The Ancestral Specter

"It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude."—H.P. Lovecraft

The most horrible nightmare had awakened me during the night, as I would discover that the world that I had known, would change for the worse in its drastic alteration. What would be that discovery the reader dares to ask, with an intrinsic curiosity and morbidity? I would soon discover that I was no longer alone in the familiar house that I had called home, since my early childhood. The year was 1938, and there was another realization that would astonish me, I would awaken to find that there were complete strangers living in the house, but I had perceived with my cognition that they were not human in their essence.

From beyond the hoary moon, there was a queer mist that had pervaded over the house and with it, had entered these unknown phantasms that would trouble me. I had risen to my feet to investigate the matter and the abrupt intruders. What had obfuscated me was the fact that I could not see them clearly, and I could only vaguely hear them speak. All that I could descry of them were blurry images that were not conspicuous to my watchful eyes.

Of these people I could only describe them in the following manner that I would determine their constitution. There were three children that I had noticed and a female figure that I had assumed was their mother. Was this occurrence only the result of my horrid dream that was imposing within a sequence of apprehension? Was this a vivid episode of my imagination, or was this a disturbing hallucination I had concocted unwillingly? Whatever I would ultimately experience was abominable in nature. It was an experience that had no rational conclusion, except that it was existential in its terror and ominous in its reality. I had no specific idea what had caused this anomaly, and the only clues that were pertinent and tangible, were those of the presence of these wandering phantoms that had entered the house uninvitedly.

The night would pass and the morning had arrived. And with it, my growing uncertainty and intrigue that would pursue me with a terrible wrath. I thought I had experimented a nightmare that was unusual in its substance, but I did not know, if the ghosts that had appeared before me were actually real at all. I would soon have the answer to the question about my concern, as I began to search for them inside the house with extreme caution. At first, I had not seen nor heard much of them, until I was seated in the dining hall, when I had seen the blurry images of the children running in the corridor. I could hear them giggle and laugh out loud with such excitement. Were they laughing at me I had asked myself? If so, what did they want from me? As I had approached them in the corridor, they were gone afterwards. They had disappeared into the secret realm that existed, between the dead and living.

I could only ponder the inexplicable occurrence, and speculate on how long they would be staying at the house. They were not my guests, but I was chosen to be their host, without my consent. Was there something particular about the house that had brought them here in the first place that had eluded my awareness? My home was a Victorian house located on the outskirts of Providence, within the New England region. I had inherited it from a wealthy aunt that had regrettably passed away ten years ago. She had considered me the son that she never had. The house had two stories, several chambers upstairs and downstairs, ornate windows, a chandelier, a gallery, a main hall, dining hall, a parlor, a fireplace and tapestries that were exceedingly priceless. It had an impressive façade and aspect that was attached to the history of its ancestors that had exceeded the tales of mere legends.

For the remainder of the day, I had attempted to not allow myself to be distracted by the spectral intruders. My days were spent inside the house, dealing with a sickening depression that had confined me to the sturdy walls of the house, as a prisoner of my own guilt. It was a guilt that I could not explain entirely, because I did not even know, why it was tormenting me with such a dauntless circumstance. All that was factual to me was the reality that I was once alone, in the monotonous house that I had called my home. I would be then confronted with the intrusion of ghostly beings that were present in the house that were not invited by me. This was too unpredictable and unique to fathom, but they would continue to dwell among my presence openly. I could hear their distinctive voices and see orbits of flashes of them still blurry to me, in places inside the house, while witnessing their actions.

My immediate concern was to observe and calculate with my thoughts what I could do to remove them from the house or make them leave the house and never return. That was not a facile task to accomplish, because I had sensed that they were not human as I was. Simply, they could not be driven out by brute force, due to the fact that they had no corporeal composition that I was aware about its existence. I would attempt to communicate with them, but I was not certain that they even paid attention to me, or could reply in words of expression that were comprehensible. I had noticed one peculiar thing that had drawn their attention, and that was that were drawn to my phonograph, which I had usually played to distract myself in the parlor. I could hear them speaking, as I had listened attentively. Their spectral images were still blurry to me, and their words were still impossible to decipher to know the full extent about what they were doing and saying. I had the weird feeling that they were attempting to communicate to me, and not just among themselves.

Every morning, I would awaken to the sound of the children playing inside the house and the phonograph then in the afternoon. It would become an eerie routine that I would be accustomed to its occurrence. I still did not have a pertinent clue to the inducement for their presence in the house, but I would make the attempt to establish communication with them. I knew that ghosts were common in houses and had haunted them with a fearless passion. The one thing that had puzzled me since their arrival was the fact that there was no actual reference nor recollection of their attachment to the house, nor the family that I could correlate details with my memory. This was indeed odd in its contemplation. Were they just strangers or were they related to me in some manner that I had no cognizance about that relevance? If I only knew their names or could speak to them to find out that important information.

Thus, I would scribble notes on a sheet of paper and leave them in places they usually would visit. My messages would not be that lengthy and were directly to the point. I had waited eagerly for their replies. At first, there was no reply, and I had wondered if my experiment had failed in my attempt. I had decided to continue writing the notes, with the hope that the uninvited strangers would respond. I would often see them gathered in the areas of the house, where I had mostly expected them to be at. I was in the parlor one evening, when one of the members of the family had suddenly appeared before me. The blurry specter had resembled a female that I had assumed was the mother. I could sense that she had the need to speak to me, but she was unable for some reason. Something was preventing her to completely materialize before me naturally. She had read one of my written notes. This meant that she was aware of my presence, and about my particular notes and messages.

Unfortunately, I would not receive any replies from her. I began to make distinctive noises myself, thinking that they would be alerted to my presence in the house. I had pondered how I could devise another effective method to make them know that they were not alone in the house, as they had thought. There were times that I had felt nervous and spooked by their immediate presence. I was not certain that they were inherently evil or good phantoms. Either way, I was not fully threatened by them nor their actions. It was just their blurry images that had alarmed me in a sudden consternation. They would appear from nowhere it would seem unannounced to me. I did not know, if that was an inevitable omen or just an idle threat in essence. They were become more daring in their approach toward me, and I was perceiving that change of behavior with my keen observation displayed.

The lights in the house were usually lit in the night, but upon one occasion they were not. I had noticed they were candles lit in the dining hall, and the rest of the lights were turned off elsewhere. Apparently, there was some kind of event that was transpiring with them, which I was unaware about its activity. While they were participating in that activity, I was listening and watching their actions and movements closely. What I did not know at the time was the fact that they were attempting a séance. They had wanted to speak to a dead person, but who was that individual they sought to enter their world? That I would only learn when I had unraveled the secret they were concealing. If this was true, then were they really revenants in their absolute nature, or could they actually traverse the material realm of the living that was feasible? They would fail to summon any spirit on that night.

In the days that had followed, I would think about different ways I could get their immediate attention at once. I would use the electricity of the house to continue to alert them about my presence. I would turn on then off the lights manually, so that they would know that I was near. I would also move furniture such as chairs and tables, along with the curtains of the parlor and shutters of the windows in the dining hall. All of these measures were precisely calculated, in my attempt to communicate with them. In the greater scheme of my plan was still the reason, for their unexplained presence in the house. No matter how much I imposed upon them with pressure, they would equally impose upon me the same amount of eeriness and uncertainty. In the depth of my mind, I had wondered, how I could make them more transparent in their appearances?

I would read plentiful books about eldritch spooks, yet not one of them would be able to tell me or elucidate explicitly, how I could achieve the objective of either communicating with them, or even better, cause them to leave the house for good. Eventually, I would settle on adjusting to them, until they had grown weary of me and the house itself and departed. Life had not been very kind to me in recent years, and I had struggled with major bouts of depression and loneliness. Could it be that these wandering ghosts were experiencing these same things that I was divulging at the same time? This would imply that they had perhaps come to the house to escape their former lives in a place, which they did not want to reside any longer. Who was I to judge them for that decision? I had only wanted to know, why they were at the house in the first place?

The weeks had become months, and I was forced to dwell with the specters and their intrusive presence. I would not sleep much, or would they. Was I loosing my sanity, or worse, had I already lost it and did not even know of that horrendous consequence? Then that would mean that the ghosts were nothing more than just figments of my imagination. Truly, it was difficult to know what was real from surreal, especially when one was so isolated as myself. Why did I not go outside to enjoy the abundant wonders of life, as normal people would do? Instead, I had remained a prisoner of my own house, for a reason unbeknown to me, except because of an intrinsic fear. Fear about what? That was the impending question that was not resolved. The house was my security, and the place of the most endearing memories I had.

Upon awakening one day, I had discovered that the arrangements in the house were altered. For example, there were new curtains, and the walls in many of the rooms were painted, with a different color than the original one. There were mirrors that were hung, and tables that were replaced. I did not know the specific reason for their sudden changes. There was also the indistinguishable scent of incense that had perfumed the house. Were these drastic measures taken caused directly by the intruders or was I simply conjuring these abnormalities? It was becoming evident to me that something of the supernatural was occurring, without my knowledge. What else could it be that was logically plausible to accept? The barrier that was dividing us had to be broken, but how? If they were ghosts and I was human, then this could not be achieved, without us both entering into the secret realm of being, through a parallel junction. Who from amongst us was the living and the other dead?

There were actual moments, when I had thought I was succumbing to my atavistic hysteria. It was their lurking presence that had puzzled me in disconcertment. I knew absolutely nothing about their origin and the reason that they had come to the house in the first place. This had troubled me and caused me to meditate the situation that had unfolded subitaneously. What was strange also were their footfalls I heard constantly inside the house. It was perplexing to me, how could this transpire, if they were supposedly dead? This mystery would be solved in the end, when I had discovered who they really were in essence. They had continued to be blurry images to me that would appear and reappear daily, without clearly forming into something sufficiently tangible in description and palpable in substance. Perhaps the key was with the children; they were the most active in the house.

For a whole week they were gone, and I had believed that they had finally left the house to not return. In their absence, I had contemplated whether or not, they would return. It was difficult to know what were their real intentions, because my communication with them was not productive. I began to search the house for any viable clues that would tell me, who they were and where they had gone for the time being. Did they leave as I had hoped for, or was their departure only an expected visit to another place beyond the vicinity? I had the intuitive sense that they had been planning what to do with me, and I had to prepare myself for that eventuality. It was not facile to discern their intentions or schemes, but I would attempt to, if and when they returned to the house. I was just as much as a mystery to them, as they were to me. This was of little consolation to me and my rationality.

After that week had passed, they would return, much to my chagrin. I was in the hall when I had heard the front door creak open. I could hear their familiar footsteps and voices, as I had observed them enter at my discretion. What I did not know at the time was that they were more determined to communicate with me or drive me out of the house. It had seemed that either they had to go, or I had to go. There was no other option to contemplate that was fair. I thought it was more urgent that I communicated with them, thinking that they would know who I ultimately was. I was not guaranteed that this would solve the dilemma about our identities, but it was worth the attempt. I began to scribble on the walls messages that had signaled my presence loud and clear. However, it would only cause more suspicion about me and not indisputable proof to them.

They had changed the lighting of the house, and whenever I had appeared before them, a refulgent glow would blind me. I was still seeing blurry images of them. Apparently, I was becoming clearer to them. They could never truly see me in my entirety, but they had more of an advantage than I had. The children were less cautious when encountering me than the mother. Perhaps, it was because they did not truly understand who I was, or what I had represented to them. I knew that children were aware of superstitions, but only wanted to remain in their period of innocence. The mother. on the other hand, was more cautious and astute, about my presence in the house. She was determined to confront me and expose me for whom I was. I had no clear animosity or aversion toward her or her children. All I wanted to know, was who were they, and why did they come to dwell in my house?

I had meticulously studied and read every book that would inform me, about ghosts and how to deal with them on a personal basis. I would use every possible trick or means of deception applied to them, but to no avail. It would seem that they were cognizant about my futile attempts to be rid of them. It was a fascinating game of wits between us, and only one of us was going to be victorious in the end. I had not reached the stage of complete anger against them, but I was not equable. I did not loathe them. I had only sought to drive them out of the house, as they had sought to do the same thing with me I thought. This predicament was becoming more and more a desperate one for the both of us. It was a no-win situation, but I could not foresee the ending that would occur. It would be a finality that I did not suspect one bit.

I was dealing at the same time, with my countless insecurities and forlorn isolation inside the house that I began even more to procure the reason why I would not leave the house and seek a measure of normalcy that others had, but was missing in my life? I had begun the process of reflection and pondered many things that were wrong about my life. My recollection of the memories of my life were dismal and missing, in particular what had happened to me, before the intruders had arrived at the house. Why could I not recall any of this? Had I succumbed to a prevailing madness or did something transpire that I had erased from my thoughts that were poignant? The suspense was increasing twofold, and I was becoming more anxious with the days that would elapse. I had to discover my haunting past, before I would have a nervous breakdown.

They had installed a giant clock in the main hall that would ring with each passing hour. The strange noise and reverberation of the clock would irk me, as would the constant ticking, as if it was observant of the doing of the house. The children's laughter and giggling would increase with their mischievous play between them. They were more transpicuous than the mother, with their strepent behavior and had reminded me of the childhood I was once had and cherished. It was becoming clearer by the day that whatever I did would not drive them out of the house instantly. Not even frightening them, as I had done at times previously was that effective. Was it practical to continue to believe that I could make them depart on my terms or were they not going to relinquish their claim on the house?

I had profoundly considered in my inquisitive thoughts, if they were some lost kindred of mine that was related to the family. Were they part of my ancestral lineage? If so, I had not heard a single mention about them prior to their arrival. My intuition was telling me that they were in fact related to me in some peculiar manner. This is what obfuscated and intrigued me with urgency. The suspense was gnawing at me with every incident or contact I would have with the family. Time was something that was connecting us. If not, how could we measure the presence of one another with substance? What I mean by that, is that despite our inability to see each other clearly, we were both occupying a space in time. The question that I began to inquire to myself was, what were they able to descry about me? Was I just a blurry image to them also, as they were to me? How could I prove that parallel similarity, with a contrast?

The mere notion of that possibility was compelling me to search for a way to effectuate that idea. It was on one afternoon that I had decided to follow the children to their room. I had looked through the key hole to see their activity, as I peeked closely. Something unusual would occur and begin to change the course of my actions. The occurrence would last for a brief moment in duration. For the first time, I was able to see them plainly, not as blurry images that I was accustomed to descry before. I was surprised and unprepared for this sudden realization, but at the same time, extremely curious to know more about their activities. The children were playing in their room, and what I had noticed was they were wearing clothing of a different period it would appear to my eyes. I had entered the room, and they had seen me and had gazed at me, as if they were aware of my presence. Then, they had addressed me with words that were expressed overtly. I had remained quiet, before I had left stunned by the experience.

I was not certain, about what I would experiment, except that I knew that they had traversed the surreptitious boundary of death and life, as I had done as well mutually. In one aspect, we had shared a common feature, the likeliness of our genuine appearance. The children from my observation had carried the genes of my family, unbeknown to me. If this was true, then they were not mere intruders that had invaded the house, without a justification or purpose. The experience was too brief for me to contemplate in its totality what it was supposed to signify in its relevance. The patent images had transformed into their blurry images once again. I had seen enough to be influenced by this rare exception, and sensed that there was perhaps a possibility of being able to communicate with them, as I had originally planned.

When I was alone and away from the family that had come to occupy the house, I had pondered in my thoughts, the bizarre connection that was attached to our mutual existence. On one hand, they had formed a new part of the history of the house, as I had belonged to the old part of that history. I had started to doubt what I had been thinking, and my perception was altering, as I advanced in my determination to solve the mystery that gradually lingered inside me, like a virulent disease that was death. I had so many questions to ask and sought immediate answers to those perplexing questions. Whatever had allowed me to interact with them, would be the precursor to what would happen next the following day. The suspense was increasing even more, as the incidents with the assumed intruders were becoming frequent.

We were compelling shadows to each other before, and related not only in the regard of kinship, but in the realm of an unusual and particular reality that was representing our experiences and encounters in the quotidian sense. The quondam nightmares that I was experimenting, were becoming more distinct and comprehensible in their occurrences. I could not predict the finality of this narrated account. However, my intuition and perception were keen on unraveling the enigma that was the presence of the family that was dwelling in my house. What was once illogical was then resulting in being logical. What was once unfathomable was then fathomable. The more that time had elapsed, the more I had the uncommon feeling that they were not inherently evil, in their nature nor their comportment toward me. Had I mistaken their intentions, for a malice that never truly existed, except in my thoughts conjured?

The fact that we were then communicating in some sense with each other, would open more the unique realm of the supernatural with reality. It was somewhat frightening, but at the same time, it was extremely fascinating to experiment such unearthly occurrences that had stirred my inquisitiveness. If I could only enter their state of being, sufficiently to permit me to establish who I was, and who they were essentially. It would be a process that was seldom performed with any measure of success. I had learned the hard lesson in life that nothing was guaranteed, except the arrival of our inevitable death. It was disconcerting to know that death was always a lurking shadow that had no surcease. It came when, it was less expected. The question I had pondered rationally, had it come for me and I did not know of this dreadful circumstance?

Inside my room, I had contemplated the grievous nature about my quandary with its alterity, and I was convinced that these spectral beings that were inhabiting the house, were indeed the ghosts and not I. Was it possible that all of these episodes since the beginning, were nothing more than a perturbing illusion or bad dream of mine conceived, through fear and instability of my mental faculties? I was emerged in that contemplation. Verily, if I was a spook, I would have already known that admission, but if it resulted that they were dead, then was the dimension that had trapped them, some form of a temporary state of being, analogous to the religious state of purgatory? That was a lot to meditate with precision and thought. I was a man of common sense and logic, not one that was easily persuaded to belief otherwise.

One day, I was in the corridor, when I had observed new portraits that were hung in the dining hall. These portraits were those of the family, the children and the mother. My suspicion about the father was never answered. I had no idea if he was among the world of the mortals. It was remarkable to be able to finally see them for whom they were. Before that, I had only seen blurry images of their countenances and constitutions. Although it was only the resemblance of their guises, still it had amazed me with such awe that left me speechless. There was a small inscription at the bottom of the portraits that had their specific names and their births attached. Their names were Philip, Mary, Rose, and Felicia the mother, but it was not their names that would stir my attention with immediacy.

It was what I had noticed exactly about their births. They were all born in the late 1920's or the early 1930's. That could not be the case, because the year that I knew had existed was 1908. The portraits were dated in the year 1938, twenty years after my last day on the Earth supposedly. The discovery would terrify me and cause me to shiver in utter disbelief. I had wanted to desperately believe that it was not possible, but until I could prove that it was not true, then I had to come to terms with the probability that I was part of the spectral world and not them after all. I had touched myself and felt my human flesh and bones. My heart had beaten regularly, and my breath was natural. There was nothing that would indicate that I was dead and worse, a wretched apparition. I could not stand idly and not do anything to erase that horrible assumption.

It was then upon a rainy and damp night that I would come face to face, with my ultimate truth. I was in one of the corridors, when I saw and heard a strange activity in the parlor. At first, the images were blurry, but they would quickly become visible and audible to me. What was occurring was an event like no other. One that would captivate their attention as well as mine. There were several persons gathered around the table with a medium, who was attempting once again to call from the spirit world, a phantasm through the method of a séance. Who they were attempting to summon was me. I was startled by that undeniable realization. Slowly, through the shadow of darkness, I would emerge from my world unto theirs, in the absolute form of my immortal presence.

Their images were conspicuous to me, and I was just a blurry image that was like an alabaster mist of vapor. They were recording the session, with a device that I was uncertain of its derivation nor usage, hoping to elicit words from my expression that would be transmitted afterwards to them. What we both had witnessed would be an incredible experience to not forget the descriptive details. It was too surreal to accept that I could be a menacing ghost that had dwelled with the dead. As they were calling me repeatedly, I would remain silent, for fear of being immediately discovered. I was intrigued by their reason to call on me, and the ability of the woman who was performing the séance to locate me. Apparently, I would not be the only one that they would boldly attempt to summon. They had attempted to evoke the name of my father, but to no avail, because he was not buried near the property.

Truly, this shocking revelation that had been discovered with the séance, was enough to cause me to reach the irrefutable conclusion that all these disturbing episodes and encounters with the intruders, were linked to the house that bound me to the recondite realm of the preternatural. The retention of all the images that I had seen before in my memory, had served as the vivid representation of the truth which I had not recalled. If I was already dead, how was it that I was not aware of this cruel fact that had escaped my attention? This would mean that they were not ghosts, as I had previously presumed. What I did not understand was why was I unable to see them clearly? Perhaps the answer was found in the nature of their existence and of mine.

I wanted to tell them that I was not dead—I was alive. There was an arrant desperation seen in my eyes, as I had tried to communicate to them with the utterance of my words, but the only thing I could demonstrate and express were my actions of improvisation. I had proceeded to move the table, pull at the chairs, make the portraits fall, slam the front door, break the windows, and tear the curtains. Despite all that, I could do nothing but shout in vain at them, hoping they would hear my voice at last. I was unsuccessful in crossing that ceaseless boundary between the living and the dead. The medium was terrified by what was happening that she began to have a convulsion and fell onto the floor unconscious. Shortly, the séance was over, and I could no longer see them patently. They had transformed once again, into a blurry image of which I could not distinguish.

I had stepped outside for the first time in decades it would seem, and I saw the image of a lone tombstone that was erect amid the mold and vines. It had a singular name written along with an epitaph that was me Alexander Archibald. I was completely horrified with the sudden occurrence that I was motionless for a period of time—unable to react. Time had seemed eternal to me. In fact it was eternal, ever since I had done the unspeakable, commit suicide and not remember that ghastly day long ago. On one gloomy and rainy day of the year 1908, I had chosen to take my life and live no more upon the earth as a mortal. I had hung myself in my room. This was the last action I had committed. I could no longer bear the anguish and guilt that was driving me insane. This was the final chapter to my unbearable suffering.

The family had decided to move from the house the next day, thinking that they would never be rid of me, and I was a fathomless presence that could not be effaced so easily. For the sake of the children, this was a wise decision to make by the mother. Although I had not considered myself an evil influence, I understood the action taken by her. It was impossible for them to continue to dwell in the home, knowing that I was always present and observant of their actions. In the end, I would linger in my solitude and wretchedness, cast into the desolate darkness that was the world of the dead. I would be forced to accept the insuperable burden of my condition and my condemnation. A condemnation that would not cease to exist or punish. I would be forever known, as the ancestral specter that was trapped inside a house of horror like a doomed prisoner confined. Thus, ends the veracity of my account. You the inquisitive reader will determine its authenticity and credibility.

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