Page 43 of Manors & Mischief

“Years passed and the young lady never married. Decades went by, and still, she never made the trek to the well again. She ended up an old lady, living alone in a cottage by the woods, when one day, the townspeople saw her slip into the woods again. Except, this time, they never saw her return. A few days came and went, and no one had seen her. They didn’t see her tend the garden, or get water. Worried something had happened to the old woman, the townspeople got together to check on her. When they walked into the house, they were bombarded with the smell of decayed flesh. Finally, she had gotten her wish.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, but he doesn’t stop there. His gaze shadows over, and suddenly, it’s darker in the ballroom than it was before.

“But that wasn’t all. After seeing her body, the townsfolk ran from the house. The remains they found were not the remains of the freshly dead. They were the remains of someone who had passed long ago. The woman they’d seen walk into the woods a few days prior was her ghost, looking for her beloved once more.”

Goosebumps spread up and down my arms, and I hug them to myself.

“Now, legend has it that those who wish for their loves to return see the reflection of the young woman in the water as beautiful and as young as the day she first made her wish. But the longer they see her, the image decays before their eyes. Twisting and aging. Her hair falls out, and then her bones turn dark and diseased. Her eyeballs roll inward until she is nothing but a rotting skeleton, never to have seen her love again.”

Devon’s shoulders rise and fall as if he just survived a workout. I catch every angle of his face, serious as it is. Fear creeps into my body and settles in my heart, but moreso, I feel the heartache of the woman.

“Is that really true?”

The corners of Devon’s lips turn up, breaking the spell. “Why would you think it wasn’t?”

I swat at him. “Devon, you really had me going.”

He playfully dodges my attempt and grabs my hand, tugging me closer. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I did.”

“Good, because it’s completely true. Well, a true local legend anyway.” He peers down, and I don’t know if he notices how close we are like I do, but he tilts his head, confusion flickering across his face.

I clear my throat. “You told that story so well, I think I know exactly who needs to tell it on the Tour.”

He lets go of my hand. “No, no.”

“Yes,” I cling to him. “You have to. You have no idea how good you were, and I’ll never be able to do it justice. I’ll dress as the woman. You can make a small well that we can use as a prop. I’ll act the scene out, but you need to tell it. People will be shaking in their boots. Do a lot of people know that story?”

I peer at him with so much hope. My oratory skills are lackluster at best. If he agrees to tell the story though, we’ll be the best stop in town. I’m sure of it.

“It’ll bring so many people by the manor to show them what we’ve done.”

“We?” he asks, just like my mother had echoed before.

“You get to take a good chunk of the credit for doing all the hard stuff. Please?”

His gaze traces all over my face, and I know I have him, even if he doesn’t already know it. There’s not much Devon Lachey won’t do for Sleepy Hollow Manor, and I’m beginning to realize that.

16

DEVON

All those days in drama class and nights performing plays for the local theater have really paid off because from the first tour, Sleepy Hollow Manor is a hit. Ember, with her design skills, decorated the porch half like a forest with a well, and the other like a sitting room in a cottage. A gown from the times swishes across the floor as she walks.

For myself, she rented me a Civil War era military uniform as I tell the story from the side, watching beautiful Ember wait until the last moment to turn her other side to the audience. She hits a hidden button for an eerie green spotlight, illuminating decayed skull makeup and black cobwebs draped across half her gown.

Gasps continue to ricochet through each group at the final reveal.

The tip jar I made just before the first group showed up is nearly full. Ember hesitated at first, but I told her it was customary to replace the monies spent for the costumes and our time. I even put a note on it that all the proceeds would go directly into rehabbing Sleepy Hollow Manor. I sat the jar next to the pamphlets Ember had printed for the upcoming events here: the Children’s Haunted House and the end-of-year Ball.

The groups pepper us with questions about the story. I have no doubt most of the elder residents have heard the tale, but the kids haven’t, and definitely not the tourists who mix with each group.

When the host turns on the lantern again, he rallies his group and tells them they must move on to the next house. I wait until they’re out of earshot until I say, “I’d like to see how they measure up to us.”

Ember laughs. “This is so much fun.”

She keeps echoing that statement. From the first group until now, I can see the way she’s settled in. Her movements becoming more laid back as the initial nerves rescinded. “You made a really good dead person.”