April 5th, 1907
The sky held the barest glimmer of light this morning as I was jostled out of bed by the sound of a horrific shriek. I fumbled with the matches to light the lantern as my hands shook and another bone-chilling scream echoed throughout the manor. The lantern slowly filled the room with sliding shadows as all went quiet minus the howling wind of the moors.
I had placed a book in front of the door in order to avoid any issue of feeling locked in like the previous evening. I crept slowly down the dark hallway, the sequence of portraits of the Cunningham family on the walls greeted me as I passed before fading into darkness. I paused as I reached the top of the steps. Listening out into the dark silence.
Only wind broke the silence, its constant howl beginning to feel like a nuisance in this moment. I waited and listened. Feeling foolish I began to descend, one step at a time. Another scream froze me in place only to be jolted by a force from behind. “MOVE!” yelled Mr. Douglas as he sprinted down the steps, lantern in hand.
I followed in quick pursuit as Mr. Douglas ran through the dining area an into the kitchen. There, sat upon the floor, with her back against the wall and one bloody palm outstretched was a young woman. Mr. Douglas quickly ran over and checked if she was okay. She made no eye contact with him. Instead her fearful eyes were fixated upon the lone window in this room. Mr. Douglas consoled her as he wrapped her bleeding hand in a cloth and yelled out for Mrs. Bristle. I could tell that Mr. Douglas cares deeply for this woman.
We led the young woman to a chair and began to tend her wounds. It did take a good while for her to calm down. It wasn’t until the sun fully peaked over the horizon that Mrs. Bristle came to the kitchen and the girl finally calmed enough to tell us what happened.
The woman’s told me her name is Ms. Enfield and she is another serving girl here at the manor. She rose early to begin preparing breakfast and as she began to slice some potato, she had the feeling she was being watched. As looked towards the window, she states she saw a pair of red eyes staring back at her. She screamed and the eyes disappeared, only to return again. As she reeled, she slipped upon her apron and cut her hand as she was still wielding the blade. The eyes supposedly continued to watch her until Mr. Douglas reached the kitchen.
I wonder if she is telling the truth. I don’t know this woman so it would be off putting for me to make assumptions, but perhaps she was just catching reflections of a lantern or candle in the kitchen. Or perhaps even an early morning carriage that had to stop along the road. Whatever it was, I could sense the fear was real.
Mr. Douglas berated Mrs. Bristle about her tardiness in coming to check on the sound. Mrs. Bristle reminded Mr. Douglas that she is a heavy sleeper and did not hear Ms. Enfield scream. Mrs. Bristle then came over and consoled the young lady and bid her to rest in the study for a while while she would take care of her duties this morning.
When breakfast was ready, Mrs. Bristle asked if I would mind eating breakfast in the Lord’s chambers. She felt he was still too ill to be out of bed but would probably welcome my company for breakfast. I agreed.
As we entered Chris’s chambers, Mrs. Bristle set the tray upon the nightstand and moved to open the curtains and allow the daylight in. As the morning sun cast it’s light upon my old friend, I had to hold back a gasp. It did not look like the Christopher Cunningham I remembered. Sure, it has been a few years since I last met with him, but this man looked dead. Pale blotchy skin that seemed to sink and lay flat upon his bones.
Chris opened his eyes slowly and looked at me. A wry smile curled upon his dry lips as he said my name and greeted me. My heart warmed as I once again recognized my old friend and benefactor. I took his hand and told him how glad I was to see him.
We spoke for hours about old times and Liverpool. We spoke about the business and the late Mrs. Cunningham. I felt my visit here was doing some good as Mrs. Bristle mentioned to me that she hasn’t seen him in such high spirits for quite some time.
Over tea, I questioned Chris about the strange letters he had been sending. A pall fell upon him as told me that the moors were haunted and cursed. That a beast was roaming the lands and that he sees strange lights at night that wake him from his slumber. He says he is too frail and late in life to worry about his own life but he worries for the lives of his servants.
Then he mentions the book. I ask him where it came from but he doesn’t remember. He says it has always been here. I tell him that can’t be true because I would have remembered. He says it has always been here. He becomes frantic. Repeating the same thing over and over again before he starts yelling, “It has always been here!”
Mrs. Bristle rushes in to tell me that it would be best to let Lord Cunningham rest some more. She mentions that these outbursts are common and that it was nothing I did to make him act that way. It was the first time I had ever heard Chris raise his voice.
After spending the afternoon reading in the garden, my curiosity got the better of me and I wanted to speak with Chris once more this day. I headed up but the door to his chamber was locked. Why would a dying old man need to lock his own door in his own manor?
I knocked and Mrs. Bristle opened the door and looked upon me with a countenance of disdain. I asked if I was intruding and she sternly told me that I was already told not to bother Lord Cunningham for the rest of the day.
I tried to step past her into the room but she motioned the door towards me barring the entrance. I scolded that she was in service to Lord Cunningham and I was his guest. I assured her that her job would be hers no longer if I was refused to speak with my friend. Then I barged into the room.
Mrs. Bristle protested but Chris looked over and told her that it was okay and that he was fine. She stepped out of the room, but I feel she didn’t go very far. I do not trust that woman. Why would she try to stop me from seeing my friend?
Chris and I spoke late into the night. Not wanting to set off another outburst, I avoided all questions about the book or recent occurrences here at the manor. Instead, I focused on the good memories of my old friend.
This was part two of this actual play of English Eerie. You can find part one here
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