Page 30 of The Ghost of Ellwood
“I think you know what I’m going to say.” I took a drink, holding eye contact over the cup.
Her face crumbled. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cross. I should’ve told you everything about that house, and—”
“Yes, you should’ve. It’s against the law, I believe, to withhold information of that sort. A buyer has a right to know if there have been deaths on the property.”
“Actually, here in Connecticut, a stigmatized property such as your manor is defined as nonmaterial. That means neither I nor the seller were obligated to disclose the deaths. Now, if you had provided a written request about the history of the house, it would be up to the seller to disclose it, but you didn’t.”
“Wow. And you’re happy with deceiving people?”
“Look.” Caroline slapped her hands on the tabletop. “Mr. Henderson said to sell that damn house no matter what it took. If that meant keeping some things hush-hush from an ignorant outsider—no offense—then so be it. If you were that worried about it being haunted, you should’ve looked into the history yourself. Or hell, talked to one of the locals. There are two notoriously haunted houses in Ivy Grove, and you’re living in one of them.”
“The other is the mad house, right? Redwood Manor?”
“So youhavebeen talking to the locals.” She snatched her coffee up and took a drink. “Nowthathouse is a tough one to sell. It’s been empty for years.”
“It’s part of the haunted tour, isn’t it? I think I saw a sign outside.”
“Yep. The tour sells out nearly every night that it runs. Your manor has a dark history, but it’s nothing compared to that house, Mr. Cross. The deaths in your place were accidents, well except for the two suicides. But in the Redwood home…it’s not just deathsonthe property…it’s a kind of curse that seems to follow everyone who’s ever owned it. Not even a miracle could sell that house.”
“What happened at Redwood?”
“Where do you want me to start?” she asked, throwing her hands up. “The mysterious death of the original owner? The woman who went nuts and killed her kids? The boy who murdered his family as they slept peacefully in their beds? Or how about the family who moved out and died a week later in a murder-suicide?”
“Jesus.”
“Tell me about it. I won’t go near the place.”
I stood from the table and pushed in the chair. “Well, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure speaking with you—”
“Oh, don’t be that way,” she said. “I did try to warn you when I gave you the keys.”
“I asked if the house was haunted, and you said no.”
“Er, yes, but surely you couldfeelsomething wasn’t quite right there. Everyone who even drives past Ellwood can feel it.”
When I’d first seen Blackwell Manor and walked the property, there hadn’t been any of the unease she described. I wondered what that said about me.
“Have a good day, Caroline.”
“Ben!” She jumped up and grabbed my arm. Her imploring expression made me feel kind of guilty for being angry. “Are you wanting to sell the manor? I’m very sorry for not being completely honest prior to the sell, but you don’t have to stay there. I’m sure there’s someone who’d be willing to take it off your hands.”
Unlikely. In order to sell last time, she’d had to trick an unsuspecting buyer. She wouldn’t get that lucky again. But even if shecouldfind someone interested…did I want to part with the manor?
Could I leave Theo?
I knew, without a doubt, the answer to both questions.
“No,” I said, gently pulling my arm away from her. “The manor is mine.”
I left the coffeehouse and began the trek back home. The crisp air helped calm the anger in my heart. The smell of apples, hay, and firewood came with the gentle breeze, and I breathed it in. It was easy to blame Caroline for my sudden anger, but it wasn’t her fault.
I was angry at the world, really, for ever making it a crime for people of the same sex to love each other, for making Theo hide who he was for all the years he lived. He’d died without ever knowing the freedom of loving openly.
As I turned onto Ellwood, my eyes watered.Thatwas the true cause of my writer’s block this afternoon. Making a decision on which path to follow in the story was hard because my mind wasn’t in it.
I couldn’t forget how Theo stared at me before fading from sight this morning; how he’d said he couldn’t experience anything anymore. It wasn’t fair.
The trees in the front yard of Blackwell Manor stood tall, their orange and yellow leaves softly ruffling in the wind. I watched the sun break through the branches and noticed how the light touched the leaves in a way that made them appear as if they glowed. As if they were set aflame.
