Regrets: Part 1

Part 1: First Impressions

The mansion looked old. Very old. Undeniably ancient and aging. I internally cursed myself for choosing to come by my grandparents for the summer. I glanced back at their SUV in the distance. Gran had told me they had important business to take care off but I’ve always known that my grandparents steered clear of this place whenever they could. They’d always be on holiday or by relatives or on ‘business trips’.

This time, it was the same. And I’d be stuck for a month living with strangers who worked around their house. But at least this situation was better than going to Minnesota for the Annual Homeowner’s Convention with my parents!

But still, my grandparents’ house was really out of the way. I had to drive close to fifty miles from home to the middle of nowhere, a town called Haukings that didn’t even have a McDonalds. As if that wasn’t bad enough, we drove even deeper inside through a dirt road in the middle of dense woods and came out at a clearing where the house was snugly built in. A frigid wind blew past me and sent my skin tingling. I wrapped my arms around myself and shuddered. I tried not to look at the autumn-colored trees howling around me, like giants who might just step on me if they got too irritated.

I had to get inside. Pulling my sleeves down past my fingertips, I steeled myself from the cold and grabbed hold of my suitcase’s handle and started trudging down the dirt driveway to the antique house’s front door.

The house was huge, sprawling a good quarter-mile. It wasn’t that it was unattractive. In fact, the house was really eye-catching, renovated in gay hues of pastel red and green, like a house-santa. Except it wasn’t really jolly. Even though the house had obviously been tried for a more modern appeal, it was still so undeniably old-fashioned. It was all sharp corners and intricately carved windows that didn’t open out and pointed turrets and wood that was faded and cracking underneath the new paint.

I passed a lone tree that stood in front of the mansion’s left wing windows. A tire was hung from a branch high up by a rope that still looked sturdy. But it just hung there, alone and for a moment, I thought something flickered behind the dark bark of the tree. I stopped dead in my tracks. Fighting my urge to let out a small shriek, I left my suitcase before the steps leading up to the front door. Then, hands knees shaking, I stepped over gravel and clumps of grass here and there to reach the tree a few meters away.

Carefully, I placed my hand on bark and gently pushed away the tire and peeked behind the tree. There was nothing there. I glanced around quickly to see if whatever it was had ran away. About a yard away, where the woods began to thicken I glimpsed a small hunched figure, white and looking at me with curious red eyes. A rabbit. I met its eyes and smiled, then purred softly, “Were you the one behind the tree? Don't scare me like that.”

The rabbit didn’t respond. It just stared at me with those ruby eyes of its. The moment I started feeling uncomfortable under its gaze, it turned away and jumped into the darkness of the forest.

“What was that about? Weird rabbit…” I frowned, muttering and headed back to the front door. By the time I got there, an old man was standing there waiting for me.

“I believe you’re the Miss Lainer I’m supposed to be expecting today?” said the old man, in a grave monotone voice. “Um, yes,” I stuttered and shook his outstretched hand awkwardly.It was hard and rough and cold. “But you can just call me Mana.”

“Yes, well, I don’t have a choice, Miss.” After releasing my hand, he wiped his hand blatantly on a hanky that he produced from the breast pocket of his tailored black suit. I couldn’t believe the guy’s audacity. And I could tell this was the start of a very, very hateful and cringe-worthy acquaintance.

“You can call me Charles, nothing more, nothing less.” And with a clearing of his throat, he turned back and started walking inside the house. Was I supposed to follow him? Did he expect me to lug this 2-ton suitcase all by myself? But Charles didn’t turn back, so I was forced to lift the bag up the front steps and past the threshold of the house, all the while muttering about my bad luck and bad butlers.

The inside of the house certainly hadn’t been tried for a renovation. It was immaculately Victorian, with elegant rectangular tables, chairs studded with ivory (which I thought was illegal?), sofas with detailed patterns and designs and high ceilings with chandeliers that used old fashioned candelabras. I suddenly felt as if I had travelled back in time to the Victorian Era. Except I noticed the flat-screen TV in the drawing room, above the fireplace, and little colorful knick-knacks placed here and there to brighten up the bleakness of the heavily-earth toned interior of the house.

Suddenly, I felt out-of-place in my converse, jeans and WE DEAD LOVE BRAINS T-shirt. In retrospect, that may have not been the best t-shirt to make a good first impression with. No wonder the old man looked at me like I was an alien and wiped his hands off when I touched him, like I’d infect him with ID10T Syndrome.

Charles grunted from across the room, standing in front of a flight of stairs that led up to the first floor. “Your room is this way.”

“Ah, um, sorry, I was just looking around,” I stammered. Then I realized I had no idea where my bag was. “Where did my bag go?” I wondered aloud.

“It’s already been carried to your room.”

“Really?” I blanched. I was actually mentally preparing myself for that long haul up the staircase. Maybe I’d misjudged the guy.

When I walked up to him, he held an arm out as if to gesture ‘ladies first’. Uncomfortably, I headed up and he followed me shortly.

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(Another one of my unfinished supernatural stories...hopefully I'll have time to finish it during the holidays!)