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The Dark Legacy
The Dark Legacy

The Dark Legacy

Franc68Lorient Montaner

'There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man's evil prying calls them just within our range'.—H. P. Lovecraft

During the spring of the year 1968, a young American couple had recently arrived at the village of Pluckley in southeastern England, with the intent to pass a memorable week there that would be unforgettable. They had a young daughter who was eight years old accompany them. Her name was Sara. Little would they ever know or suspect that they would be haunted, by the most terrifying experience related as a presumed account. What will be genuinely expressed about the dauntless horror that lurks in that forest of imprecation, is something that the locals dare not to utter or disclose the ineluctable admission of the delirium that had resulted in the occult of an insidious attachment. It has been embedded in the foolish minds of those that are audacious to enter the realm of the watchful eyes of the latent ones of the encompassing forest of Satan's Hurst.

That late afternoon, Andrew Dankworth and his wife Amy had just arrived at the 18th-century manor that had belonged to his late deceased grandfather Sir Edward Dankworth. Mr Dankworth who had immersed himself as a writer had inherited the stately manor, and it was his first visit to the bucolic village. He was content and extremely eager to claim the property of his inheritance. What he had descried along the way, was a local inn, an old mill, several cottages and a lone church, which all represented the archaic scenery of the surreal nature of the English countryside. Beyond the low slope of the quaint village stood a dark and deceptive forest that was situated, amidst its inherent outskirts. It is there, where a primordial terror had concealed the irrevocable fate to a secret that the American couple will soon discover and experiment its phantasmagoric nature.

Once at the Dankworth Manor, they were kindly greeted by a certain man with salient features and a staid mien, whose name was Mr Burton. He was in charge of the property and was a personal acquaintance of the Dankworth family. He was entrusted with the renovation of the manor and the couple's needs. He would present it to them and answer any questions they had regarding the estate. The manor had two storeys with several chambers located on each storey displayed. There were old variegated tapestries that were hanging on the walls of the great hall and other adjoining areas of the manor, chandeliers that were covered in heavy specks of dusts, a monochromatic gallery, a private library, an abandoned dining hall that had once served the vagaries of the local nobility, a wooden staircase, rusted windows that were previously ornate in their embellishment, tables and chairs whose pristine lustre had vanished and were only a semblance of a glossy varnish of Gothic predilections. Ever since the death of Sir Edward Dankworth, the house had appeared to be exiled to a forlorn aberration.

There was a pervading eeriness and a lingering opacity that had enveloped the manor in dark shadows that were transparent. The renovation had already begun, and certain areas of the manor, in particular, the chambers were refurbished with new furniture. The remaining areas that were in decrepitude were mostly reduced to those places that were of less importance in usage. Mr Burton had explained to the couple that shortly the renovation would be completed. He had also committed himself to whatever financial endeavours the couple would require. Mr Dankworth who knew little about the manor and its history had put his solemn trust in Mr Burton, who appeared to be a trustworthy individual in person. Mr Burton was an elderly man who knew the village and had a good rapport with the villagers. He was also well-informed about Sir Edward Dankworth and his august parentage.

After Mr Burton's departure, Mr Dankworth, his wife and daughter had gathered in the gallery, to look at the unique paintings that were on display of their ancestral lineage. What was remarkable was the stunning resemblance of Sir Edward Dankworth to Mr Andrew Dankworth. In every physical aspect discerned of their appearance that was noticeable, they had coincided with each other. Mrs Dankworth had commented and wondered about the veritable origin of their kindred. The gallery could only give the Dankworths, a fleeting glimpse of a departed grandeur that was once admirable in its genuine splendour. Everything was as it would have appeared in centuries passed apart from one anachronism, a fresh coat of paint on the wood covering the visible frame. The paintings were the only thing that had quickened the vapidity of the gallery.

Their young daughter who was in the great hall was distracted, by a curious figure that she had seen go into the nearby forest. Her sudden intrigue had compelled her to go outside the manor to investigate. Through the interstice of the thick boughs, the girl had spotted the presence of a stranger who was a boy. There was something vague about him that was more abnormal than normal. The boy did not seem to be in any hurry, and what was particular was his listless stare. Sara could not understand why he was hiding in the woods? Why was he alone, and what was he trying to convey? Was he an actual person or worse a ceaseless apparition? Whatever he was in his original constitution, he had managed to startle her and make her uncomfortable.

When Mrs Dankworth had realised that the girl was missing, she went outside to look for her. It was there at the edge of the forest that she found her standing and staring directly at something within the forest that had captivated her. When asked why she was there, the young girl had remarked that she had seen a young boy, who had been signalling her. Naturally, the mother would enquire about the identity of the boy, to which the daughter would reply by telling her mother that she did not know who he was. Whoever this young boy was, he had succeeded in arresting the attention of the young girl Sara. She had wanted to follow him, but the mother thought it was not a good idea and had dissuaded her. The sight of the imposing forest had given the mother a harrowing impression.

The forest had dead stumps, several small streams nigh, a soily surface, flora and fauna that were surrounded by carpets of bluebells, amidst the exotic ash trees and shrubs that added to the sylvan setting. The hollow tree trunks had overhanging boughs across the trodden footpaths. What was apparent was the decaying air and stifling atmosphere, with decomposing leaves and twigs that exuded a musty aroma that had reached their noses. The concerned mother would take the young girl back to the estate of the manor, but not before she would glance once more at the mysterious forest that had brought the young daughter. There was something inusitate about the forest that she had sensed, and her intuition would cause her to reflect upon this certain oddity. There was a surrounding meadow that was vast in its circumference, and there was quite a distance from the closest estate.

At the manor, Mr Dankworth had asked his wife and daughter Sara where they had gone. When they had revealed to him that they had gone to the edge of the forest, because the young girl had supposedly seen a young boy who was calling on her, he was interested in knowing, who the young boy could have been. His curiosity would have to wait another day. In the meantime, they had prepared themselves for dinner in the dining hall. During their dinner, their conversation would be oriented to their new surroundings and the condition of the manor. It was hard for them to imagine the presence of their good fortune. Mr Dankworth had inherited a worthy property that was valuable and venerable. Although the manor was still under clear renovation, the hospitable nature of its potential was indeed profitable.

When they had finished their sumptuous dinner, they sat around the hearth and began to plan their new adventure for the days that they would be at the manor and village. Mr Dankworth had to return to New York the next week. Thus, it was necessary for them to enjoy their intimate stay and leisure time. There was excitement in their eyes and vivacity. It was not common for Americans to be bequeathed an inheritance that would take them to a secluded part of England, but was what unnatural would be the unaccountable horror that would haunt the Dankworths afterwards. A horror that was attached to an accurst fate that would burden them for years to come. It is said that in life there is a portentous evil that is preternatural in its origin and pursuit.

That night, a celeritous birr had echoed outside of the manor. It had interrupted the unbroken silence that had extended from one part of the manor to another. It had reached the room of the young girl. She would rise from her bed immediately, and investigate, as she had listened to the outré sound become more audible with its sheer intensity. She began to walk towards her window, when she had perceived the vivid image of the mysterious young boy. Sara was enthralled, and the suspense had increased twofold. The girl was blinded by the unknown and undiscovered elements of the area that she could not intimate the peril that was lurking in the nocturnal forest. There was an indeterminate murk in the plaintive quietus that had been stirred by an anonymous force of nature.

The girl would not forget the night, and in the morning, she would tell her mother about the strange occurrence. That morning the Dankworths would be visited by a Mr Taylor who was one of the locals that had lived in the village. He had come to the manor to introduce himself. He was an elderly man of medium size in stature. His comportment was that of an English gentleman, but to the Dankworths he was more convivial than they were accustomed to meeting. He would even invite them to the comfort of his home. It would appear that the Dankworths were beginning to make a friendly association with the local villagers, who were quite receptive to them. All of which were synonymous, with the unblest terror that was hidden within the deep forest of cursed spirits.

Mr Burton had stopped by to check on the American family. He was pleasantly surprised to see them so active in the manor and the estate, especially the young girl Sara. While the parents were fascinated with the manor, the daughter was inquisitive and yearning to know more about the intrepid boy, who dwelt amidst the wandering shadows of the forest. Once more, Sara had distracted herself with the image of the young boy. This time, the boy would reappear outside of the window of the room of the girl. For the first time, Sara was able to see him plainly. The boy was dressed in the clothing that had reflected his eminent status. From his attire, one would assume that he was of a family of prominence that was well-established. He had black hair, but it was his distinct red eyes that had spooked the young girl enough to stir a commotion in her blood-curdling scream that would alert the girl's parents. This would be the precursor to the imminent terror that was awaiting them.

When the parents had reached the young girl, the young boy had suddenly disappeared into thin air. The parents had asked the girl what had happened, to which the girl had responded by telling them that she had seen the young boy from the forest, and he had red eyes that were demonic in their essence. The natural reaction of the parents was of utter disbelief and bewilderment. They had calmed their young daughter who was discomposed. Perhaps she had mistaken the image of the ambiguous boy, and it was distorted by the dim light in the room. What other logical reason could there be to describe the inexplicable occurrence? Despite the uncertainty of the event, the girl was strongly convinced of what she had witnessed. Was it an eidolon? If it was not a boy, then what evil could be lurking in the intrusive nature of the forest? It was an ominous premonition to be heeded with deep regard.

This unusual forest was a place where legendary goblins and ghosts had once resided, and countless tales of the surreptitious souls of the undead were said to be amongst the living. For centuries, the village of Pluckley was related to the horrendous occurrences of phenomena, such as cases of witchcraft that would lead to the disappearance of manifold children. Unfortunately, for the Dankworths, they would be attached to this horrible fate that would forsake them to a path of which they were not willing participants to its emergence. There is nothing sane about evil, except that is accompanied by the sudden emotion of fear of the unknown and the unpredictable. It is within this abominable realm of existence that the shadows of death persist, as do the incessant wails of a laden guilt oppressed.

That afternoon, the Dankworths had decided to take a trip amidst the countryside. They were taken in a car to see the picturesque beauty of the English landscape. As Americans, they were astonished by the plenitude of the colourful flowers of the lush meadow, but it was the dark forest that was demonstratively conspicuous to them. In every direction that was taken on the roads, they all had led to and from the forest. There was something about the forest that made the Dankworths gravitate to its depth of mystery. It was impossible to know what they could even imagine was lurking, behind those sprawling boughs of trees. Only time would reveal the hideous secret that was conceived from the baleful sins of the past. The past that would be indicative of a family's curse.

Upon their return to the manor, there were sundry rooks that were gathered on the top of the roof croaking. It was typical to see them, but it was a thing that had interested the Dankworths. They were tangible shadows that were cast by the roof. The more time they were exposed to the English life in the village, the more the expectations had grown to discover their surroundings and resolve their enigmas. Once they had entered inside the manor, they had gathered to observe the wrought tapestries in the great hall. It was evident that the original owner Sir Edward Dankworth was an avid collector of exquisite pieces of art that were exceptionally created. There were still more puzzling secrets about him that were unknown to the Americans. It would take a sequence of events that would unleash the veracity that had remained elusive to them in delitescence.

As they were occupied with the view of the spacious garden with the beauteous blooms that had blossomed, the sound of giggling was heard by young Sara. Soon, Mr. and Mrs Dankworth could hear the strange giggling as well. It was then that they saw the image of innocent children playing on the outskirts of the forest. They were not certain whether or not the children were alone or accompanied by adults. They did not know, why the children were there in the first place. Mr. Dankworth had dismissed the incident, but young Sara was fixated with the girls that she could not stop staring at them. Mrs Dankworth was worried that her young daughter was starting to be affected, by their stay at the manor and village. She would disclose her concern to Mr. Dankworth therewith.

Mr. Dankworth would tell her that everything would be fine, and that in a matter of days, they would be back in New York again. Mrs Dankworth's concern about their isolation affecting her daughter was not the only thing that would cause Sara's apprehension to manifest. The lingering influence of the past would ultimately make the Dankworth's confront an ancestral terror that would be an inconceivable realisation that was rooted in their aristocratic lineage. Mr. Dankworth's grandparents were both originally from Pluckley, but his parents were born in other parts of England. Their active lives in New York were incomparable to the idyllic setting of the village, and their American mindset was the opposite of the simplicity reciprocated by the villagers.

As Mrs Dankworth was searching through the chest of drawers in her room, she would discover several cuttings from a local newspaper, discussing a series of unknown murders that had taken place in the area. According to the revelation, within the span of two centuries, unsolved cases of people missing or deaths were reported. The recent case was in 1948, where twenty children had gone into the forest known as Satan's Hurst and were never found. There was a particular case of a young boy in the year 1908 that had gone missing, and whose body was never found too. His name was Jonathan Grey. What Mrs Dankworth did not know at the time was the fact that the mystery with the young boy that her daughter Sara was experiencing, was directly related to the disappearance of this Jonathan Grey.

Indeed, it was shocking to have to read such tragic cases of unexplained circumstances. It gave Mrs Dankworth a sudden qualm about what was truly occurring in the village and with the villagers. Anon, a weetless despair would begin to consume the mind of Mrs Dankworth. Gradually, the totality of the enigma of the past of the Dankworth's lineage would be exposed for its unfathomable origin. What was beyond the prodigious trees and luxuriant greaves, was an unbridled horror that was chilling in its vecordious gloom. Mrs Dankworth asked herself, why were these cuttings kept, and what actual significance did they have with the family? She thought about asking the servants, but they were not the indicated people that she needed to enquire. She then thought about Mr Burton. The velation that had begun to burden Mrs Dankworth would culminate in a haunting suspicion which had prolonged her uncertainty.

When she had shown the explicit cuttings of the newspaper to her husband Mr Dankworth, he would be surprised by what he had read, but it was not sufficient to warrant his immediate concern or dissatisfaction. The new information that was gleaned from the cuttings had made Mrs Dankworth more cautious and aware of the dark history of the village. There was something about what had been reported that disquieted her and was of an eldritch nature. Her preoccupation had become an anxiety that was uniquely upsetting. From that moment on, she would be quite vigilant of her daughter and intrigued with the cases of the disappearing children. The Dankworths were not prepared for the evil that had gradually persisted, with a lingering suspense and episodes of sheer thrill.

The gleam of the twilight had crept into the manor. The Dankworths had remained inside for the rest of the day, and were entertained then by a plethora of books that they had found in the library that had interesting information that detailed at length the family lineage. Mr Dankworth was excited to be an ancestor of Sir Edward Dankworth, and that he was selected as a legitimate heir to inherit the manor and estate, but what he was not prevalent to was the manner in which he was destined to be the new proprietor of the Dankworth Manor. This would fascinate Mr Dankworth, and at the same time, it would compel him to want to obtain from a pertinent source, material about his distinguishable grandfather. Who was this man in earnest, and what was his life like? Only the villagers were capable of expressing his character and the importance of his deeds.

During that night, another incident with the young boy would occur forthrightly. Sara, who was in her room resting, when all of sudden, she had heard a scratching noise on her window sill. When she rose to investigate, she saw the familiar image of the young boy, with his glaring, scarlet eyes of intimidation. The girl would freeze in absolute silence for a moment, until she had finally reacted. Instead of releasing a horrifying scream, she just stood observing the boy, as if she was under the profound influence of his trance. Her undeniable fear that she had once demonstrated had been replaced by the age of her innocence. This would condemn her to the eventuality of her irreversible fate. What would happen next, only time would be the witness of the anomalous occurrence that had ensued thereafter.

Upon the following morning, Mr and Mrs Dankworth would awaken to the terrible news that their beloved daughter Sara was missing. It was Mrs Dankworth who would discover that the girl was not present in her bed chamber. She had looked all around the manor and its grounds, before she had asked the servants about her mysterious whereabouts. Sadly, they would not be able to inform her about where the young Sara could be at. The estate was vast, and they had searched for her in every area, including in the village, but to no avail. There was one place that was left to be searched within the vicinity, and that was the viridity of the forest that the locals called Satan's Hurst. There was a desperate look in the facial gestures of Mrs Dankworth, as her husband tried to calm her uncontrollable consternation.

The finding of the Dankworth's daughter would involve the locals, who were sceptics to believe that the young girl could be located alive. They had searched from the front to the hinder end of the forest for the girl for endless hours, but no one would be able to find her. Mrs Dankworth was convinced that she had been abducted against her will, and that whoever was behind the girl's disappearance was related to witchcraft, as the legend had revealed. Mr. Dankworth was reluctant to accept that supernatural claim. He was a natural man of reason, and to him there had to be another explanation that was feasible to comprehend. The Dankworths were not certain, when the girl went missing. There was considerable time that had elapsed since the incident, Mrs Dankworth had intuited.

There had to have been a witness or some witnesses that saw the young girl. If so, this would imply that someone was concealing the truth. Pluckley was only a village, and if she was abducted, then there were not that many places that she could be hidden. The police were immediately involved. However, they were unable to find Sara. This would not satisfy the Dankworths. They would offer a handsome ransom for any information that anyone had about the whereabouts of their young daughter. The untimely disappearance of Sara would alter the plans of the Dankworths, and they were then forced to remain in the village. Mr Dankworth had believed that Sara had been abducted by some one in the village, but Mrs Dankworth thought otherwise. She had convinced herself that what had happened to Sara was intertwined with the young boy, and it was of an unnatural circumstance. The horrible forest was the place that had begun to obsess Mrs Dankworth.

It was impossible for either one of the Dankworths to sleep that night, for the coldness had produced a harsh shrill from the thester shade of the forest. It was enough to alert the Dankworths, who were in the great hall, when they heard the piercing sound from afar. To the Dankworths it was no anonymous voice. It was the voice of their young daughter Sara. The echoic shrill that was disturbing in its nature had served to torment the Americans. Mrs Dankworth had urged her husband to head towards the forest, where she thought Sara was at. They both had gone there, hoping to find their strayed daughter still alive. They frantically called on her, as they had entered more deeply into the domain of the forest. Unfortunately, with the limited electric torches that they had, they were unable to find the girl. This meant they were unsuccessful.

The days would pass and yet no discovery of Sara, but every night the Dankworths would be haunted by the familiar shrill of a young girl that had resembled their daughter. It was a recurring nightmare that had no surcease in its unrelentingness. The Dankworths would go to the forest and search for her. However, as with the previous occasion, the girl was no where to be located. The blusterous howls of the nocturnal winds would penetrate the masonic walls of the manor constantly. The Dankworths would quickly regret their presence at the manor and their arrival. What had begun, as an exciting trip had turned into a horrendous nightmare. Their errant desperation was leading them to nowhere. Who could have predicted the sinister outcome of their trip to Pluckley?

It had reached the point, where Mrs Dankworth's sanity was being questioned, as she had spiralled into a profound and perturbing hysteria. There were actual moments when she was too depressed to eat and talk coherently. Mr Dankworth would have to resort to professional help. A local doctor would examine her and determine that it was better that Mr Dankworth take his wife away from the village, to escape the horrors of her isolation and wretched despair, but Mrs Dankworth would refuse to leave. She was adamant in staying, until Sara was found. Her inner strength that was once impenetrable had been reduced to a sober state of fragility. It was difficult for Mr Dankworth to see his wife tormented and dejected, by the intolerable absence of their daughter. He knew that if they would stay that he too would lose his wife to the draining effects of madness.

Mr Burton had arrived one morning, whilst the Dankworths were in the great hall. He was summoned by Mr Dankworth. When he had entered, Mr Dankworth had wanted to speak to him in privacy about the matter of the inheritance of the manor and estate, but Mrs Dankworth would interrupt their appointed meeting. She had wanted to know everything about the young boy named Jonathan Grey. Mr Burton sensing that Mrs Dankworth was still emotionally upset did not want to displease her, with a confrontation that was unnecessary. Thus, he acquiesced and had started to disclose the shocking revelation that the Dankworths had only suspected. There was so much that the poor Americans were not informed about. The mystery of the boy was linked to the truth about the synonymous past of Sir Edward Dankworth.

What Mr Burton had revealed to the Dankworths was not only unsettling but unbelievable to conceive. Sir Edward Dankworth had made a furtive pact with the devil as he described him. The devil would give him what he sought, and in return, Sir Edward would give the devil the interminable souls of all the Dankworth children past and present, including those who were not related. It would result in a deleterious anathema that was beyond any reasonable doubt conjured. This admissible revelation would leave the American couple speechless at first. Afterwards, they attempted to understand the complexity of what Mr Burton had professed. If this was veracious in its relevance, then the quintessential thing that was daunting in its realisation was had this meant that the daughter of the Dankworths had ultimately perished as well?

Mr Burton would only intimate that the ominous fate of the young Sara was already sealed, and there was nothing that the couple could do to prevent the inevitable outcome. Mrs Dankworth could not accept that her beloved daughter was a part of this evil connivance. She had strongly rejected that reality. Mr Dankworth wanted to know more about the pact, and he had pressed Mr Burton for more elaborate details. He wanted to know what was so insidious about Satan's Hurst? Mr Burton had told him that centuries ago, this particular forest was the place where the rituals of black magic were once performed clandestinely. He had described those who interacted in these rituals, as part of a satanic cult. Mr Dankworth was more interested in knowing, where exactly did these tainted souls of the forest disappear to? Mr Burton would respond by telling him, at the nether place of the Plutonian pit of hell.

As the Dankworths tried to make sense of what Mr Burton was disclosing, they were enraged with a senseless guilt. What else could they do? Time was of the essence, and they knew that the more that time had passed, the less probable it was that they would find their young daughter alive. They could not depart from the village without her. They had insisted on bringing more people from outside to assist in the search for the young girl, but Mr Burton would tell them that no matter where they searched in the forest, they would not find the young girl alive. This was unacceptable to the Dankworths. They had refused the premise of Mr. Burton and were willing to pay whoever it was necessary to locate their daughter. It was not a matter of mere principle but of great devotion as parents.

Mrs Dankworth out of utter indignation had left the manor and headed towards the dreaded forest. Mr Dankworth would follow her, amidst the wuthering wind that blew forcibly. She stood at the edge of the entrance to the forest and had pointed at a mysterious figure that she had seen, within the diffusion of a glimpse of a spectral shadow that cast a pale light that was a reflection. She had claimed to have seen the figure of her missing daughter. Mr Dankworth was uncertain of what his wife had seen. She was more determined than apprehensive, and had insisted that she had indeed seen young Sara. Mr Dankworth did not see her or notice the presence of his daughter. There were no palpable clues or traceable signs that she was in the forest at all. Whatever had appeared before Mrs Dankworth was the surreal impression of a lugubrious soul.

Subsequently, the sound of the sonorous wind had abated and there was an intangible silence, as if the trees had instructed the wind to cease to blow. The Dankworths were left to ponder what had occurred and return to their manor, empty-handed. Nothing of which they had attempted in their passionate search had led to any shred of evidence that Sara was still alive. A week would transpire and no recent tidings of the whereabouts of the Dankworth girl. It had seemed that something uncommon had swallowed her from the face of the Earth. The Dankworths were even more nervous, and the arrant desperation witnessed in them by the servants was purely manifest. The nightmare had persisted and so had the indelible memory of the vanishment of their daughter.

It was during one night in the great hall, after a week had transpired that something that had appeared to be inconsequential had occurred subitaneously. There was a fainting gleam of the moonlight shimmer, and the voluminous echoes resounding of a harsh cry that had become obstreperous. This had alerted the Dankworths, and they had proceeded to observe the light. As they were watching, a familiar figure had presented itself to them. It was no other than their daughter Sara. She stood before them dressed in the clothing that she last wore, which was a sleeping gown. She had come to warn them about an evil that was approximating. At first, the Dankworths were oblivious to the direful omen that was insinuated. She did not utter a single word. She had only expressed her immediate desire to warn her parents of the parlous consequence and presence of a ferocious devil that was lurking in the manor.

She had then suddenly vanished from their sight. The Dankworths had pleaded for her to stay, but that would be the last time they would see their daughter anew. This action would erase any scintilla of hope they had. As they were reeling from their encounter with Sara, Mr Burton would arrive unannouncedly along with the other members of the village. They had come to initiate the ritual that was required, for the return of Sir Edward Dankworth. Mr Burton had explained to Mr Dankworth that he was to be the sacrifice for the night, in order for Sir Edward Dankworth to once more appear on the earth in human flesh. He had to sign the deed with his natural blood. To the Dankworths it was pure insanity. What they did not know was the fact that all the villagers of Pluckley were secret members of a satanic cult that had practised necromancy. Mr Dankworth had refused to sign the deed, but he was compelled by the villagers through sheer force. He had resisted in a struggle, but was powerless against them all. They had rifles. There was a sardonic laughter in the villagers that was shewn.

It was then that they began to evoke the ancestral spirit of Sir Edward Dankworth, and from the vestige of ancient phantasms he had emerged with an imperant imposition, as a shadowy figure from the staircase. His eyes were glowing with malevolence, as he had slowly walked down the steps with his luculent shoes. The Dankworths were transfixed with incredulity and captivated by his hypnotic spell. The villagers had welcomed back to the Earth, the inimitable presence of Satan transformed in the flesh of a man. When Sir Edward had raught the place where the villagers and the Dankworths were situated, he then instructed the villagers to dispose of Mrs Dankworth. Mr Dankworth would interrupt them, and by sheer instinct he grabbed the deed that he had signed with his tinctured blood and had burnt it in the fireplace. This would immediately cause the exile of Sir Edward back to hell. He began to disappear into a fainting light, as the villagers looked on with stirred consternation.

What Mr Dankworth was unaware was that by burning the deed, he had destroyed the one thing that was required for Sir Edward's return, his precious soul. Then the adamantine walls of the manor had started to crumble and cave in with the pouring effusion of blood. This would prevent the villagers from leaving, as they had died under the rubble. Mr and Mrs Dankworth were fortunate enough to escape outside, because they were closest to the front door. They stood from afar and had watched how the manor had been reduced to dusted stones of masonry. Thus, ended the gruesome nightmare that had haunted them, and the terrible episodes of madness that were experienced there at that immemorial manor. The mystery of the missing persons of Pluckely would remain elusory, and there in the midst of Satan's Hurst was an inescapable truth that would linger and evolve for decades to come. It was the dark legacy that would pursue the appellation of the Dankworths.

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About The Author
Lorient Montaner
About This Story
8 Mar, 2024
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29 mins
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