• The letter that he had received, written in beautifully handwritten calligraphy, had said that he was selected out of many other candidates. He was to arrive at the estate, a three floor, ten bedrooms, thirty bathrooms, and a grand total of seven hundred fifty room house, moreover a mansion. Why exactly he was chosen, he didn’t know, nor for what exactly, either. All it said was that he was chosen for the inheritance on this one mansion.

    A chauffer had arrived in a black limousine, and the chauffer was wearing a three-piece suit: Black jacket, black pants, black loafers, black socks, white shirt and black tie. To complete the ensemble, he even wore black, reflective aviator glasses which encompassed a decent amount of either side of his head.

    “Hello, sir!” the chauffer called to him. “Shall we be leaving immediately?” The man peered to either side of him, completely packed as the letter had said.

    “Well, when I get my stuff into the car, at least,” he laughed out. “By the way, call me John.”

    “Very well, John sir,” the chauffer replied as he opened the door. He lifted the luggage methodically, placing it into the limo one after the other. “Please, John, get into the car. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there.”

    “Alright,” John murmured as he clambered into the back of the limo. The chauffer, now finished loading the three well-packed suitcases into the trunk, had closed the trunk on top of the cases and had already poised himself in front of the steering wheel. The inside was plush, with comfy seats and even a bar on the side. John, though, had never drunk a sip of alcohol in his life, and he wasn’t going to start drinking today. A digital clock, it reading 1:15, was also visible in the console just underneath the window leading to the driver.
    “Uh… sir… chauffer?” John asked the chauffer who turned his head to look back at his. “About how long until we arrive at the house?”

    “Approximately forty five minutes, Jonathan sir,” he replied. “By the way, the name’s Franklin, but my friends call me Frank. I’m a bit proper compared to the stereotypical personality to go along with the name, but it doesn’t matter, does it?”

    “No, it doesn’t, Frank,” John responded as the car lurched slightly: They had begun their journey to the mansion.


    After the forty five minutes had passed, they had finally come upon the destination, the mansion. It stood at least four stories high, which is one more than the letter had mentioned: perhaps an attic that isn’t counted as a floor. Everything was rather ornate as well, with expensive everything including doors and curtains. John really didn’t know what to say.

    “Welcome to your new home, Jonathan sir!” Frank said back to John. “We’ll be departing the limo immediately. The butler will be out shortly to assist with your luggage.”

    “Thank you, Frank,” John replied. “If I had money, I’d give you a tip.”

    “It’s completely alright,” Frank said as he got out of the car. He quickly opened John’s door, and then stood to the side waiting for his exit.

    “Thank you Frank.”

    “No problem, sir.” After John left the car, Frank closed the door and quickly grabbed his luggage from the trunk in the back. “So, who is this butler?”

    “Ah, Jeffery is a great man, and loves to help people when he can,” Frank explained. “He’ll most likely be wearing the same outfit as I, minus the glasses of course.” Frank laughed a little, and John joined him as well. When they approached the redwood door painted a deep red color, Frank knocked thrice on the knocker.

    A butler with the same outfit as Frank with a small mustache decorating his upper lip opened the door. “Welcome, new master. I am the butler of this abode. My name is Jeffery, sir.” Jeffery's voice had a British accent, and was also calm.

    “Thank you, Jeffery,” John replied, “my name is John.”

    “Ah, welcome Jonathan sir,” he replied. Jeffery then gestured to Frank who quickly took his luggage off into the house. John could hear him grumbling quietly. “Please, do come in.”

    John entered the house, and was completely breathless at the size, and beauty, of the entry hall in this mansion. To the left, a small spiral staircase which leads up the three floors ascended peacefully. A table, which came up to John’s knees, was placed atop a golden colored rug, seemingly scotch-guarded as it had not even a smudge of dirt visible. Four chairs were even around the perimeter of the table, with the same coloration as the golden carpet, and also had red trimming.

    “Wow, this place is beautiful!” John couldn’t restrain himself, and he plopped into the nearest chair on one of the shorter ends of the table. He turned to see a piano resting against the wall, then Jeffery was quickly clouding his view.

    “Would you like some tea, sir?”

    “Yes, please.”

    “Right away, sir,” Jeffery replied as he hurried up the stairs, then down the far hall to John. Hardly able to keep his wonder to himself, he began peering around the corner down the hall, just one floor beneath Jeffery. A few doors, the same color as the entrance door, were on either side of the hall. At the end, though, was just a wall.

    “I wonder what’s down there,” John thought aloud in a whisper.

    “John, your tea is currently steeping,” a voice echoed. It was Jeffery, and he had a tea cup with a small bag inside it. “Let it sit for a few minutes, sir, and it will be ready to drink.”

    “Thank you, Jeffery,” John replied happily. “Say, could you tell me about this house?”

    “Me, sir?” Jeffery asked politely.

    “Yes, you, Jeffery.”

    “Alright, sir, but it might be a boring story.”

    “It’s alright, since I have nothing better to do at this moment.”

    “Very well… there are about seven hundred fifty rooms in this house, with about fifteen recreation rooms on the ground floor. On the second floor reside the kitchen and the servant’s quarters, including me and Frank the chauffer. On the third floor is where the owner’s family resides. Since you are the current owner, you shall rest in the door at the farthest end of the hall on the third floor. History speaking, nothing of importance has ever occurred here.”

    “Thank you, Jeffery. Now the tea should be perfect.” John lifted the tea cup to his mouth and sipped. It wasn’t hot at all, and the earl-grey tea slipped down his throat. He had finished the first cup in a moment, then set the cup back onto the small plate. Just before he could speak, he could hear sparking sounds emitting from the walls and even the ceiling and floor. The lights flickered a moment, pulsed, then went out completely. A sound, much like a small wisp of wind, echoed through the chambers. John looked around, trying to see the source of the sound, to no avail. When he looked down the left hall, though, he saw a strange glow. It was ethereal, and appeared to have a shape alike to a human. A voice began reverberating off the walls, but was completely unidentifiable for some reason that John did not know the answer to.

    Suddenly, the lights came back on, and Jeffery was sitting in the chair across from John. “Jeffery,” John commanded, and Jeffery perked up then stood. “What just happened?”

    “Ah, the electricity does fluctuate from time to time, sir.”

    “…did you hear anything?”

    “What do you mean, sir?”

    “Like a slight gust of wind, Jeffery,” John finished, then attempted to mimic the sound to no good avail.

    “I heard no sound at all, Jonathan sir.”

    “…I also saw something, at the end of that hall,” John pointed to the far hall on the left of the mansion.

    “What did you see, a door, sir?”

    “No, it was a glowing light… almost like there was a person standing there. I even heard a voice, but I couldn’t make out what it was saying.”

    “I’m sorry, sir, but there is nothing down that hall. The recreation rooms have not been used for years, and there shouldn’t be anyone down there in the first place. Perhaps I should get you some more tea, to calm your nerves before you go retire at this hour.” John, of course, was confused.

    “Retire at this hour?” John asked curiously. “Why would I retire now? It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon!”

    “Perhaps you think, sir, but it is ten o’clock according to the clock in here and the sun outside.” Jeffery gestured to the large clock in the foyer.

    “What? When did… how… what just happened? What happened to those eight hours?”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir, but I shall escort you to your room if you would be so inclined.”

    “Oh…” John shook his head in an attempt to jar himself back to reality. “Thank you, Jeffery.”

    “No problem, Jonathan sir.” John stood up, with Jeffery standing next to the table almost directly in front of him. “This way, sir,” Jeffery said, showing John to the stairs.

    “After you, Jeffery,” John conceded.

    “Thank you, sir,” Jeffery replied joyously, then moved steadily up the stairs with John in tow. They passed the second floor, and then arrived at the third. “This way, sir,” Jeffery said as he progressed down the hall.

    A minute later, as they arrived at the end of the hall, Jeffery opened a door labeled “Master’s Bedroom.” “In here is where you shall sleep, sir.”

    “Thank you, Jeffery. I think I will retire for the night, though.” John yawned unexpectedly, but kept a straight face.

    “Very well. If you are in need of my services, just ring the bell alongside your bed. It will awaken me, and I’ll be ready to help you in any way you need.”

    “Thank you,” John said as he stepped into his room and closed the door. A bit tired, he didn’t even glance around the room to take in his surroundings. “Wow, I’m beat,” he said as he plopped onto the bed and fell into a peaceful sleep.


    Later that night, moreover early next morning, the voiced had echoed yet again. Awakening John from his slumber, he heard a wail echoing through the corridors. It sounded like a voice, but no words could be made out. Then the wailing suddenly stopped, and heavy footsteps became audible outside his room. Each step louder than the previous, and John’s heart racing, he didn’t know what to do. With about a second gap between each step, he knew whatever it was had a slow pace. Before he knew it, though, the steps were right outside his door. His heart was racing so fast that he could feel blood rushing to his head. Heat had encased his body, and beads of sweat poured down his head.

    “He… hello?” John managed out weakly, but with no response. He breathed, then said, “Answer me, please.” No response yet again. With anger instead of trepidation, he focused it into one last outburst. “I am the master of this home, and demand you identify yourself!” With no response, his anxiety returned quickly, and he began pacing. He wanted to call Jeffery, but he also didn’t want anything to happen to him.

    “Sir?” a voice randomly came.

    “Jeffery? Is that you?”

    “Yes, Jonathan sir, it is. What is the problem?”

    “I thought there was someone outside my door, and they weren’t answering me.”

    “Ah, that happens a lot. It’s nothing to be worried about, sir.” John opened the door into the hallway to see Jeffery standing in the middle of his doorway in the hallway.

    “You have no idea how great it is to see you, Jeffery. Please, come in.”

    “Thank you, sir,” he replied as he stepped into John’s room. “I haven’t been in here since the last master.”

    “Who was the last master?” John asked.

    “A good friend of mine named William. William Robertson.” The name sounded familiar, too familiar.

    “William Robertson…" John repeated, thinking to what he has both heard and read, then remembered an obituary of him. "He died eighty years ago, Jeffery. Who are you, really?”

    “My name is unimportant, brat,” the man replied, losing his proper accent. “All you need to know is that you are one of the only threats to my plan!” John, out of anger, took a punch at this butler-appearing hooligan, only to have it phase through his head. He laughed loudly, using the sadly quintessential mad-scientist laugh. “As you are now, you have no hope of even touching me,” the man took a punch on John, landing it on his cheek, “but I can kill you just the same.” John started backpedaling towards the wall, hoping to find some way out.

    “W-w-w-w-what’s g-g-going on?” John stammered out.

    “I’m just ending your meddling before it even begins. To tell the truth, you’re a potential psychic, hence your ability to thwart my plans. No matter, however,” he quickly moved to John’s side and opened a trap door in the wall, “since you will be dead soon enough!” He took one last punch on his stomach, causing him to lurch backwards. Suddenly, John was falling down the shaft, only to come to a thunderous halt.

    “I’d say see you in the afterlife, kid, but I doubt we’ll meet each other again!” the man shouted down the shaft, then closed the door. John could feel his consciousness fading steadily, until he slipped into oblivion.


    “John!” a voice echoed with a British accent. “John, wake up! You’re not dead, wake up!”