In the heart of a forgotten town, where shadows danced with the wind, there stood an old and also forgotten mansion. Regal in its day, its walls now whispered its secrets, and the windows, clouded with dust, concealed its sordid history within.
Beth, intrigued by the old house, wanted to see inside, purely out of curiosity and her love of history. She majored in history, which seemed like a lifetime ago now, and her curious nature, while helping to create the knowledgeable woman she was today, often got her into trouble.
The bolts on the front gates were rusted shut, but Beth found an opening in the decaying hedgerow at the side of the house. Being small enough to squeeze through the gap, she just couldn’t help herself; she had to see if she could find a way in.
She made her way to the front door, and as she suspected, it was locked. There was a pathway leading to the side of the old building, so she followed it, hoping it may lead to a back door. The windows in the house were tall and covered with debris. She stopped and tried to look through one, but couldn’t see in. However, she did notice that one of the smaller panes was broken and the window was very slightly open. Putting it down to vandalism, she counted her blessings and took it as an invitation to go inside.
The window was only a couple of feet off the ground, so she pushed it open, and it was a breeze to climb through. Once inside what she thought to be the main room, she walked slowly and carefully, mindful of every step. She had no idea what or who was inside, and she didn’t want to chance bumping into anything. It was dusk outside, so it was hard to see anything clearly. The air felt heavy, and it was creepy; there was no getting away from that, but she was here now, so she intended to explore. She let herself wander around aimlessly, her mind occupied with thoughts of what it must have been like to live here all those years ago.
She explored the rooms, not touching anything, wishing she had thought to bring a torch with her. Going from room to room, taking it all in, and eventually making her way up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she could see that it led to a few bedrooms, but her attention was caught by a door, right in front of her. It didn’t look like any of the other doors down the corridor, so without a second thought, she had to see if it was unlocked. It must lead somewhere, she thought! She very carefully wrapped her hand around the old ornate doorknob and turned it. Click! It wasn’t locked and swung open effortlessly, like it was used every day.
Behind it were steep stairs, probably leading to another bedroom, she thought. Maybe a servant’s room. She could see a dim flickering light up there too, which made her heartbeat faster but not enough to deter her from going up. She climbed the stairs slowly, again mindful of the age of the old house, and made her way to the top. To her surprise, there was another very old ornate door; this time the door was slightly ajar. She could see this was where the flickering light was coming from, so she braced herself and pushed the door open. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but nothing happened. She breathed a long sigh of relief and walked in.
The room wasn’t a bedroom; it was more like an attic, a storage place for unused furniture and relics. There was a table in the corner with lit candles on it. While she was concerned, as someone must have lit the candles in the room, she was also distracted by the open book on the table. Excited to find some evidence of inhabitance in the place, she walked over and picked it up. Captivated by her find, she didn’t see the old door starting to close. When it slammed shut, she jumped and instantly ran over and tried to open it. It was shut tight. Panicking now, wondering what could have caused it, she frantically kept pulling on the handle and knocking loudly on the wood, as if anyone would ever hear it.
The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the only light came from the few flickering candles. She chastised herself. “Why am I so stupid?” She said aloud. Why would there be lighted candles in a deserted house? Is anyone else trapped in here with me too? She thought.
As the minutes turned into hours, Beth’s spirits began to wane. She could hear the faint whispers of the house, as if it were alive, breathing, and watching her. It felt like the eyes on the old portrait paintings were looking directly at her, piercing her soul. Her imagination was on fire, she was scared, and she hadn’t had time yet to process the predicament she was in.
There was only one window in the room, and it had bars on it. She made a futile attempt to bend them, but it was no use. Thankfully one of the panes was slightly broken, allowing fresh air into the room, all be it—not a lot. To keep from panicking, she knew she needed to occupy herself to give herself a chance to gather her thoughts. The best idea she had was to explore what was around her. After all, that was why she was here, wasn’t it, she thought sarcastically. There were no signs of another presence and no dead bodies that she had seen, not yet anyway.
As the night became darker, trying to ignore how thirsty she was, she wandered further into the room. As the moon rose, its pale glow cast its light through the cracked window, providing much appreciated light but also creating more shadows. She followed the light with her eyes, taking in the part of the attic that was illuminated, and noticed a distinct crack in the floorboards. Hesitantly, she walked over to it and lifted it; to her amazement and excitement, she saw what looked like an old journal.
Forgetting her plight for just a moment, she carefully picked up the old journal and blew the dust off its cover. She opened the cover, and there was an inscription inside. It read, “This journal belongs to Henrietta Gage, a gift from my mother, July 1888.”
Beth held the book up to the light and began to read. The pages, yellowed and worn with age, told the tale of a young Henrietta, who had been locked in the attic over a century ago. Her story was of love, betrayal, abuse, and a curse that bound her to this awful house.
Beth’s heart raced as she read the final entry. ”To break the curse, I must find the hidden key in the heart of the house; this is the only way I can ever be free.” Something told Beth that Henrietta was referring to this room; after all, it was the only room that had any light in it, all these years later. She couldn’t help wondering about Henrietta’s life and how awful it must have been at the hands of a jealous husband in a prearranged marriage. Her eyes welled up with compassion for the young woman, which stirred up a sense of wanting to help in some way.
She needed to find that key. She had to find more candles too, before the others burned out and left her in complete darkness, except for the fading moonlight. Beth looked around and saw some old furniture pieces; they were dimly lit by the moon, so it was a good place to start. She slowly opened drawers and cupboards, as God knows what could be lurking in them, and found most of them empty. However, she did find a few more candles, which made her smile. More out of relief than delight.
She lit a couple of the new candles and took one with her to venture deeper into the vast room. She checked all the furniture, old toy boxes, backs of paintings, and even the old clothes and shoes that were stored there. She didn’t find any keys. She was fascinated by the old letters she found and promised herself that she was going to come back if she managed to get out alive. She knew she was trespassing but truly doubted anyone cared.
Feeling somewhat frustrated and at a loss for where else to look, she sat on the floor and pondered where she would hide a key if it was her. There were only two places she hadn’t searched. Ignoring her growling stomach and dry throat, she set about scouring the floorboards and the walls. Maybe there was another loose floorboard or loose brick in the wall. She checked everything that looked promising and finally struck gold. At the back of the room, there was one brick that stood out slightly from the rest. She tried to grab it with her fingers, but it wasn’t protruding enough for her to get a firm hold. She looked around and remembered seeing a pair of scissors in a sewing box; perfect, she thought, they should do the trick.
She opened the scissors and plied one of the blades into the crack beside the brick; the cement was soft from the damp, and it moved easily. She pulled it the rest of the way out, unable to believe what she was seeing. Staring at her was a small ornate gold key, its surface etched with ancient symbols.
With trembling hands, Beth ran to the door and tried to insert the key into the lock. How can this be? she thought; it doesn’t fit. Feeling confused and deflated, she sank to the floor and let the tears slowly roll down her cheeks. “What now?” She said aloud, her only hope of getting out of there—gone!
The minutes passed; her stomach was still growling, but a thought suddenly came to her. If the key doesn’t open this door, then which door does it open? Feeling slightly rejuvenated, she got up and looked around the room again. It must be hidden behind something, camouflaged from sight. She remembered the big old wardrobe where she had found the candles and hurried over to it. It was big and heavy, and she knew she couldn’t possibly move it, but maybe she could find a way to cut into the back of it. She once again grabbed the scissors, opened the wardrobe door, and made sure it was lodged in place. She wasn’t going to get caught out a second time. She leaned inside and felt for the back panel. It was wood of some sort, but not as thick or heavy as the rest of the piece. She held her breath, and praying for luck to be on her side, she slammed the blades of the scissors into the wood. It penetrated! Motivated, she did it again and again until there was a big enough hole for her to pull some of the panel away. The sun was beginning to rise, slowly lighting up the room, providing enough light so that she could see something shiny twinkling back at her. She kept stabbing at the panel and pulling more of it away until it was exposed—a golden door with the same unique markings on it as the key.
This time her tears were of joy. She put the key in the lock, the mechanism clicked, and the door creaked open, revealing a staircase down into a tunnel. She didn’t care where it led; she knew it was her way out. She grabbed Henrietta’s journal, climbed through the hole she had made in the panel, and headed down the stairs as quickly as she could. As she descended, she felt the heaviness of the air lift and the whispering sounds fade; it was as if the house itself had sighed in relief.
The tunnel led to a garden gate outside of the mansion’s grounds; she was free. She had not only freed herself; she had broken the curse of the tormented soul of Henrietta Gage. As she walked away, she looked back at the ancient house; it looked kind of beautiful wrapped in the glow of the morning sun but still old and forgotten. Beth knew she would be back; she was going to find out more about Henrietta Gage and maybe write her story. She would be prepared next time, though, that was for sure.
Henrietta’s journal had given her hope and determination. The information about the hidden key was her only way out; how could she ever thank her? Being a prisoner in that room for so long must have been beyond painful; she cannot imagine what Henrietta must have endured. She was determined that the world would know about the life of this woman and the curse of the old mansion in the forgotten town.
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