So, ghost stories
For creative writing class, a friend and I had to go to this house in Liverpool that was an old merchant's mansion converted partially to a museum. We were assigned the trip at the beginning of the semester and just never got around to it. As the date for the story about the house approached, we realized the museum closed early that week so we HAD to go that night. We called the museum, confirmed their hours (they fussed, but we told them we were Americans who didn't understand the country well enough and they agreed to keep it open past 7:00) and we hopped on the train to Liverpool.
It was already dark by the time we got there, as it was December in England and shit gets dark early. We knocked on the front door to the mansion and, much like a movie, the door slowly creaked open. It was, apparently, already open and the knock simply gave it some forward momentum, but it was creepy all the same.
We walked around taking notes, recording with our phones, and talking to the teenage girl that was tasked with babysitting us.
Suddenly, lightning struck and the house went pitch black.
My friend clung to my arm out of instinct and I patted her back, not wanting her to know that I was also super freaked out. "Oh fuck," the teenage employee said. "This is why we don't stay open at night."
She was being kind of a bitch, but the point was taken.
Her footsteps got distant as she approached the front desk and lit a lantern. It had a base of oil and a cloth strap sticking out, burning really brightly. It basically lit up the room.
So we continued our tour, now with less video, and go to the room showing the dresses of the women who lived there. I started trying to formulate story ideas when one of the dressed mannequins fell over in the room behind us. We instinctively followed the girl with the lantern as she checked in on it, but she did not appear to notice or care that we were in the room with her. If the look of discomfort on her face was an act for us, then she has pretty amazing night-vision to have seen us peering around the door frame.
We backed up in to the room with the dresses as she marched toward us. "Are we done yet? We really need to close."
My friend began to mouth "Yes," before I interrupted her. I'm a writer. This often overrides good judgment.
"Can we see the office in the pamphlet?" I asked. I was curious because the office had the merchant owner's bottled-ships. It seemed like, if I were to be inspired by anything, it was going to be that.
We tip-toed downstairs and every creak made the loudest sound in the world. The three of us were walking in unison. If they were thinking the same thing I was, it was being done just to minimize the sound we make. All of us were telling ourselves that there was nothing there. Those extra creaks we heard were not there.
Those sounds coming from behind us were not there.
We eventually made it downstairs and walked in to the office. I regretted ever asking, but I was trying to look brave and could not back out now. The teenage girl opened the door, slowly at first, peeking in. I reasoned in my head that she has to do this when locking up every night, anyway. The bottles lining the walls, some filled with ships, others with stains of wine, reflected the moonlight from the window in a weirdly sickening way. I crossed the threshold between the dining room and the office.
The lights shot on accompanied by a thunderous clap. Whatever was suppressing them before no longer was. The three of us looked at each other and the combination of being startled and relieved is not a facial expression I am sure I can ever replicate. We took our remaining notes, and walked out of the office.
As the teenage girl locked the door, I heard my friend make a surprised scream. I look to her, maybe two feet behind me, and saw a small porcelain doll at her feet.
"Was this always here?!" she said out of fear.
"I...don't know. It was dark." I didn't know why I was answering. I think I wanted to convince myself it wasn't.
The teenage girl, however, turned ghastly pale. She rushed us out of the room and to the front desk. "Just take what you need and go. It is past closing time."
We excused ourselves and left. As we waited for a cab just off the road leading to the house, we saw a hill that extended back from behind the museum. I suggested that there might be a good view to describe and we had umbrellas, so we should check it out. On the hill, we found four things.
Three gravestones.
One doll.