Page 1 of Grotesque
There were three things I knew about Grandma Macky. One, she was batshit crazy, or so my mother said at least. I never actuallymetmy Grandma before she died, but it was obvious that her and mom hadn’t gotten along. Any time they spoke things would quickly escalate, ending with Mom slamming the phone down with an exasperated, “She’s nuts.”
Number two, she was filthy rich. Money had been found stashed in all sorts of odd nooks and crannies in all of her residences. Behind picture frames, stuffed into mattresses, and even within the walls of her pantry. Calling them “residences” was being generous – all three had been rotting away. It was a sad state she had existed in when she’d clearly had the means to live comfortably.
The third thing I knew about Grandma Macky, was that she had a laundry list of secrets. One of which was staring backat me with ominous arched windows for eyes, and a sweeping entryway as a gaping mouth. Unlike the other properties, Glamis stood polished and proud. Its dark paneled walls and verandah were gleaming, looking as though they’d been freshly oiled. The manor’s obvious grandeur and the quality of its intricate wooden balustrades and stone carvings were the only hints at just how old it was.
My thumb hovered over my mom’s name on my phone. I should call her. I should, but…
“I leave Glamis Manor in Bristol, Massachusetts to Sorcha Eleanor Grendel.”
“That hovel,” my mom had scoffed. Her eyes had rolled so far back in her head I thought they’d finally get stuck.
The attorney continued, “All property within the grounds will transfer to Sorcha on the condition she lives in the home for one year. In addition, she will receive the sum of $1,000,000 upon the end of the first year, and $500,000 each subsequent year she remains in residence, to a total sum of $7,000,000. In the event she leaves prior to the year’s end, Sorcha forfeits this gift and all her inheritance, including what has already been bequeathed. Should any one of the family try to interfere with this, they too shall be stripped of their inheritance. I have left each of you more than enough, a reflection of our relationship in the living world.”
The will went on. As the attorney spoke, he had slid a copy of the notarized deed over to me, my name already on it in a flowing script. He’d explained Bristol was actually in Rhode Island, but that it had been a part of Massachusetts once. The rush of blood pounding in my ears drowned out anything else he said.
Not much was known about Glamis. Mom and her brothers hadn’t seen it since they were kids, and all they remembered was it had been creepy and practically falling down. It had neverbeen a manor at all, Mom argued, but Macky had insisted on calling it that anyways. My mother and uncles sure as hell hadn’t known I would be written into the will, and at the mention of the amount of money I was to receive, I felt as if there’d been some horrible mistake. The way they’d all looked at me, it was like I’d stolen something out from under them. Betrayed them without even meaning to. Without even havingmetthe woman. They did seem a little less vindictive about the money when they heard it was Glamis I was to inherit. As they were all quick to tell me, Glamis had withered long before Macky passed; ceased to exist. Was as good as a ruin.
The three of them had each been willed one of Macky’s other remaining homes with a fair share of money. Of course, they had dug through the houses like cockroaches and pilfered her hidden stashes, gorging themselves. There had to be thousands, if not almost a million in cash for them to divide on top of what they called their “measly inheritance”.
Standing in the curved gravel drive and staring up at what was to be my new home, I was inclined to agree with them. Whatever they remembered from their childhood, the place had clearly fared better than any of them imagined.
Macky hadn’t just left me a house, she’d left me a mansion that looked like it had walked straight out of a gothic horror film. And it was no ruin.
It was surely an elaborate joke. A reflection of our relationship? How did not having one with her entitle me tothis?
The hair prickling sensation that I was being watched crawled along the back of my neck. Cold, uncomfortable awareness slid down my body slow as oil, and I adjusted the heavydufflebag on my shoulder.
It was absurd to think anyone could be watching me when I was the only one here. And yet, the unblinking stone eyesof the gargoyles glaring down at me from their perches made me uneasy. The “manor” looked more like a castle, with its stone carvings and stained-glass windows. Sure, it was old, and something felt a little not right about it, but it was most certainly anythingbuta hovel. My eyes slowly travelled down the turret that stood proudly at its center; its magnificent windows framed with their pale grey curtains. An upper balcony with a stone railing wrapped around the right side of the house, its curvature reminding me of a smirk. I didn’t like that. Didn’t like that the manor had the features of a living thing.
I turned my attention to the woods that crowded the eastern side of the property. All those dark trunks and tangled branches did nothing to ease the sense of foreboding that seemed to blanket the place.
I walked a little to my left so I could see around the back. From where I stood, I could just glimpse what looked to be a wild garden, or a decorative hedge, maybe? White pebbles covered the ground, winding in eccentric patterns. Paths, I guessed. The vegetation rose up behind the manor like a giant gothic frame, crowned by thorns and assorted colored flowers.
I swallowed as a chill raked a cold hand up my back and turned to look back towards the entrance. The long driveway was empty, save for a few scattered leaves across the gravel. At its end stood the massive black iron gates. They had swung open smoothly on my approach, no screech of rust, no cobwebs, no overgrown ivy as I had expected. It was perfect, almost too perfect.
Why did you keep this masterpiece hidden away Macky? And why leave it to me?
I kicked my car door shut, the sound a startling shot in the otherwise silent air. It was the auditory equivalent of a nail slamming home into the lid of a coffin.
I gave a choked laugh. It was official, this place gave me the fucking creeps.
I wasn’t superstitious by any means. Despite being a lover of the horror genre, I had never believed in ghosts or demons, but approaching the front door I couldn’t help but wonder if I would finally come face to face with something that went bump in the night.
I paused at the top of the steps, admiring the stonework and the handsome oak of the thick double doors.GlamisManorwas inscribed in iron over the arch, the cursive oddly familiar.
That odd feeling rose within me once more, and I shut my eyes.
The second Mom found out about the true state of this place she would try to strong-arm me into giving it to her. As far as she knew it was a ruin like all the others. Already she had tried to talk me into splitting the money that was “rightfully hers”. My uncles would be at my throat next. It didn’t matter than the will had stated they would lose everything if they interfered. Greed had a way of blinding people.
I loved my family, but they had their…quirks. Mom was a narcissist, Uncle Hank was a drunk, and Uncle Ken, the youngest of the three, was a mix of both. It was a hard thing, to love people who only lovedyouwhen they got their way.
“What the fuck, Macky,” I breathed.
There were no cameras that I could see in the entryway and none when I first opened the door with the heavy brass key the attorney had given me, just a broad marble foyer and dark staircase leading up to the next level. Cameras or no cameras, the nagging sense of eyes on me wouldn’t let up.
My attention caught on the small table in the center of the room, where a welcome basket sat proudly, a card tied to the front. Reaching for it, I peeled the envelope open with my nail and shook the small rectangle of heavy parchment free.
Welcome to Glamis Manor
