Chapter Twenty-Five
The manor is
daunting and large and rises like a mountain from the earth before us. Its roof
is dark and the windows sit broken in their panes. If I were to picture the
image of a haunted house then this would be near the top of my list.
'Lovely place
you got here, Teague,' Elle observes. 'Should we start calling you the Count?'
'If that would
please you,' he rebuffs.
'Why is it that
ghosts tend to congregate in buildings left for the spiders?' I ask.
'For the
precise reason that humans are scared of the dark and creeping. All that is
uncanny in the world. Here you have a house before you that was once great. A
place of regency and honour now turned to decay. When we found it, chairs were
upturned, pianos left open like their players were abducted mid song. The
presence of history stopped in time keeps people away.'
'Yeah but have
you ever heard of house pride?' Elle nudges Yates and the two snort.
'Let's go
inside,' Teague says. 'And be reminded that history led us to this moment.'
He starts down a grassy slope.
The high pointed grey mountains behind the woods at the back of the manor make
me think that we're in America somewhere. An American belle's Rocky Mountain
retreat.
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