Rain splattered the muddy ground relentlessly. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped and the horses reared their heads in anger as the drive whipped them endlessly, urging them forward down the road. Inside the carriage sat a man whose name had not been heard in those parts for a decade. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and a long dark beard. He was young, but his face was worn, as though he were older. He had seen many a rough time in his life, even though he was in fact young. He was but twenty-five years of age. His name was Ashton. He was the last surviving heir of the Caddlemen family. He had left when he was fifteen to work in the city. Upon hearing of his parents death, and that their mansion was granted to him along with their fortune he was returning to his home town of Crem to settle the business with the estate.
And he arrived. The front gates were blowing around in the wind and creaking eerily. The great mansion looked disturbingly haunted in the dark stormy weather. There was a light on in one of the upstairs windows. Ashton thought this was strange as there wasn't supposed to be anyone in the house. He approached the door, and as he did so the light upstairs went out. He took out the key and unlocked the front door. It opened with a loud groan of old wood and hinges. He stepped inside and took off his coat and hung it on the coat hanger next to the entrance. He squinted around in the dark and spotted a candle sitting on the center table in the middle of the room. He approached it and took out his matchbook and lit the candle. The flame flickered to life and settled warmly as he raised the candle above his head to see a view of the room. It was a large entry with the center table in the middle, two tables against the side walls and two sets of stairs leading up to the second and third levels. Lighting lit up the inside of the house here and there, and thunder continued to grumble and rumble outside.
"Hello?" Ashton called out. "Is anyone here?"
He made his way upstairs, holding the candle out in front of him.
Outside the driver unloaded his luggage and then left, heading back towards town.
Inside there was silence.
Caddlemen estate stayed silent forever more. Talk of what happened to Ashton stirred in Crem for decades after that. But no one knew for certain. Lights went on and off in the house, shadowy figures were seen through the windows and someone said they saw Ashton walking the grounds one early, foggy morning. Some said they heard screams coming from the mansion at night or during the day. But ivy slowly enveloped the mansion and windows were covered in dust and dirt. Kids would dare each other to get close to the house. But that ended when a child entered the house and never came back. The parents begged the police to search the house but the police insisted the child and simply run away from home. In reality everyone knew even the police were to afraid of the house to search it.
Ashton sat in his chair up on the second level. It was a large chair, leather bound and quite comfortable. He sat next to the fire. His body was all but lifeless it seemed. Deep sunken eyes, long gray, stringy hair and beard, and his clothes torn and his skin gray and rotting. He mumbled to himself as he stared into the fire. The dead child's skin lay on the ground on front of the fire as a rug. The unholy spirits circled Ashton as he smirked and mumbled as he stared at the flames. This was his estate, and his rules. The spirits made him. They knew him, and he knew them. This was Caddlemen Estate.
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