Where the Dead Rise
Moore Mire Manor
For restless centuries, nights spent in Moore Mire Manor spun aloof tales of phantasmagoria. Deeply dreamt unobserved into all perceived reality without ever the prospect of fever or dream. Unabated, the restful residence nestled deep within the deathly depths of Tranquil Hills lured many to its otherwise augmented reality, like the dolorous pining over a lost loved one. No clarity borne hitherto inside the morbid mind of Men scoured such dire depths of the Death-sentient consequence perpetually carving history therein. Man feared Death more than he required to love, leaving nothing more to scrutiny.
There held claims that foraging phantasmal forces in and around the eerie establishment were those of an ancient nature - beings remnant of a bygone era where magic bound spirit-to-dirt and dirt-to-spirit. Lingering effects of this old magical echo elicited the pale visions marking Moore Mire Manor previously preoccupied before people.
Abiding by ancient principles and the natural laws governing the body of spirits residing throughout Tranquil Hills, it held that the significance of the haunt remained paramount - in part, protecting the area as all life feared the unknown, thus, in every end, leaving them to be. Abandoning all but the Manor’s well-maintained longevity, it became necessary to hire from the living for their perpetual attendance and their acute awareness so that the life-rummaging souls could determine the ever-more-evident threat brooding over Tranquil Hills. Serendipitously, Fate ushered to the ambling dead the ample life it pleaded for using a nomadic couple from nearby by Breckenmire. Shortly preceding them, pealed thunder marking an ominous storm.
‘Greetings! We are the Addus,’’ stated a tall, slim male entering into the manor from the darkening blustery outdoors, casting a curious glance at the emaciated innkeeper. While shutting the old door, it cried out an offense from its age-old rusting hinges.
The mode of the dead, shuffling betwixt plane-above from plane-below, moved through the mortal coil by deathly coil; where they drifted lightly, and lengthy, appearing exhausted beyond all bated breath. Urged to commission flesh for the Manor, an apparition toting a key in hand gestured that the two escort in tow.
“My apologies, sir. I am more than well-accustomed to hastily answering the door, except that I never heard you rap upon it.” Awkward silence hanged in the air as Mr. Addus could not recall if he had knocked at all.
Vastly decorated with an air of nineteenth-century furnishings and completed exalted in luxury, the three silent entities moved through that which is Moore Mire Manor. Reaching an old iron spiral staircase, carved ornately from spindle to spire, it was here where the phantom stepped aside, gesturing the lovely couple forward.
‘To the second floor."
The stoic host grimly stretched a smile exposing crooked teeth while the Addus stepped from the helix stairway feigning reciprocation.
The second floor.
Long was the corridor that ran ahead in front of them. With time having riddled the ethereal host, it outstretched its lanky arm and furthered out an index finger directing them forward. Slightly hesitant, as this began appearing to the Addus’ a terrible mistake, it tilted its tired head at them from somewhere inside Eternity; haste straightening the wrinkles long worn into its old visage. With an awkwardness nevermore felt by the dead, they moved through its dim keepings.
"We seek assistance," it stated, drifting just behind them both, "from the living," it eerily added. Although this brought clarity to what the Addus’ assumed hitherto, it also brought fright, as the unspoken suppositions they felt were correct. "We need management of Moore Mire Manor while we - the pageantry of life’s debt to nature - hunt for the darkness that moved into our woods following after you two." Their hearts bounded from fear to terror until the innkeeper reassured them that they were to be the Manor’s masters henceforth. What, they thought, had followed them unknowingly?
"Furl not your brow with worry. Management here at the Manor is not without its rewards," it graciously declared. "The Manor always gives its masters all that they might desire." Thoroughly enticed, for flesh lusted after much, they submitted to its plea freeing their terror and accepted the job, starting heretofore immediately.
"One last thing. What shall we call you," the male Addus queried of the keeper? As it vanished, likened to smoke, a deathly sigh escaped him and resounded, revealing his response. "Menachem. Malachi. Mordecai. Moore."
The remaining eve stretched invariably into the small hours as the Addus curiously examined the second floor of Moore Mire Manor. Slightly frightened for many hours, Mrs. Addus remarked to her husband that something sinister lay afoot; the dimmed domicile dealt out darkened overtones that her excessive intuition overwhelmingly intercepted.
“Is it me, dear, or does something feel-” her murmuring twaddle prattled off undiscovered as she inflected once more back to him. “Wrong. Quite wrong?” The volume of silence amplified as she cast out her theory. Outside, the moonlight hid away, sounded off by a peal of thunder grumbled.
“No, my sweet, it isn’t you," he assuredly responded. “Something is quite very wrong here.”
