Legends of Windemere

Lalaurie Mansion

“I hope you realize that shooting her might not work,” Max says as he looms out of the solid wall. The yellow-tinted ghost scratches at the gash across his throat, which drips harmless, star-like blood. “You only have two choices, Cook. Go back downstairs and call to apologize or keep climbing and make things worse. I guess you could climb up and apologize in person. That might be better.”

“Nice try, but Max wouldn’t suggest any of those options,” Gemma replies while she hooks her arm around the ladder. A violent tremor shakes the building and a cart full of towels falls into the shaft. “I take it you’re listening, Dawn. At first, I thought all of this was done by special effects or hallucinogenic gases that are pumped throughout the building. Then I went to that abandoned play area. Made no sense that the kids were safe while the kidnappers were stumbling into traps. Let’s remember that they had to have been down there for hours, so why didn’t they set anything off before? I’m thinking it was for my benefit because you don’t want me to leave the game. That means, you’re not going to kill me until you have to.”

“Does she have to?” asks the phantom while drifting toward a door. Max throws them open in time for a woman to fall backwards and plunge into the shadows. “Guess you’re not going to shoot her. What about Corvus? Any plan for him?”

“You will find out when I get there, Addison.”

“My name is Max.”

“Max is dead and I’m not in the mood for this game.”

The spirit shrieks as it is torn in half, balled up like a piece of paper, and launched through the distant ceiling. With a dull groan, a metal flower pot from the rough falls into the fresh hole and rapidly bounces around the shaft. Gemma watches to see if it will hit her, but the movements are too chaotic to be sure. Clambering up a few more feet, the detective leaps for the open doorway and scrambles onto solid ground. She is about to take a look at the flower pot when it hits the ladder and ricochets toward her. With less than a second to react, she jumps to the side with enough force to go through the wall. She scrambles back into the hallway in time to see another guest emerge and get decapitated by the projectile. The body scratches where its head used to be, shrugs, and returns to its room as if nothing has happened.

“Still have forty floors to go,” Gemma mutters while she wipes what she thinks is plaster dust off her clothes. Getting some in her mouth, she is surprised to find that the powder is really sugar. “If your intention is to make me continue playing the game then you’re failing. How about you act like an adult for once and tell me what’s going on? None of these shocking events that have become tedious. Just stop throwing this tantrum and we’ll talk.”

“Do you promise to listen?” Dawn asks from a loudspeaker.

“As long as you stop hurting everyone.”

“Consider it done, but the doors stay locked.”

“How do I get up?”

Grinding gears echo from the elevator shaft as a platform rises, smears of blood on the tiles from those that fell. Stepping onto the shaky lift, Gemma rubs her badge and stares into the darkness above. A black feather falls on her face before small lights appear in place of the missing ladder. Their shadows moving along the ground, the ravens fly in tight circles that mesmerize the detective. She shakes her head clear when the platform moves, the corners creating sparks as they drag along the walls. The ascent is slow and jerky, which makes Gemma fear that she has walked into a trap and will be dropped at any second. She stands with her legs wide and changes her position whenever the platform dips even an inch.

A chorus of snake-like hisses makes the detective draw her gun and watch for serpents falling from above. Instead, all of the doors open and she drifts by to see the guests returning to their rooms. None of the people notice Gemma as they march out of the stairwells, their faces devoid of emotion. Whenever she passes the hospital floor, she sees that all of the employees are standing in the hallway. The unmoving figures resemble statues with their heads tilted back to stare at the ceiling and arms spread out. As the detective continues to the penthouse, the only sounds that remain are the cawing of ravens.

Thornewood Castle

“What’s happening, Max? Are you still there?” Gemma asks in a panic. Sitting at the bar, she pushes her drink away and heads for a corner table to avoid the curious stares of those around her. “It sounds like a tornado over there. Did something shatter? Come on, old man, and talk to me.”

With an old-fashioned click, the phone turns off and begins rapidly pinging as twenty photos arrive. Gemma cycles through the pictures that are mostly of a hazy figure standing amid a storm of blurred papers. One shows her the dress and tuxedo, which she thinks are hanging from a rack until she zooms in to their necklines. The clothing is hovering off the ground, each one having an arm around the waist of the other. Feeling sick and anxious, the pale detective swipes to the final picture. She nearly crushes the phone when she sees Max’s body in a pool of his own blood, a narrow slit across his neck. A serene smile is on his face, but the image remains agonizing to his partner.

“This is my fault,” Gemma whispers as her quivering hand puts the phone down. Grazing the screen, she moves to a picture with Dawn’s name and the string of numbers. “If I hadn’t kept pushing this case then you would still be alive. I should have stopped when things got weird or done the investigation myself. Probably can’t even call the precinct or your family to let them know without causing more trouble. The worst part is I’ve seen so much death and insanity lately that I can’t bring myself to cry. All I can think of doing is putting an end to this, but I don’t even know where to start. What did you find that got you killed?”

Scrolling through the pages, Gemma zooms in on the drawings to see if they have any common theme. She feels ridiculous analyzing the scribbles of a child, especially since they tell her nothing more than Corvus has been with Dawn for decades. It is not until she comes back to the notes and switches from one to the other. Squinting at the screen, she enlarges part of it to find that Max missed some pieces of the missing information. Gemma tries every filter she can find in the simple photo program until she catches a ghost of two letters. Seeing the ‘D’ and ‘O’ makes her take a shuddering breath and believe that her partner died getting her the last piece of information she needed to face her enemy. Staring at the image, she still struggles to come up with a theory that would explain everything.

“Date of birth for Dawn is 1980 and it’s 1981 for Corvus,” Gemma says, noticing that a waiter is bringing her a free drink. She turns off the phone to prevent the man from spying on her and pretends to take a sip of the rum. “What is so important about Dawn being older than her husband? It’s only by a year too. Not like she would be the first woman to marry a younger man. This has to mean something else.”

With a giggling ringtone, Gemma’s phone goes off and she looks to see that Dawn is trying to call her. Not wanting to lose her train of thought, she ignores the call and closes her eyes to concentrate. The first thing she imagines is Max dying on the floor, so snaps out of what was the beginning of a trance. Confused on how her mind drifted away so quickly, Gemma is about to stand when her phone goes off with a loud barking noise. Muttering a curse, she turns the device off and tries to figure out where she can go for privacy. There appears to be a lot more people in the hotel and she wonders if people have been drawn to the location because of all the murders and disappearances. For a moment, the detective considers that such an outcome was Dawn’s goal the entire time. Remembering how much the woman loves her game of murder, Gemma has her doubts about this being about money.

When the phone goes off a third time, the noise is a raging scream that sends a crack through the back of the protective case. Gemma jumps at the thrashing in her back pocket and struggles to get the device free. The machine is hot to the touch and threatens to melt her skin, but it cools once she answers. A calm sigh drifts from the other end of the phone and mixes with the rumble of distant thunder.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your partner,” Dawn says, pausing to let the sound of clinking glasses carry over the phone. She blows a kiss that leaves a faint spot of wetness on the red-haired woman’s cheek. “Anyway, now we have nobody else to get in our way. He made the mistake of talking to my mother and getting her opinion on me. Thought she would only mumble incoherently and not send him to a place that people should stay away from. Now about my next riddle.”

“Save your breath and leave me to do my job,” Gemma angrily snaps. She is about to hang up the phone, but her temper and stress gets the best of her. “You know what? To hell with your psychotic game. I’m coming up there right now, Dawn. Either I’m going to arrest you or shoot you in the head. My mood and interest in keeping my job will determine your fate. No amount of crazy crap is going to get in my way unless you strike me dead here. Then that ends even the remote chance of your sick fun continuing. So get your affairs in order and kiss that imaginary husband of yours good-bye.”

A growing light gives Gemma enough of a warning to toss the phone away, the device exploding and scaring everyone in the lobby. With a terrifying screech, the angel statue’s wings spin and the body gradually melts into molten metal. Several people standing too close are scalded and their screams cause people to rush the doors. All of the exits are locked and those who grab the handles for too are electrocuted. The shock is not enough to kill them, but they collapse in a twitching heap that makes escaping more difficult. Another chorus of shouting erupts from outside where the pool is boiling enough to fill the area in choking steam. Those unable to get out of the water fast enough are cooked, their bodies floating on the surface like disturbing buoys. Fear and panic is setting in as the guests swarm the stairs and elevators in the hopes of finding an upper window to jump from. Explosions from the restaurant sends food flying into the lobby while those in the bar are left to drown in a rising flood of alcohol. Through it all, the employees continue to do their jobs as if people are not dying around them.

Sprinting toward Dawn’s private elevator, Gemma is unnerved by how easy it is for her to get through the crowd. The doors open as she comes around the front desk, but a desperate couple rush on before the detective can get there. With a loud snap, the cables give way and the lift plummets into the depths of the building. Gemma can hear the guests’ screams echoing throughout the dark shaft as she comes to the edge. A ladder is on the far wall and she can see that her badge is hanging from one of the rungs. Taking the invitation, she leaps over the pit and begins the long climb toward her enemy.

Ravens sit in the leafless, solitary tree as Max approaches the abandoned house. The collapsed side is nothing more than rotted wood and crumbled stone. Pieces of rusty appliances are scattered about the wreckage, which is swarming with insects. Shards of glass are around the edge of the area, several of the pieces stabbed into the earth like daggers. A trio of mice scurry out from under the wood and race to the nearest bush before a hungry raven can catch them. Only two make it to safety while the third is snatched off the ground by a bird that is faster than Max’s eyes can follow. The standing part of the house is protected on the damaged side by a tarp that remains still even when the wind blows. Cracked paint and rotted shingles show the building’s age and lack of maintenance. Webs cover the windows that are barely held in place by frames that are soft enough to push a finger into. Two bricks can be seen on the roof, the final parts of a chimney that is now collapsed and covered by dirt.

To Max’s amazement, the front door does not fall off its rusty hinges and he simply steps through the entrance. An electric buzz runs throughout his body, reminding him of the time he got a mild shock from changing a light bulb. Creaking can be heard from every room, but there are thuds upstairs that make him think animals are upstairs. The few furnishings left behind reek of mildew and urine, which Max assumes are from cats like the dead one he sees in a nearby fireplace. Pictures line the walls, but all of them are empty and broken, the glass shattered in identical patterns. Grabbing his phone, he sends a quick text to Gemma along with a photo of everything he sees.

“I’d call, but I don’t want to lose power again,” Max mutters while he jams a piece of wood under the door. He tests the stairs that were cut in half by the collapse, the wood giving an inch when he puts his full weight on it. “Even in daylight this place is creepy. Again, I wish I was in your shoes, Cook, because a fancy hotel beats this every day. Even if you’re the guest of a psychopath.”

Seeing nothing of interest downstairs, Max carefully climbs to the top floor. The stairs creak and crack beneath his feet, threatening to fall away. He glances over the edge to see that he would plunge into a collection of jagged wood, so he walks as carefully as possible. By the time he reaches stable ground, the detective is sweating and gasping for breath. Pushing the first door open, he finds a bathroom with a sunken floor that is flooded with rain water. Croaking frogs jump around the foul-smelling pools, their tadpoles giving the illusion of shifting darkness beneath the surface. Taking a picture and moving on, Max searches a closet full of decaying towels and old cleaning supplies. The remains of a photo album is in the back, but the only thing that has survived intact is a picture of Dawn as a newborn.

“One more door,” Max whispers, noticing that there is light coming from inside. He gently opens the door and stands in awe within the doorway. “What the hell?”

The spotless room of a small child is meticulously laid out, complete with colorful curtains that billow regardless of the lack of a breeze. Crayon drawings cover the walls, which are wood panels that gleam with fresh polish and are found nowhere else in the house. Taking pictures as he goes, Max finds clean clothes in the drawers and fresh school supplies in the desk. A hat rack in the corner shows markings similar to those one would see on a wall when measuring the height of a growing child. Tiny glass figurines of unicorns and ravens are along the two windowsills, the animals put into pairs that look outside.

Looking under the perfectly made bed, Max finds several boxes that are filled with toys that are mostly naked dolls. When he takes a picture, the flash reveals a hole in the floor that is big enough for him to hook the plank with his finger. He pulls out a long, cardboard box that is covered in birthday wrapping paper and adorned with a black bow. Drawing a pocketknife, the detective carefully opens the old present and pulls out a full-sized wedding dress and tuxedo. The clothes are still in pristine condition, so he lays them on the bed. Turning them over, he finds one has a post-it with Dawn’s name on it and the other has a similar note for Corvus. Squinting at the faded papers, he can barely make out that was once something else written on them. Reaching into the plastic coverings, Max pulls them out and finds a pencil to help reveal the lost information.

“For the love of god!” he shouts when his phone goes off. Seeing that it is Gemma, he answers and puts the device on speakerphone. “Hope you’re enjoying all these pictures. I talked to Kate Addison who considers her daughter a monster. Not evil human, but a genuine creature of darkness. Seems she tried to abort the baby three times and failed. I’ve no idea what to make of any of her ramblings since you’d think she was talking about ghosts or whatever this would count as. Oh, and the husband is an imaginary friend named Corvus. His name is on a bunch of the drawings and this tuxedo I found. Trying to find out what the faded scribbles are. Any news on your end?”

“I’m just tired, old man,” Gemma replies with a yawn. He can hear her putting ice into an empty glass and hopes she is not drinking before lunch. “I’ve no idea how to explain what happened last night, but maybe her mother is right. What if we’re doing with something that isn’t human?”

“Then we catch her and let a jury figure out the next step,” Max replies in a half-hearted attempt at humor. He scowls at what he sees on the papers, unsure of their meaning due to the messy handwriting. “The note for Dawn has a ‘B’ followed by one nine eight zero. The one for Corvus has a ‘B’ followed by one nine eight one. These mean anything to you? I’ll send you a picture in case the way they’re written is important.”

“I’ll look them over at breakfast.”

“Probably going to bring these clothes to the precinct.”

“Just be-”

The phone is cut off by static that turns into a screeching wail that rattles the windows and door. When the device sputters and jumps to the floor, Max leaves it behind and goes to gather the clothes into his arms. To his surprise, the empty sleeves whip at him and create burning welts with their buttons. Backing away, he is knocked into the wall when one of the windows explodes outwards by a powerful gust of wind. The ravens can be heard cawing as they circle the building and wait for the chaos to end. Another gale comes out of the hallway and whips around the room to remove all of the pictures from the walls. Churning and howling, the pages become a condensed twister that the detective can barely see his way through.

“This is-”, Max starts to say before his throat is slit by one of the flying papers. Holding his hand to the gushing wound, he collapses near his phone that has stopped screeching. Unable to respond to Gemma’s shouting beyond wet gurgles, he opens a photo of his family and stares at it until his eyes close.

Winchester Mystery House

“Are you sure this is okay, ma’am?” Max asks as he is led down the sterile hallway. He sees other patients resting in their rooms or the common areas, all of them wearing the same white gown. “I know you treat sensitive cases here, so I fully understand if you want me to come back another time. Honestly, I’m not exactly thrilled that my boss is pushing this. Give him a day and he’ll probably change his mind.”

“That may be true, but he was very adamant about the situation,” the nurse replies with a calming smile. Stopping at a locked room, she fumbles with her keys while someone on the other side taps at the frosted glass. “Kate comes and goes, so she might be better and home by the end of the day. It’s been like this for about ten years. Nobody ever comes to visit, so maybe you will cheer her up.”

“That would be the highlight of my week,” the detective mutters while they wait for the tapping to stop. The noise shifts to a banging rhythm that Max recognizes as a popular lullaby from nearly forty years ago. “Not sure if you’ve lived in the area for a while, but do you know anything about her daughter? She’s a person of interest and we’re trying to find information about her past to help with a case.”

The nurse turns a little pale, her hand gripping the key instead of turning it. “Lived in Riverhead all my life and I went to school with Dawn. She was quiet and didn’t have many friends. I’d like to say she was normal, but people didn’t really go near her. We always saw her talking to herself and the world felt creepy when she was around. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell you anything about her.”

“Thanks. Figured it was worth asking.”

“If it helps, Kate has been very calm and talkative this morning.”

“Hope she stays that way.”

The woman inside hurries to her bed as the door opens, her eyes wide when Max walks into the room. Kate Addison’s brown hair is a tangled mess that rolls down to her waist and is has crayons stuck in many of the knots. Her white gown has been colored with child-like pictures, most of which are people and birds. She does her best to smile, but the corners of her lips repeatedly threaten to turn it into a frown. In contrast to her disheveled clothes and hair, Kate’s nails are beautifully done in red and orange. She puts her back against the wall and folds her legs, her hands gently tapping rhythmically on her knees.

Max takes note of the bandages around her wrists while he claims the only chair in the room. He gulps down a lump in his throat as the nurse leaves the door open and moves far enough away that she can only hear loud voices. Pulling out his phone, the detective prepares to record their conversation, but is surprised to see that it is out of power. Max realizes that it is for the best since Kate is staring at the device like it is a gun aimed at her head. He puts it away and rubs his eyes while clearing his mind in the hopes of remembering everything that the woman tells him.

“I am detective Max Boros and I’m investigating a case where your daughter is a prime suspect,” he explains, watching Kate’s face for reactions. A spark of fear is in her dilated eyes, but it is quickly replaced by anger. “We are looking into her past for signs of a pattern or an explanation for what is going on. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but we could really use some help getting insight. Your daughter is very guarded, so I’m sorry to say that you might be our only source of information. Sorry for the rambling, but I’m trying to figure out the best approach for this. I don’t want to upset you, ma’am.”

“It also sounds like you don’t want to be here, Mr. Boros,” the woman says with a sudden smirk. Drawing a green crayon from her hair, she lazily reaches out to draw on the wall. “I haven’t heard from my daughter since she moved out of the house. Not unless you count unsigned Mother’s Day cards. Can you tell me what she’s suspected of?”

The detective scratches his chin as he considers sharing that information, but senses that she already knows the answer. “Several murders and disappearances that took place in her hotel. We don’t know if she did them herself, hired somebody, or if this mysterious husband is behind the whole thing. Right now, she’s our top suspect because whenever we catch a killer, the incidents keep coming.”

With a chuckle, Kate gets off the bed and goes to the desk, which she climbs on top of to see through a high window. She can see a river surrounded by reeds and picks out the spot that she once took her daughter to feed some ducks. The birds can be seen outside as rain begins to trickle down, leaving trails along the glass. For a terrifying moment, the woman swears she sees Dawn standing on the water, but the vision disappears after a few blinks. Returning to the bed, she lies down with her feet on the pillow and her eyes locked on the ceiling.

“I never wanted the child. We were too young and he was just starting to move up in his career,” Kate explains as she scratches at her bandages. She ignores the sense of being watched, which is a feeling that has persisted for years even with proper medication. “Thought we used all the protection we could, but it still happened. Tried to abort her, but Dawn remained strong. I even lied and paid money to get two more attempts with the same result. Drank heavily, started smoking, and did whatever I could outside of having my optimistic husband beat me. He kept talking about making it work and he got his way when the baby arrived. Even when she was a few hours old, I knew she was wrong. Something in her cries made my stomach twist.”

“I’m not sure this information is relevant,” Max blurts out, unnerved by the rising venom in the woman’s voice. His mouth goes dry when she glares at him and he reaches up to push his glasses back up. “My apologies. All I mean is that I don’t see how this would influence your daughter due to her age at the time. We did learn that you raised her instead of putting her up for adoption.”

“My husband stopped me and look where that got him. Dawn and her imaginary friend collapsed a house because he sent her to bed without dessert,” the woman says, turning to stare wide-eyed at the detective. Taking two crayons out of her tresses, she makes matching spirals that eventually become a tangled mess. “That’s when I knew I was trapped with her until she decided to leave. Had to do homeschooling after a kid she claimed was bullying her in first grade went missing. She told me Corvus did it to prove a point. That’s her imaginary husband who comes and goes depending on her mood. Anyway, I knew it could get me in trouble if she was allowed in public. Dawn eventually wore me down by the age of thirteen and I was on some powerful meds that made me forget what kind of creature I brought into this world. Two if you count Corvus, but I usually don’t bother with that ghost.”

“So is your daughter the devil or something?”

“I wish. The devil would be a blessing compared to Dawn.”

“Think I’ve heard all I need to hear.”

“If you don’t believe me then go to our old home. A lot of stuff is still there because nobody dares to go inside.”

“Thanks. I hope you get better and can leave here soon.”

Kate breaks into maniacal laughter, which draws the nurses into the room with syringes to calm her down. Max hurries into the hallway as the woman snatches one of the needles and jams it into her own neck. Her eyes flutter from the medication, but she does not fall. Moving faster than anyone expected, Kate wrestles away two more of the syringes and plunges them into her temples. Twitching and gurgling, she collapses onto the bed where the workers fight to keep her alive.