This is a prologue to a horror story I started writing several years ago. I intend to finish it, and have started transcribing it from the original handwritten pages to my computer. I wanted to share the prologue, for I feel it is a story within its' own right.
Prologue
As I write this down the rain is once again pounding against my window, filtering out light and casting strange shadows across the floor. Perfect. A dark day for a dark tale, a dark tale like the one I have to tell. The tale of Fay Manor.
Fay Manor is located in Ireland. It was built on a hill overlooking a little town called . At first Fay Manor was a beautiful and cheery place, with a big garden surrounding it. It was a gorgeous garden, with roses and ivy climbing over the walls, wild flowers flowing from every available space, and delightful flowering trees that always seemed to be full of birds. The children from the town would go and play in the garden, as it was considered a safe haven for all living creatures. Back then, it wasn’t called Fay Manor, no back then it was known by its’ original name, O’cleary Manor. It was a grand place that had been in the O’cleary family for generations, and was owned by the last of the O’cleary line, an older, well to do couple.
Both of the O’clearys loved having the children over. Their own marriage had been without any child of their own, so they treated the children of the town as their own, offering advice and caring for them all. Mr O’cleary would watch the children dance and play as he worked on the gardens, answering any questions they had about the names of the flowers, while Mrs. O’cleary would bake cookies and other treats for the children to eat. For many years only peace and contentment reigned within those garden walls. Then came ‘The Accident’.
It was all anyone in the town could talk about for weeks, in hushed voices and whispers the rumors around it spread. Those rumors drove away the children, who now feared to go anywhere near the once peaceful garden. They broke the soul of Mr. O’cleary and destroyed the joy held by Mrs. O’cleary, though they were not to blame.
You see, despite the amount of children that visited the garden, there had been one boy who had never been able too. His name was Dillon. Though his brother had frequently visited, and told him wondrous tales about the garden, the trip was not one Dillon could take. When he had been a young boy, a disease had ravaged the poor boy’s body, and left him a cripple. Dillon could not go anywhere without a crutch and a brace, that left his stride with a pronounced limp. It was hard for him to walk anywhere, but especially hard for him to go up hills.
But climb the hill he did. It was hard work, but Dillon wanted to see the garden his brother was always describing. The manor and garden sounded like a haven to him, a place where troubles and worries would fall away, and everyone could be happy. Dillon craved that, so he forced his legs to move, and made his way slowly up the hill. Though it took him awhile, when he reached the garden he felt that it was all worth it. Everything was as his brother described, the children were playing games, there were flowers everywhere, and the O’clearys were happily watching and laughing the antics. He was hooked.
After his first trip, Dillon continued to go back. He honestly felt like it was worth it, he had found a place where he could be accepted and be at peace. And the O’clearys loved his as well. Mrs. O’cleary always had an extra treat for him, and Mr. O’cleary would spend extra time with him, making sure he stayed safe. No one could be happier than Dillon was during those days. Never before could he be very active, but with help he soon became more active. His favorite thing to do was be helped into the trees, where he would sit above everyone, laughing and taking it in. It was that bit of happiness that lead to such tragedy.
For it was from one of the trees that ‘The Accident’ occurred. Dillon was once more sitting in one of his favorite trees, smiling and laughing, when Mrs. O’cleary came out with yet another tray of treats for the little ones to consume. Mr. O’cleary turned his back on Dillon for just a second, to watch as they flocked around his smiling wife, and in that instant everything changed. Though there had always been birds in the garden, they were the sweet and colorful songbird type. None of them were very big, but that day a new type of bird came to the garden. Ravens. The first raven landed right in front of Dillon, startling him so badly that he lost his grip. Crying out, time seemed to slow for him as he began to fall out of the tree. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, a thud so loud it caused all other noises to cease and all creatures to turn in his direction. Silence followed, then a strangled cry came from the throat of Mr. O’cleary as he began to run to the crushed body at the base of the tree. At the noise, life returned, and the children all panicked. Terrified, and not quite sure what had occurred, they fled the garden, screaming and incoherent. All but for Dillon’s older brother, whose stories had encouraged Dillon to come to the garden. He slowly began to walk towards his brother, his pace quickening as he got closer. Tears streamed down his face, but he seemed unable to speak as he reached his brother’s side. Pushing Mr. O’cleary aside, he drew his brother’s body close, and cradled it to his chest rocking back and forth.
It was this scene the villagers stumbled upon. The panicked children had driven the town into a flurry of worry, and they had come to see what had happened. At the front of this herd was Dillon’s father, who had not seen either of his boys’ amongst the children, and had rightfully started to worry. Coming upon such a sight broke something in him, and he stood frozen as his eldest walked towards him, still holding his brother. As a group, the towns’ folk walked back down the hill, no one able to say a word at the sight of the mangled body, all of them trying to shelter the now wrecked family.
A funeral was quickly and quietly planned for Dillon, and his body was laid to rest. Afterwards, the children stopped visiting the Manor. Though no one blamed the O’clearys for what happened, they blamed themselves. Unable to stand the memories, they left the manor behind, moving far away from the village. No one else moved in, and gradually both the garden and the manor held only sadness, and the shadows of times passed. Strange things seemed to occur there, and the villagers avoided even looking at it. Darkness and disrepair ruled where once happiness had shined, and rumors of a curse began to circulate.
Soon it received a new name, Fay Manor. Home only sprites and ghosts, the manor sat empty and alone for a very long time. No one went there except for boys on dares, though even they never went as far as the door. No one, that is, until I went there.
