Thorne Manor

Thorne Manor-2

Heather flicked the switch to try the lights. Most of the bulbs lit as electricity coursed through them but could not shine through the dirty crystals. Both women were surprised they worked. “Power and water have been turned off for years,” said Joyce. “I can’t imagine how the lights could be working.”

Heather made a mental note to have it cleaned to its original sparkling brilliance. With all of the sunlight in the space, it would send prisms shooting toward every wall.

The deep gold ceramic tile in the circular entry foyer surrounded a medallion in a compass design crafted from cream colored travertine and black and gold granite. The floor was dirty but solid, waiting to be restored to its former glory. From the grand entrance were rooms in every direction and a massive stairway that curved to the left guarded by a mahogany banister reached to the expansive upper levels. She smiled as she pictured the spectacular renovation completed. Drawn to the upper levels, she ascended the staircase to explore with Joyce close behind.

The restoration would be a labor of love that would pay off in the end. It was a place to live and work. She could move out of her apartment once her rooms were completed and live here while the rest of the work was being done.

She brushed her hand over the thick dust that coated the mahogany banister. It was amazing how much dirt could accumulate in the span of five years since the house was abandoned. Heather would need to stock up on spray wax and paper towels to clean this up. She rubbed her hands together then wiped them on her jeans to remove the dust.

Joyce offered some insight, “The thick spindles are said to be hand carved. By hand or machine, they are magnificent. The original owner was a surgeon. He could afford to hire artisans from all over the country to carve the woodwork and lay the tile.”

Heather nodded in admiration, excited to be so close to owning such finery. Once the filth was removed, a gem would emerge from the rubble. The stairs creaked under her slight weight as she hugged the gentle curve of the staircase. Cracks of various lengths and formations decorated the plaster wall that lined the stairway. Nothing some Spackle and a bit of sanding couldn’t fix.

“How wonderful that the man who had this house built was a reputable doctor who helped people,” said Heather.

“Actually, he was a skilled surgeon who got greedy and did illegal abortions at night. Supposedly there was an operating suite and lab in the basement.”

“Maybe he felt sorry for the pregnant women who had nowhere else to turn and didn’t want to have a baby,” justified Heather.

“Maybe,” Joyce said, knowing that Heather’s desire to own this house overrode her sense of propriety.

At the top on the second floor landing, a tall arched stained glass window colored the light straining to shine through the layers of dirt. Its design included round gems of deep red, cobalt blue, and emerald green. Drops of dew clung to a delicate spider web hanging from a magnificent tree in the countryside. The effect was stunning, the craftsmanship unparalleled.

“The doctor put a lot of special touches into it,” commented Heather.

“He certainly did. I did a bit of reading about Dr. Benjamin Strand. In order to lure the woman he loved, Miriam Hart, into marrying him, he built this house and added decorative touches that she chose herself,” offered Joyce.

“See, he did have a streak of goodness in him. Anyone who loves someone that much must be good deep down,” Heather rationalized.

“Miriam left him when she found out about the abortions,” Joyce said, watching Heather’s reaction.

“Oh,” Heather quietly responded.

“Anyway, Miriam had it copied from a Tiffany window commissioned by Mrs. Winchester for the famous Winchester House in California. Interestingly enough, that house is said to be haunted, too.”

“What do you mean, too? I haven’t seen or heard any ghosts since we came in, have you?”

“I’m just saying, the rumor is that this house is haunted. That’s why it’s been on the market for five years. That’s why the locals won’t come near here…with the exception of the local kids looking to drink in the woods.”

“So who do they think is haunting this place?”

“The people who owned the house most recently, the ones the house gets its name from:The Thornes . They’re all dead.”

“I like the name. Thorne Manor has a nice ring to it. Let’s keep exploring,” Heather said and turned away from Joyce, cutting off the negative conversation. She wanted to believe that this house could be healed and her hopes were replaced by doubt with each bit of information Joyce provided.

From the walkway on the second level, visitors could look over the balcony and have a bird’s eye view of the foyer and crystal chandelier. Seven rooms, two with connecting bathrooms, and one bathroom in the hallway were on this level. Seven, such a cosmic number for this purpose, its mystical significance was legendary throughout history, and now it held special meaning in her mysterious dream house.

Practitioners would occupy the second floor, providing services to Thorne Manor patrons. Finding occult practitioners of varying talents, promoted as “psychic entertainment” to ensure staying within legal guidelines, would be ideal: a card reader, Reiki practitioner, trance medium, palm reader, psychometrist, a tea leaf reader, and a massage therapist would be available to her guests for an extra fee. Each would have their own room to conduct their craft.

She considered taking a room on the second floor for herself to do tarot readings, but she had never done readings professionally and was not confident of her abilities. She would make the time to practice and hone her skills before charging customers for the service. She had some natural psychic ability, and this house would bring it out and help her develop it.

The monthly rental fee would be higher for the space with its own bath. In this way, the practitioners would help pay for the renovations and the mortgage. She was surprised that most of the work was cosmetic at first glance; nothing that some spackle and paint could not fix.

“Will the bank think that it’s odd for the house to sell at such a low price as a handy man’s special, when there isn’t much structural repair needed?”

“The carpenter, plumber, and electrician may come up with a different opinion, but for now, let’s see what they say. I’ll play the ‘empty-house’ angle with the bank.”

Heather did a little hop and clapped her hands in excitement. She took the minimal repairs as a sign that she was meant to own the home

Heather and Joyce continued up the curved steps to the third floor. This was where she would begin the work, for these would be her rooms. As she rounded the bend upward, a solid wood door blocked her way with a heavy bolt on the outside. It seemed odd that the lock would be on the outside rather than inside. That would have to be changed. The carpenter would be able to help her with that. Heather was pleased that there was already a door there to prevent visitors from exploring her personal space. A hiss and loud bang made her jump. The radiators must be functioning at least.

“How can that be?” Joyce exclaimed. No services are supposed to be active on this property. We’ll have the home inspector check the heating system and all water pipes.”

“It’s almost like the house was expecting me!” Heather said, flashing an I-told-you-so smile at Joyce.

There were six rooms, including a kitchen, and two bathrooms on the third floor. A large circular room housed in the turret to the left when facing the house was perfect for her library. The adjacent room would be her office. The kitchen could hold a small dining table and was next to a large space with a fireplace that she would turn into the living room. The room with adjoining bath would be her master suite, and the remaining room would be a guest bedroom.

The appliances in the kitchen needed to be replaced, so she measured the apertures for a new refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher. The crew could remove the old appliances before beginning the work. The floor in the kitchen needed to be replaced, so she measured for tile and wrote them down along with the other dimensions. It felt like home already.

Joyce watched her friend, indulging her enthusiasm before she said, “We need to get you approved for the loan and purchase the house before you can start making changes, you know.”

“I know, but it will happen. I want to get a head start. The lease is up on my apartment at the end of this month, and I extended it for one month, but they won’t allow me to continue on a month-to-month basis after that.”

“That only gives us 40 days to secure a loan and get to settlement. That’s not a lot of time.” Joyce jotted it down in her notebook.

Letting Joyce worry about the time constraint, she mused, “It’s so quiet here. Almost like a tomb.”

Heather pictured the placement of her furniture as she wandered through the third floor rooms. She paused to inspect some small cracks near the fireplace and heard a creak from behind. Whirling around to catch Joyce daring to sneak up on her, her eyes saw Joyce standing in the same spot, still writing notes to herself. She wondered what could have made the noise. Old house, she rationalized, yet gooseflesh rose on her arms and the feeling of being watched made her back away from the direction the sound had come from. She was reluctant to mention it to Joyce, afraid that she would begin her arguments once again to look elsewhere.

She heard the words of her friend, Celeste Templin, echo in her head saying that it was dangerous to live in the middle of such a large property where no one could hear you if you screamed. Yet privacy and seclusion was exactly what she wanted. Sharing her personal space with a ghost did not appeal to her and the stories that circulated in the neighborhood floated in her mind.

Feeling silly and refusing to let a little noise deter her from achieving her dream, she rubbed warmth into her arms and continued to inspect her future living quarters. Besides, she would not be alone most of the time. Clients, workers, and visitors would keep the action at a respectable level. All of the activity should scare away any unwanted apparition roaming the third floor. Celeste would be among them as the on-site tea leaf reader.

Her attention turned to the rugs; the carpets had seen better days, so they would be removed. She wondered if the wood floors were in decent shape. If they could be salvaged, area rugs would do just fine. Shadows hung throughout the apartment and the air felt dense, probably due to the windows being closed for so many years. It needed airing to remove the stagnation. Maybe it would be cheerier when the curtains were removed and new window treatments went up.

Heather’s discomfort increased despite her attempts to talk herself into explaining the noise and oppressive atmosphere as part of the normal characteristics of an old house.

“Ready to go?” she said to Joyce, trying not to sound as though she were rushing her.

“Sure,” said Joyce, making a final notation in her book.

After taking one last look around the space to note tasks for the workers, Heather hurried to the stairway, glancing behind her to make sure nothing followed. Her back tingled as she quickly descended the staircase. Relief replaced distress when she hit the second floor landing. The air seemed less dense here and the light reached the far corners, giving her comfort and making her reaction seem unwarranted. She waited for Joyce to catch up.