Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Nights at Ashton Manor

Episode Date: December 22, 2021

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Welcome to aboard Via Raii. Embarked and profite. Embarked and relax. Syrotay. Bookine. Oh, that also. And profite.

Viaray, the voice that we love we love ... The first night, death. I never imagined that I would ever be the kind of person to believe in curses years ago in another life. I prided myself in my staunch atheism.

My sister, systematic belief in the unavoidable naturalism underlying all cause and effect. When bad things happened, there was always a logical explanation, but there was no meaning behind it. The same with good things. Things just happened. There was no use in trying to figure out why they happened. All events were predetermined the moment the universe was set into motion.

That's what I used to believe. And then my life went to shit. My private real estate business, which had been wildly successful, quickly pulled me into bankruptcy. There was no good explanation. Nothing had changed in my business model, and my financial planner projected continued growth and prosperity. But clients stopped coming, and it failed. Then there were the personal troubles. My wife and I had been trying for a kid.

We had a total of three heart-wrenching miscarriages. Then, a doctor discovered an ovarian cyst and identified it as the cause of the miscarriages. We had it removed, and I was satisfied in knowing the explanation of our misfortune. We tried again, and my wife carried our son to full term. Then he died in the womb. There was no good explanation. All that pain drove us apart, and my wife left me. Failure after failure, loss after loss, bad thing after bad thing.

A sense of something dark inside me steadily grew. I could feel that something was wrong, something beyond my undesirable circumstances. I had nowhere to turn, and my naturalistic view of the world offered me no comfort and no solution. In desperation, I met with a spiritual woman, someone I would have once called a cruel, crackpot or a con artist. She burned incense, muttered gibberish, studied my palms, and told me I was cursed. She said my energy had been invaded. Something had grown inside of me that was altering my own destiny, always changing it for the worst. I was low, so broken, so desperate that I believed her. I felt cursed, and I was prepared to do anything to remove the curse. I had hoped she could

just do it there, that I could pay her, and she would wave a magic wand and chant some Latin verse, and my life would be happy again. But she said that wasn't how it worked. There was a cleansing ritual, she told me, a spiritual place where the curse would be removed from me through a process spanning three nights. That place was Ashton Manor. Ashton Manor was just on the outskirts of the quaint town of Rother'sford, England. It belonged. The woman began in her creaking voice. To a highly respected and religious man, a bishop. In his time of spiritual leadership, he began to notice similarities in people's suffering.

Oftentimes, the church would identify it as demonic possession and perform an exorcism. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. The bishop noticed that there was something else going on, not demons, but curses. No one in the church would help him explore new ways to heal people. So, he set out on his own and eventually turned his house into a sort of spell that could remove curses. He modeled the process after his faith in Jesus, a death, a burial, and a resurrection. Three nights instead of three days.

That sounds like witchcraft or something, I said. Aren't Christians supposed to avoid that? The old woman tossed up her hands. Who's to say? He was seeking to help people. That's what Christianity is all about, right? I don't really know, I said. But it doesn't matter.

I'll try it if you think it'll work. There's a woman in Rotherstford. She said. I sent her to end. Ashton Manor years ago, and she has remained in the town ever since. You should speak to her when you get there. Thank you, I said, rising from my seat. Wait.

She said, I turned. There's something important you must know. For the spell to work, you must remain in the main house for the entirety of each night, from sunset to sunrise. You are free to go where you wish during the day, but I would suggest you not go far. Make sure you are back well before sunset each night. I nodded at her and thanked her again.

The last bit of money I had was used on a plane ticket and a cab ride to Rother'sford. There I was, an incredibly irreligious man, spending everything I had left on a superstition. but I was low. I had nothing left to try. The journey was pleasant enough. Along the way, I even felt something that I can only describe as a hope. It was a foreign feeling, but I welcomed it. When I arrived in Rutherford, I was surprised at the juxtaposition of buildings. Many of the homes looked ancient, with stone walls and thatched roofs. But the storefronts downtown made some

attempted being modern, though it looked like they had given up halfway through, and there was an awkward blend of newer, stylized buildings next to the ancient ones. Ashton Manor was not in the town. It was atop a long, winding hillside. The cab driver stopped at the bottom of the hill and told me he would go no further, unless, that is, I had a larger tip for him. Not having a penny to my name, I exited the cab with my single duffel bag and made my way up the hillside. I decided I wasn't going to meet with the woman the old spiritual lady had told me about. My mind was already made up about staying in the manor. The only thing a previous tenant of the manor could do at this point was scare me away with her stories.

My hike up the hillside was invigorating, and I reached the front gate with spirits as high as the hill at satatop. If I thought parts of the town looked old, Ashton Manor was something else entirely. The main structure, which sat at the end of a long Cobble Road, looked like a castle from a storybook. There were extended areas stretching around the manor that were probably once gardens, but now they were overrun by shrubs and weeds, though some trees remained as they once were, with vibrant blossoms of purple and red.

At the end of the Cobble Road was a second gate, which led to the stone stairs at the foot of the massive building. The gate had a rusted A and M at its center. It also wasn't locked and swung open with a creek. I walked up the stairs and pulled open the large wooden door by its finely crafted handle. I was shocked to see that the building was well kept. There was no dust. There was no spider webs.

There were no rat droppings. No signs of life whatsoever. Exhausted. I made my way to the first room I could find with a bed. It was on the second floor. The sun was almost set. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I planned on simply sleeping until the sun rose again the next day. Despite my anxiety for the coming hours, I fell fast asleep. I awoke to a rhythmic creaking sound. Someone was walking on the old wood floors. It was dark outside. I jolted up and peeked out into the hallway.

Nothing. The creaking was somewhere downstairs. I pulled out my phone and turned on its flashlight. At the bottom of the stairs, I followed the sound into the study. A fire was ablaze in the grand fireplace. A figure was standing in front of it. Long, priestly robes covered the figure's body, and atop its head sat a large bishop's hat.

The figure slowly turned to me. I found the source of the creaking. Bone. The face that turned to me was a fleshless skull, a living skeleton. The dead bishop held some ancient book in his skeletal hands. I was terrified, and yet somehow I was excited. This creature before me gave credence to the rumor surrounding Ashton Manor. Curses might be real, and I might be able to remove mine.

The bishop beckoned me with a bony hand. I approached him. He pointed to the fire. The flame swirled and shuddered. A hand reached out of the fire and grabbed the stone floor. Someone was climbing out of the fire. Long blonde hair covered the face. The person stood, and as the golden locks parted,

I saw that it was my ex-wife. Only there were empty pits where her eyes should have have been, Emily, I gasped. She clutched her stomach. It was bleeding. She reached her hand into an opening in her abdomen and began pulling out something solid and bloody. I knew what it had to be, and I refused to watch. Cursed or not, I wasn't going to stay here for another second. I sprinted for the massive door at the front of the house and pulled at its handles. It didn't budge. Emily appeared in the foyer. She was cradling the unspeakable thing in her arms and moved towards me.

I ran down the hallway opposite of her, looking for another door. I found myself in a dining hall. Every door was locked. There was a massive window. I picked up a dining chair and motioned to throw it through the glass. Wood splintered. I tripped. Hands with rotting flesh clinging to their bones clutched my ankles.

They had burst through the floorboards. I kicked free and ran out of the room. As I moved through the hallway, more zambified hands reached for me. Some broke through the floor, others through the walls on either side. A steady drone of horrifying moans emanated from the numerous holes. I didn't know what to do. There was nowhere to go. I ran back into the study where the bishop was.

If he, whatever he was, had started this ritual for a rome. removing curses. Maybe he could stop it. Please, I shouted. I don't want this anymore. Make it stop. Please let me go. The blank skull just stared at me. More dead arms splintered the floor. I fell. They grabbed me by my ankles and my wrists. I was pinned face up to the floor. I suddenly noticed that the floor was covered in $100 bills. Emily, or rather the thing that looked like her, entered the room. She approached me, a sacrificial dagger in her hand. I screamed and tugged at the rotting hands that held me, but I couldn't break free. Emily kneeled beside me, her empty eyes looking at my chest. She plunged at the dagger into me, just below the sternum.

The dagger slid down past my belly button. I was cut wide open. I shrieked louder as Emily plunged her hands into my intestines. She pulled something out of me. It was great. Grotesque and fleshy. It was alive. She tossed the creature into the fire behind me. Emily returned, carrying a burning log in her hands. She dropped it, and the money covering the floor burst into flames. I continued shrieking. I was being burned alive. My flesh bubbled and dripped from my body. The blood streaming from my stomach boiled. All the while, the thing that looked like Emily and the dead bishop stared at me in silence. Darkness crept behind my eyes and I lost consciousness.

Gentle rays of sunlight moved through the windows and into my eyes. I sat up. The study was empty and I was completely unharmed. Fan of soccer, you could assist at a moment historic. You could gain the bill for the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. at you at B.com bar obliq concourse. The Reglements of the Concourse Sapplic.

Before the next part of the story, I'd like to give a special thanks to my new patrons. It's me 53, Tracy, and Zach. If you'd like to support the podcast, head over to my Patreon page where you will receive new exclusive scary stories every week for just $5 a month. Go to patreon.com slash

DR No Sleep, or click the link in the podcast description. Now back to the story. Night 2. the burial. I looked around. The study was cold and empty. The fire was out.

In fact, there was no indication that a fire had ever been lit. No charged logs, no ash. Clutching my stomach, I found that there was no wound. My flesh wasn't burnt either. I was perfectly fine. Had I been dreaming? No. It all had been real.

and yet there was no evidence of it. I ran to the front door, and this time it opened when I pressed against it. The sun had only just risen over the English countryside. I ran through the first gate, then down the cobbled road and through the second gate. The view was breathtaking. Golden light outlined the distant hills and crept down into a valley layered with fog. The world was alive and fresh. I inhaled deeply and felt gratitude fill my veins.

I was alive somehow. Making my way down the winding path, I decided to seek out the woman in town that the old fortune teller had told me about. I needed to make sense of what had happened to me the night before. Rother'sford was a small town. I didn't imagine it would be too hard to find her. When I reached the bottom of the hill,

I walked to the main street of the town, the street with a strange juxtaposition of old and modern buildings. In one of the alleys, I saw a man sweeping. Excuse me, I called out. He didn't respond. Sir, excuse me. He had earbuds in, listening to music while he swept. I noticed that the local tavern was open and decided to try my luck in there. The tavern was one of the old buildings, the east. inside had rotting wood and drooping windows. A large, bearded man was behind the counter,

polishing tin mugs with a rag. He looked up at me and smiled. Ah, a tourist, come to see our quaint little town. How can I help you? Actually, I'm looking for someone. I was hoping you could tell me where to find her. I know everyone in Rother'sford like the back of my hand. So, yeah, I think. I think I could help you. What's her name? I paused. Why didn't the old woman tell me your name? Uh. I began. I don't know. Strange. The bartender said with a chuckle. She is newer to town. She came a few years ago, looking for Ashton Manor. The bartender frowned and stared into the distance. I don't trust that old place. He said more to himself than me.

He shook his head and smiled. Though it seemed to work for our dear Sadie, that's who you're looking for. Sadie Hawkins, the darling of our town now. We're all glad she decided to stay with us. She lives in one of the homes just up the road from here. White roses in her front garden. You can't miss it.

I nodded. Thank you so much. I turned to leave. My name is Maxwell, by the way. You can call me Max. You didn't so much as say hello to me when you walked in. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just in a hurry, Max finished for me.

Yeah, Sadie was just like you when she showed up. Anxious, eager. You be careful, stranger. Desperate people will give up more than they should. I nodded again, gave a polite smile, and left the tavern. Walking past the shops on the main street, I scanned the hillside for the old homes. Up a dirt path, there was a stone house with a wooden rectangle filled with soil in the front yard. Sprouting from the soil were spotless, white roses.

I ran up the path, paused to compose myself, and knocked on the wooden door. It opened. A woman stood in front of me. She had thin, blonde hair tied into a bun. She was pale, but her cheeks. weeks were rosy. She seemed to radiate joy as she smiled brilliantly. I guessed she was in her late 20s. Sadie Hawkins? I said. She continued to smile. Just Sadie is fine. I don't recognize you. So I'm assuming your life has gone to shit. I stared at her. You're the first person to come here

who isn't a tourist since, well, since me. She said she would send anyone looking for Ashton Manor to me. but I was starting to think I was the last person desperate enough to go to that old place. How? I stammered. How did you know I... I can see it in your eyes?

And I've never had a complete stranger come to my door with such determination before. Come inside. Let's talk over tea. I followed her and sat down at a small table she gestured at. An eerie feeling swept over me. The feeling of being watched.

I looked around the room. Sadie was setting a kettle on the stove with her back to me. There was no one else in the room. I thought I saw someone through the window. No, I felt someone through the window. When I stared through it, all I could see was the green hillside beyond. But the sensation was as if someone was standing directly on the other side of the glass, peering in. The kettle screamed and I jumped by my seat.

Sadie gave a friendly laugh. On edge, I get it. I was just like you. She poured the hot water into two metal cups and placed tea bags in them. So, what pushed you to the edge? I... I glanced at the window again, then back to Sadie.

I lost everything. I'm sorry, Sadie said with refreshing candor. But... I continued. What was it like for you in the manner? Last night I saw horrible things, and I died, or it felt like I died. Last night? Sadie questioned, looking up from her tea. You mean you've already spent a night there? I thought you'd come to me first.

I was worried you might have convinced me not to go. She nodded. So, what happened to you there? I asked. What did you see? I'm scared out of my mind. I don't remember, she sipped her tea. You don't remember? No, I don't remember any of the nights. I remember the days wandering the town, but each night is gone. I woke up on the third day knowing something radical had changed. I knew that I was different.

I was better, and my life has been better ever since. Sadie rubbed the underside of her arms. I noticed the scars, raised puncture wounds, surrounded by dead veins. She saw me staring and did not. nothing to hide them. Her expression was soft and kind. I couldn't help but smile. I was still afraid, but seeing that Sadie was living proof that Ashton Manor worked comforted me. Sadie finished her tea and stood up. Sadly, I have to go now. I'm helping Miss Haddish with her flock today. Flock? Flock of sheep, she smiled. This is a wonderful town full of wonderful people. I hope you'll

decide to stay when this is all done too. I'd love to talk more tomorrow. I'll be at the local coffee shop for most of the day. I thanked her and left the house. Again, I felt the presence of someone else. Sadie and I walked side by side, but someone was following behind us. I turned and saw no one. Sadie and I parted. I spent the rest of the day roaming the countryside. Dread rose as the sun set. Its descending arc across the sky was the sign I needed to head back to Ashton Manor. When I made it back to the manor, I returned to the room I had slept in the first night. However, I didn't plan on sleeping at all. I wanted to be prepared for whatever would happen, not shocked out of my bed.

The last bit of light died behind the distant mountains. I knew I was now trapped. I wandered the hallways but kept my distance from the walls for fear of dead hands reaching out to me. Instead, I heard a soft weeping somewhere in the house. Eventually, I found that it was coming from a trap door that led to the cellar. Deciding to confront the horror head on, I pulled up in the wooden door and climbed down into the cellar.

There were candles lit around the dirt floor. A grave had been dug in the center of the room, and Emily was weeping in front of it. She held something to her chest. The dead bishop stood at the other side of the grave. I already knew what Emily was holding. She turned to me with her empty eye sockets and lifted our dead sun in the air. I wanted to cry and puke and scream all at once, but I just stood there. Red was pouring from the black holes where Emily's eyes should have been.

She was crying blood. Our pale, motionless baby boy had the same empty eyes as Emily. Place it in earth. A voice rang across the room. It emanated from the bishop's skull. Every regret, every wound, everything that burdens you. Place it in the earth. Buried it.

I slowly moved to Emily. She handed me the child, and I began to weep. I knew it wasn't really him, but it seemed so real. This helpless infant in my child, in my arms. How long had Emily and I held each other while talking excitedly about his future? When he had died, our lives died with him. I kneeled and placed him in the grave. Emily, still sobbing blood, jumped into the grave and lay next to our son. The bishop pointed to the grave. I shook my head and backed away. There was no way I was climbing into that trap. The bishop held up his

hand and closed it into a fist. The whole house began to shake violently. I struggled up the wooden ladder and closed the trap door. When I ran to the foyer, I discovered with horror that the windows were obscured completely by dirt. The entire manor had somehow moved underground. The house continued to shake and long cracks snaked across the windows. The shaking stopped. I backed up slowly and held my breath. was still. All at once the window shattered and cold dirt came pouring in. It didn't stop. It was flooding the house like water. I stumbled up the stairs. The windows on the second floor also shattered and the dirt pouring from them pushed me back down. Panic consumed me. I was going to be buried alive. I considered that I would wake up unharmed the next day. But that did nothing to calm

my mammalian instinct to fight for my life. The dirt was heavy and up to my thighs. I couldn't move. The ceiling burst and dirt fell from there as well. The sound of it all was like a great waterfall. I screamed and earth filled my mouth. I choked. Falling earth forced me onto my back. I was covered completely. When I coughed, there was nowhere for it to go. Pressure filled my insides, as pressure also crushed my outsides. The weight increased. I thought my skull would crack. Then the pressure stopped building as the mansion was filled completely. My diaphragm contracted as it cried out for air, but I couldn't even gasp. Consciousness fled me.

I awoke again on the wooden floor. The day's first light filled the room. There wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen. Night three, resurrection. I sat up and gasped. I was no longer buried under the cold earth, and the house was above ground. once more. Laughter escaped me. Briefly, while I had been buried alive, I panicked when I thought that things might be different this time, that I might actually die. But here I was again,

unharmed. The strange ritual of Ashton Manor was real, and I felt more hopeful than I had in a long time. The house didn't frighten me that morning, as it had the first. I had a growing faith in the rules of the house and knew that nothing would happen to me during the day. I ventured into the study. There was no bishop, but his religious effects, the hat and robe, sat neatly in an old velvet chair. Looking at the enormous wall of books, I noted that there was a blatantly empty section, a grouping of shelves in the middle of the wall that contained no books at all. Then I felt a disturbing sensation, the piercing perception of being surrounded by people staring at me. It was like the feeling of the feeling of the feeling of

in Sadie's house, only more intense. But again, there was no one to be seen. I decided to go meet Sadie at the local cafe. I walked leisurely from the manor and out onto the hillside. Again, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the morning light cascading onto the countryside. The cafe on the main street was one of the modern-looking buildings, just across from the old tavern. Inside, I found Sadie sitting alone at a table, sipping coffee and reading a book. She looked up as the bell above the door chimed, declaring my entrance. She smiled. Hello, stranger. I smiled back and sat down across from her. We sat in silence for a moment. Oh, I said awkwardly. I just realized I've never even told you my name. Maybe it's better if you don't, at least not today. Tell me tomorrow.

after it's all over, because I'll be meeting you again for the first time. Maybe you'll even decide to go by a different name. I couldn't imagine that I would feel different enough the next day to want to change my name, but I didn't question her. The waiter came by, and Sadie offered to buy me a cup of coffee since I had no money. I thought of telling her about what had happened the night before, but I remembered that she had forgotten all of her nights at Ashton Manor. If I was going to forget them too, I figured it was best that no one knew.

It was better that I'd not burdened Sadie with the horrors I wouldn't recall. I'd look down at the scars on her arms. So, I said, if you don't mind me asking, was it addiction that brought you to the manner? She was unfazed by the question. No, it was a curse. Right, sure. But I mean, did that manifest as an addiction? Was drug use the thing that ruined your life?

No, it was the curse that ruined my life. I frowned. Sadie saw my frustration inside. Look, she began. The problem with every doctor and every shrink I ever saw back when I was using every day but still had some money to seek help was that they always treated the symptom, not the root problem. My dependency on heroin was a symptom.

It was a symptom of the curse. I leaned back in my chair and thought for a moment. I guess I still don't know what a curse really is. Sadie smiled. She looked out the window. Neither do I. Maybe it comes from an angry god. Maybe it was a witch out of a storybook who cast a spell.

Maybe it was the evil eye. But I don't think so. I don't think it comes from out there. She gestured to everything around her. I think, In the end, we curse ourselves, by the things we do or don't do, by the things we have set out of anger, or the things we leave unsaid out of fear. I think everyone is cursed in their own way.

Maybe everyone else just learns to accept it, but I couldn't. That dark thing inside me that I had permitted to grow, that I had even fed and encouraged, one day at rock bottom, I knew I needed it out of me. I would remove this thing ruining my life or die trying, and Ashton Manor saved me. It gave me a new life, and I'm unrecognizable compared to who I once was, in the best possible way. I let out a low whistle. That's some impressive philosophizing, Sadie laughed. I've had a lot of time to reflect, I guess.

We continued to talk that whole day. She told me everything about Rother'sford, and all of her neighbors and friends, here. She refused to mention anything about her life before Ashton Manor, but she listened patiently as I told her everything about my own life. In what felt like mere moments, the sun had moved into its path of descent and the light paled. Well, I said, I better get going. Sadie gently touched my arm. You have no idea how excited I am to see you tomorrow when you're a new man. I nodded and to the manner. Hope and excitement danced in my stomach, and I found myself genuinely eager to return. I entered the old mansion and returned to the study. The section of empty books was now full,

except the books appeared like ghosts. They weren't solid. I moved my hand through them and felt only slight resistance. As the sun set, the books became more solid. When the sun had set completely, the books were as solid as all the others. I moved to grab a book when I heard creaking behind me. The skeletal bishop was back and sitting up from the armchair. Let's get this over with, I said. The bishop pointed to the great fireplace. It erupted with flames.

He motioned for me to move closer. The flames began to swirl and dance. I sensed something important was about to happen when ghastly moaning exploded in the study. I turned around to see ghostly figures rising from the front, and reaching through the walls. They appeared as dark shadows with some manner of solidity. Reaching out to me, they continued to moan.

I recognized them as the presence I had felt earlier that day. Were they also the presence I felt in Rothersford? How could that be? As they approached me, I saw a distortion in the darkness of their faces, which made it appear as though they were frowning. They grabbed me and pushed me from behind. Was this part of the ritual? It didn't feel like it.

It felt like they were interrupting. I struggled to get free. When I fought hard against an individual shadow, I was able to break free, moving my arm through them like air, but more and more gathered, grabbing me in unison. And the more of them that grabbed me,

the more solid their grip became. I phased through a cluster of the shadows and fell to the ground. They adjusted and began to drag me backward by my legs. I clawed at the wooden floor but couldn't get a grip. I was pulled into the front. foyer. They were trying to drag me out of the house. They were trying to end the ritual prematurely. I couldn't let that happen. I called out to the bishop. Please help! I want to finish this.

The bishop appeared by the staircase. He held something in his hands. It was a metal cross, only he held it upside down. As he lifted it into the air, an invisible force pushed the shadows away from me. They squealed as they fled. I returned to the fireplace with the bishop. The flames danced again. A small flame leapt from the fireplace and onto my clothes. It spread in a straight line, starting from my stomach, up through my face and around my back, until it arrived at my stomach again. A thin line of fire divided my body into two parts.

I didn't feel it burned. I stared into the fireplace. The fire churned. Something strange was happening. I felt a pressure in the center of my body. I could see something in the fire, something wonderful, something beautiful. The flames twitched, and the vision changed as if someone had switched the channel on a television. I now saw something horrible, something any religious person would have called hell.

I can hardly explain what I saw, but the feelings remain. Every horror you could imagine, every bad thing, was in the fire. The flames twitched again, and the beautiful vision returned. I felt like I was being pulled apart, torn down the middle where the flame bisected me. My mind's eye was bombarded with alternating visions of blissful ecstasy and maddening horror. I shrieked, but couldn't hear my own scream. My senses were overloaded, and the tearing sensation grew. At last, my body ripped in half, or that's what it felt like, the fire went out.

I must have been trapped in front of the fireplace for hours, because the sun was all. already rising. I was staring down at my own body. I was passed out on the floor, and yet I was floating in the air. Was I dead? My body stirred and sat up. I saw myself smile and laugh excitedly, and then run out of the front door of the manor. Looking down at my own hands, I saw that they were semi-transparent like a ghost. Around me, rumming the mansion, were other ghosts. They were the shadows I had seen, only now they looked like pale people. One of these ghosts looked just like Sadie. I followed the Sadie's shadow out of the mansion, still confused. She floated through the air until she arrived at Sadie's house. The shadow that looked like Sadie watched the physical

Sadie through the window. It was her. This shadow was the presence I had felt when I had talked to Sadie. She just sat at the window and watched sadly. I saw my own body run up to Sadie's house. Sadie and myself embraced, and even kissed. They both laughed happily. The realization grabbed my reason, like dead hands, through the floorboards of my mind. I was the shadow.

I was the curse. I was the bit that was removed from myself. The part that the other me didn't want. Next to me was Sadie's curse. And the other shadow people I had seen in the manner were the curses removed from previous visitors. But Sadie and myself were completely unaware of what had happened. Those books on the shelves were the stories of each shadow.

Each of them had written about their experience at Ashton Manor, the experience that their bodies didn't remember. And here I am now, adding my own story to the collection. It has been many years since I undertook the ritual. Sadie and my body are now old. They were married and had children. Their children grew up and left. But Sadie and my body have remained in Rothersford.

They are impossibly happy, all day, every day. I hate them. For the first while, I desperately tried to possess my own body. But I am not a demon. I could no more return to my body than a surgically removed organ could reattach itself by being swallowed. I was forever separate. We shadows can wander where we please during the day, but when the sun sets, we are returned to the manor and are unable to leave its walls until the sun rises again.

We never speak to each other. I thought briefly that I could have a life with the shadow Sadie, but that was impossible. The part of me that could love remained in my living body. At night we wander aimlessly. the day, we each follow the lives of our bodies, wherever they may be. Two visitors have come to Ashton Manor since me. We shadows desperately tried to break the ritual and push the visitors out of the house to prevent a new cursed shadow from enduring our town torment. But the bishop always stops us. He is our warden. We see him as he once was, with flesh, a fat old man. He never bothers us

unless we interfere with the ritual. Some nights, he pulls one of my books off the shelf and reads it. He always has a sickening grin on his face while he reads about our misery. And yet, I bet the other me is grateful to the bishop. I wonder if the other me would have gone through with a ritual, if he knew that part of himself would be trapped in this place forever. I think he would. He thinks of me as evil.

He goes on living a wonderful life, only because he has chosen to destroy part of himself. Ashton Manor is a psychological repression manifested in reality. It does what no drug or therapist or doctor could ever do. It removes every uncomfortable thing without the patient having to confront it. It made me into a scapegoat and sent me out into the night. I know I am not a curse. I am as much myself as the other me is.

We are two halves of the same hole. Only I am pained with this knowledge. The other me walks around in blissful ignorance. One day he will die, but I will remain. The other shadows and I will forever haunt this world. Forcibly forgotten ghosts left to wander in the dark alone. Lazzang sur-gillet, Puit, Puitiont,

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