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Chapter
One
Present Day
She
stood tall and imposing, an ominous landmark of
family tragedy and scandal looming over
Hampstead Heath, London. A gothic revival
mansion built in the mid-1800s as a status of
wealth, now deserted and ogled by sightseers
curious to know if Lillyport House truly
warranted her title as one of Britain’s most
haunted residences. A gregarious square central
turret dominated Lillyport’s three-story façade
and the mansion sat amid sprawling walled
gardens showing the strain of neglect. From
inhabited to abandoned, Lillyport never allowed
anyone the luxury of residing within her walls
for long. Always, she demanded solitude.
The
legend of Lillyport House grew in strength each
year. Everyone wanted to walk her maze-like
halls, but no one wanted to dwell there. Past
residents and visitors reported a feeling of
encompassing depression within the walls and
grounds. Penetrating cold enveloped the
atmosphere, biting through human flesh until
bones beneath skin and muscle seemed to
painfully freeze, a sensation that grew in
intensity on the second level and became
unbearable inside a bedroom situated at the
front of the house. Residents reported the
fleeting apparition of a young man dressed in
coattails slumped against the bedroom wall.
Viscount
Eldon Davenport, one of history’s greatest and
most controversial poets, was born on the 17th
of June 1836. The first of two poetry
collections was published in February 1857 and
the second published in May 1857. In the first
week of July of the same year, Viscount
Davenport’s burgeoning career ended. Only five
weeks after moving into Lillyport with his
parents, twenty-one year old Eldon was found in
his bedroom with a Colt pistol in his right hand
and a gunshot wound to his head.
Only
weeks after a private funeral for their son on
the grounds of Lillyport House, the Earl and
Countess of Wicorby sold the property, the
ultimate form of desertion after Eldon had been
caught with a stable boy in an extremely
compromising position. Enough evidence prior to
the Viscount’s death suggested the striking
young poet fell victim to madness. Several
historians recorded two possibilities. Viscount
Davenport held the dubious title of being the
first recorded poet to succumb to the
temptations of Absinthe and many proposed this
caused his insanity. Some historians speculated
Absinthe was not the reason, but instead Eldon
had fallen victim to acute schizophrenia, noting
there wasn’t enough evidence to prove an illicit
affair. However, there was plenty of evidence
proving Eldon had begun hearing voices and
seeing hallucinations.
The
majestic gothic mansion in Hampstead Heath
refused to let go of Viscount Davenport’s
misplaced spirit, jailing him in death inside
the room in which he’d lost his life.
***
Parapsychologist Malcolm Ritter crushed a
cigarette into an overflowing ashtray and
immediately lit another. A cloud of smoke
followed Ritter wherever he went. Across the
table sat Trudy Garret, a woman in her early
fifties standing barely five feet tall.
“Cameron
McKenzie.” Malcolm drew heavily on the
cigarette. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that
fucking moron bought the house?” He flicked his
cigarette against the ashtray. “Two village
idiots existing in the same space.” Along with
smoke that always clouded him, people smelled
cigarettes and heard cursing long before Malcolm
entered a room.
“Cameron
won’t let you continue to bleed money out of
tourists and ghost hunt his home.” Malcolm’s
lack of empathy for spirits irritated Trudy and
she spoke abruptly. “Neither Eldon nor Cameron
are village idiots.” She edged away from the
smoke. “I’m glad he bought Lillyport, Mal. Maybe
now you’ll concentrate on something other than
poor Eldon.”
“Poor
Eldon? Give it a rest, Trudy. Evil Demonport was
fucking a young stable boy, he wasn’t an
upstanding citizen!”
There
was a time Malcolm’s enthusiasm in the
paranormal hadn’t been based on money or fame.
He and Trudy dated through university and shared
each other’s interest in the supernatural. They
wed, dedicated their lives to a quest toward
truth, never had children and worked together to
build The Parapsychology Unit. Slowly Malcolm
changed when his obsession with Eldon Davenport
took him over. Trudy didn’t like the man he
became and they divorced after twenty-three
years of marriage.
“It
isn’t cut and dried, Mal. If I were you, I
wouldn’t underestimate Cameron.”
He
superciliously lifted an eyebrow and smirked in
a way Trudy had grown to abhor. “How many times
has anyone heard McKenzie speak on his own
behalf? It’s always left up to his publicity
agent. The guy can paint, but that’s all he’s
got going for him.”
“He’s
shy, Mal, not stupid.”
“He’s a
dickhead. I like his art, but I sure as fuck
wouldn’t invite him to a dinner party.” Malcolm
shrugged. “Then again, if Demonport possesses
him I might consider it.”
“Cameron
won’t let you into Lillyport. You can bet money
on that.”
Continued in
First Section
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