe? Oh, I found it in the bushes to the side of the porch. Yeah, I wrote that gazette article.” I didn’t want him here, “No thanks, we have our own reporter. B Crimson if you must know.” But Pennyworth was more accommodating, letting Joe in as witness to our findings, “Just stay out of our way.” Back in the study, B summarizes her readings, “More about the Amazon and great dome. Something about a ‘Mother of a Thousand Young.’” Joe piping in, “Mr. Cornthwaite always gave me interviews after his trips. Said he found something he wasn’t supposed to. Something about a group that worships this mother.”

Joe stays behind as Pennyworth retrieves the axe before we proceed to the kitchen to bust down Morgan’s stuck door. Steps down into the basement. Then Morgan’s reasoning, “Forget it. Let’s head upstairs. Probably find him slumped in his bed. Dead from an overdose of salt for his malaria.”

The grand staircase leads up to a 2^nd floor wrap-around balcony overlooking the entrance. Across the way a den: table, desk, and a shotgun mounted over the desk. Everything moldy but the shotgun still functional; just empty. No shells in this room. A rear door that opens unto the master bedroom complete with canopy bed and fireplace. And there on the hearth, 9 partially disassembled shotgun shells. Salt crystals scattered on the floor. The missing salt tin under the bed. B exclaiming, “I told you! See the lines of salt along the window seals and door jams. This was his safe room!” “Then were the hell is he?!”

As B stoops to collect salt to return to the tin, Pennyworth heads downstairs, “I’ll get another kitchen tin to collect the gunpowder.” Moments pass till we hear a “THUMP.” We rush downstairs finding P unconscious at the bottom of the steps. Nasty bump on his noggin. Minutes before he startles awake. “The house ate him! THE DAMN HOUSE ATE JOE!!” Concussion. P adamant he heard Joe sneaking around so decided to watch from the corner. Saw him lean against the wall, then, “Two slimy arm thingies came out of the wall and just sucked him in!” Me too busy trying to treat P as B inspecting the wall, “See this stain?! Same as I saw back up in the bedroom near the fireplace.” I don’t know about you, but I was starting to get antsy-pants myself. B sounding more confident by the minute was just creepy.

B leads us upstairs to confirm the bedroom stain. Morgan still scoffing as he leans against the wall, “Oh no, it’s gonna eat me! Come on. Knock off that spook stuff; we’ve got real business to tend. Pennyworth has a concussion and Joe got his news and is back at his desk writing his next article.” We continue searching. A guest bedroom with butler clothes still in the dresser. OK, so he didn’t pack before Arthur left on his trip. Morgan puzzling over an interior fireplace, “Now that’s just a fire hazard. Interior wall? How do you keep the wood walls from burning?” We exit back into the hall and proceed down to a bathroom. Same mold growing out of the busted floor tile. The only non-barred window we’ve found on this 2^nd floor.

Across the way, the door opens unto a trophy room. Clay figures line the warped, moldy shelves. Pennyworth evaluating their worth while B recognizing some as “Protection idols.” She grabs one to place inside her bra. P taking note to grab a replica for himself. A few figurines fall to the floor when B exclaims, “Did you feel that? The floor bulged! There’s something in this house and it’s moving!” Our scoffs not as convincing as we continue down the hallway around the balcony to another guest room. Pennyworth suddenly realizing, “It doesn’t line up. You’re right Morgan. That guestroom fireplace is wrong. I’d bet it’s a monkhole, Secret safe room.”

Morgan and I retrace our steps to the other guestroom while B and P return to the master bedroom to check that fireplace. I rap on the fireplace bricks finding a hollow sound. Morgan finding a latch that opens a door inside the non-functional fireplace. “SHIT!” He crawls in, face-to-face with an axe wielding dead body. The ring proves the body to be that of Arthur Corwen. “HEY GUYS, WE FOUND A BODY! We found sheriff Whitford’s murderer. Claw marks on the walls suggest he was scared for his life. I’d say it’s time to checkout that basement. Maybe find Mr. Cornthwaite down there.”

We merge outside the master bedroom and start down the stairs; Morgan, then I, then B and P. and that’s when we came face-to-blob with the monster in the house! “HOLEY SHIT!” This blob filling the entire downstairs and more. Morgan so frightened he lashes out at me behind him. Now I don’t know whether he was trying to get by me or feed me to the creature so he could escape. Don’t care. I slug him back. HARD. He slumps dead. Which gives the rest of us time to escape. Hey, you just have to be faster than the slowest guy. And I can outrun a dead guy.

Pennyworth runs for the monkhole. Crimson runs for the bathroom. Me? Pause till I remember the bathroom window too. I enter finding B already at the window climbing out and down a rain spout. “OW!” I look out seeing the blob extends outside the house and has grasp of her leg. I pull her back inside (less her right foot below the ankle). And that’s when we hear Pennyworth, “The monkhole. I found a trapdoor to the attic and escape!” I fireman carry B past the blob still climbing the stairs (had to ‘push’ thru the exhaustion) and rush on into the guestroom. Inside the monkhole I lift B toward P reaching down from the attic.

As P tends to B’s bleeding stump, I climb up by myself, finding the tiny round window P expects to use as escape. Look at me. You think this large body (Size 85) could fit in a small decorative window?! Pennyworth describes his plan, “The blob is climbing the outside of the walls. But if you can get enough jump, you should be able to land clear and run for it.”  He goes first and lands with a twisted ankle. But still mobile. B loses confidence, “Without my foot I can’t jump.” So I shove her. She pushing off with her good foot. Luck that she tumbles free and clear of the blob. My turn. I grab the axe from the dead body and hack the window larger. Then jump.

Then realization Morgan drove the car and has the keys. Maybe…P climbs into the seat and pulls the visor down…the key tumbling down. And that’s how we escaped. You think the Dodge brothers paid us our fees? Think the sheriff believed our story? Well, not the story of the house and body of Arthur Corwen. But he did believe Crimson’s slip of the tongue mention of me killing Morgan. And that’s why you find me in this cell giving you an interview.

I’m safe in this cell. Three meals a day. Any mold and I clean it FAST. Ain’t giving that creature no foothold in this prison! I don’t care whether you believe my story or not. The Bell family didn’t believe me either and still bought the old Fitzgerald Mansion 3 years ago. The mold all gone. No creature. Yard returned to normal. Now I read the papers and see where they’ve gone missing. But if you want confirmation, go buy B. Crimson’s latest book titled, “The House Ate Him.”