An estranged grandfather with a vast fortune. An estate in France that was supposedly haunted. An unsuspecting grandson getting a call that both the fortune and estate had been left to him and him alone.
It was the kind of story you heard about and laughed, but as of a week ago; this was Timothy's life. He could have sold the old manor and kept the money, but quitting his day job, a bad breakup with his boyfriend, and a love of gothic novels compelled him to move to his late grandfather's estate and hide from the world like a Victorian widow. He was certainly dramatic enough to play the part. Almost no thought went into jumping on a plane to France with nothing but his clothes and the manuscript he swore he would finish one day. It only occurred to him on the flight that he now had the money and time to actually do it. The rest of the flight was spent trying to recall the conversational French he learned in highschool, and trying to make it look like he hadn't been crying and losing sleep for days. Both were more difficult than he wanted them to be. How did you say "Fuck" in French again?
He was fairly certain he remembered how to ask for a taxi, and by some miracle he remembered to write down the address. This turned out to be unnecessary. His grandfather's lawyer had sent a driver to pick him up in an expensive looking car and the man spoke just enough English to fill the gaps in his French. The drive was scenic, the city turning into fields, the fields into hills, and the hills into a lush forest. He was actually enjoying himself and let the peaceful scenery lull him into a temporary peace.
The Estate was farther away from civilization then he imagined, but seemed fitting for its cryptic reputation. He saw the roof of the manor over the tree tops and he was already amazed at the size of the place. Dirt road became paved driveway and he could only stare in open mouthed awe at the grand building. The wood and brick had darkened with age, vines climbed the walls and pointed roofs. The windows were all shut tight, obscured by thick drapes. Gargoyles lined the rooftop, most cracked and crumbling like fallen soldiers; all except one perched high above the main doors. It was beautiful and grotesque all at once.
He thought the whole thing was magnificent. A dark fairytale come to life.
A thin man in a blue suit greeted him as he stepped from the car and Timothy recognized his voice from the phone. The man was named Mr. Garnier, and had been his grandfather's lawyer for many years. He was in charge of settling all his late client’s affairs. He was jittery and there were dark circles carved underneath his twitching eyes, like he hadn't slept in days either. He rushed Timothy through the paperwork and kept glancing back towards the manor with a nervous jolt.
"There is one stipulation." The lawyer said, voice quaking. "Before ownership can be transferred over, you will need to stay in the manor for seven nights. Lord Laurent was very insistent on this."
"Good, I plan to stay longer," he replied, but it was an odd request. Once again, he should have put more thought into it, but in moments the keys were in his hands, and both the lawyer and driver sped off like they were fleeing. Timothy stood there, alone in the driveway, only just then feeling the weight of his actions. He wasn't even sure any of that encounter had been legal, but he was already there, and his curiosity outweighed his doubts. He glanced back up at the beautifully vile creature above the door, before going inside.
The first night was spent exploring the manor. The inside was almost dark as night and everything was covered in white sheets and a thin layer of dust. Of course, the lawyer failed to mention that there was no power. He tried flicking the light switches on and off with no results. He could have used his phone as a flashlight, but that would have been a waste of the elegant candelabras just waiting to be used. With candles lit, he wandered aimlessly through the old building. The inside was better maintained then the outside. He was surrounded by dark blues and only slightly tarnished golds. There were grand portraits whose eyes seemed to linger on him, expensive looking statues that had him glancing back over his shoulder, and odd trinkets from across the globe. The floors creaked with every step and there was a draft, but he liked to think it was all part of the charm.
He didn't go into every room, but he peeked inside open doors and identified 'landmarks' to find his way through the halls. He tried to open one of the window drapes, only to find that they were nailed to the wall. Foreboding?
The ceaseless darkness was throwing off his sense of
time and he wasn't sure how long he'd been wandering for. By the time he found the master bedroom his legs were lead and it was impossible to keep his eyes open. He dropped his bag to the floor and flopped onto the bed gracelessly. Not even the morbid thought that this had been the bed his dead grandfather slept in, was enough to deter him from rest.
He faded in and out of consciousness, never quite able to fall into a deep sleep. The dark was filled with strange noise. Creaking boards, and groaning walls. Whispered voices and heavy footsteps. Growls and scratches? He blamed at least half of it on bad dreams. Dreams of following eyes, endless corridors, and oppressive silence. Silence so palpably thick that he couldn't hear his own begging voice.
When he was awake and alert again, he checked the time on his phone. It was 10:00 am and with a begrudging moan, he pulled himself out of the bed, rustling up more dust. He still felt heavy and his eyes were crusted over, but he had things he needed to figure out.
He had completely abandoned his life in the spur of the moment, and was stuck in the middle of a country where he barely spoke the language. Worse, he was completely alone…
Part 2: https://mangothoughtswritingblog.blogspot.com/2023/06/mini-series-seven-nights-2.html
