The Nightmare at Silverlight Manor.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


the horror that dwells within the silverlight manor awaits its next prey.

Submitted: August 13, 2018

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Submitted: August 13, 2018

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This will be my final testament to what truly happened at Silverlight Manor during August 30th 2010. I have disclosed the truth many a time to all who would listen, but, due to the fantastical events that took place, none has yet to believe, not that it matters to me anymore. The madness, which infected me that night, is devouring me from within, and only oblivion can set stop to its infernal rampage, if I am so lucky that existence cease after one exists through the gates of death. This nightmare of mine began on the August 28th 2010, in the city of Yahire, Ireland. I am, or was, but a simple bartender, working away as many hours as I was allowed behind the bar in the Green Legend Pub.

This I had done for many years, it was ordinary, which was nothing I complained about, neither then, even less now. It was a quite picturesque pub, small and filled with that famous Irish atmosphere, and I loved it. My shift that day ended 8 in the evening, and as I left the pub I lighted a cigarette and filled my lungs with its delicious smoke and began my usual walk home. The Green Legend Pub lied on Shadowfyre Alley, and my home on Ash Street, and it usually took around 20 to 30 minutes on foot. I was caught up in my mind while I wandered, thinking on irrelevant things, aye, such as the supper of the evening and if I had any beers at home. Whilst my mind was preoccupied by these thoughts, I accidentally walked into someone when I turned right from Harrow Street onto Tempest Street.

The collision dragged me back to reality, and I then gazed upon the person with whom I had collided with. It was an elderly gentleman, dressed in a dark grey suit, black shoes, and a grey hat. His face was wrinkled, in a wise and awe-inspiring way, his eyes were icy blue and seemed to pierce my very soul, and a grand, thick, grey moustache.

“I'm sorry, mate” I said with a mechanical voice.

“No, it is I who should be apologizing, my dear sir” the old gentleman said with a tone filled with warmth.

He saw my confusion with his piercing eyes, and continued: “But, say, are you not Mr. Gregory Templeton?”

Now my confusion fused with the surprise that was born from those words.

“Y-yes, yes, I am” I said, “and who are you?”

The old gentleman chuckled, and then said: “Oh, please forgive me, Mr. Templeton, my name is Jonah Harlington, I serve House Tzeraux”

 

 

 

House Tzeraux? I thought baffled. This old man works for the Tzeraux family? Why the hell would he know my name? That last thought I uttered, though more politely than in my head.

Jonah chuckled again, then answered: “Well, you see Mr. Templeton, Baron Atreus Tzeraux has sent me to find you, I was on my way to your place of work, and I was running late, which is not something that happens a lot, I assure you. I thought that I may have already missed you, and I would not want to bother you at home, but as luck would have it, we collided with each other.”

 “But why would Doctor Atreus Tzeraux, 10th Baron of Yahire County, want with me?”

“This” said Jonah and brought forth an envelope from the inside of his jacket and handed it to me. “He wishes you to attend his party at the Tzeraux residence, Silverlight Manor, on August 30th, the letter will contain all the information you will need, and answers to any question you might have, my master assured me that was the case.”

I had never been as bewildered as I was at that moment, but before I could get any more answers from Jonah Harlington, he crossed Tempest street and disappeared around the corner to Blacklight Street. I hesitated if I were to follow him, but decided that that would not be wise, besides, he had said that the letter contained answers to any question I might have, so I decided to take him on his words, put the letter in a pocket on my jacket, and continued my walk home. My mind was like a storm during the remainder of the walk, nothing of my conversation with Jonah Harlington made any sense whatsoever.

I did not even notice when I entered my apartment on Ash street. When I eventually noticed that I had arrived, I immediately went into the kitchen, took a beer out of the fridge, went into the living room, fell down onto the couch, opened the beer, took the envelope out of my pocket and finally opened it. I wanted to know what the hell was going on, and why someone so high up on the social and academic pyramid would want me to attend one of their so-called parties, which, in fact, would surely be a very dry and boring gathering of Yahire's elite.

“Dear Gregory Templeton, I know this might come as a shock to you, but I would like you to attend my little party at Silverlight Manor, on August 30th. The reason is quite simple; I would like to discuss a business proposal with you, something I can guarantee you would be interested in. I believe it is too delicate to write about it in a letter, nor would I want to talk over the phone, and I strongly feel that the party would be the optimal place for such transaction of words of opportunity. The party shall begin at 7 in the evening. I am really looking forward to meeting you in person, and I hope life fares you well until then. - Doctor Atreus Tzeraux, 10th Baron of Yahire.”

The words of Dr. Tzeraux truly took me aback. Why, of all people, would he want to discuss a business opportunity with me? Is this some sick joke the rich and powerful like to play on the much more unfortunate? Some sort of social game they so revel in playing? I must admit, many devious thoughts flooded my mind after reading the letter.

But I concluded that, even if there was some insidious agenda hidden in this proposition of Dr. Tzeraux, I decided that attending such a party and meet the elite of my fair city would outweigh any social embarrassment I might suffer at the hands of the very same people gathering at Silverlight Manor to exchange stories of all the lives they have annihilated and worlds they levelled to the ground, because such an opportunity would surely never reach my grasp again. Who knows, maybe I even might join their ranks, if Dr. Tzeraux is sincere, though I would never become like them, apathetic deities only interested in the value of their creations in the eyes of their divine brethren.

 

 I would be a deity like how Christians always preach their god is, though with deeds backing my words up, something the Abrahamic god is missing, aye, the god of the Abrahamic religions seems to be quite the opposite, if one takes their holy books as proof of his existence and goodness, as they want us to do. This remark is neither here nor there, but I felt it had to be said, before I continue with my testament. As I stated before, I decided I would attend Dr. Tzeraux's little gathering on the 30th and see exactly what sort of treasure the dragon is guarding.

The remaining of the 28th flowed like normal, except the state of my mind and the thoughts that occupied it, and the 29th vanished from reality, as it felt like there never was such a day, neither then and even less now. I did not work on the 30th, not because I cleared my working schedule, so I could attend the party, but simply because I did not have any work that day. I woke up around 9am, and from then to 5pm I just watched TV, drank some beer and ate a sandwich. From 5pm to 6pm, I took a shower and prepared myself, physically and mentally, for the party.

 I took a cab to Silverlight Manor, which was located on the eastern outskirts of Yahire, and I arrived there at around 6:50 pm. It was a magnificent building, an architectural masterpiece. I had never rest my eyes upon such beauty in my life, and I was excited to enter this awe-inspiring manor. If I had known what was about to unfold, I would look upon that damned manor with nothing but dread and disgust. Even though I arrived a little earlier than anticipated, it seemed like the party was at its zenith.

The giant twin doors stood wide opened and let all who stood outside its paradise to look in and see the delights of the dwellers of this architectural Eden. I entered, and was greeted by Jonah Harlington, the servant of Dr. Atreus Tzeraux. He shook my hand and said, with a blinding smile, how glad he was that I decided to attend this gathering his master had arranged. I only nodded agreeably and gave him a slight, and somewhat forced, smile, and then I left Jonah at the entrance and dived deeper into the manor and the sea of Ireland's social and financial elites. I snatched a glass filled with, what I hoped, an alcoholic beverage.

 

 

 I swept the liquid in one smooth move, and let it fall through my mouth and throat into the stomach. I grimaced and shuddered with repulsion. It was some disgusting, and probably incredibly expansive, Champaign. I left the glass on a table and continued exploring. As I wandered around the manor, eavesdropping on several groups, hearing them talk about their different business exploits, trying to top each other, I laughed bitterly to myself. I knew I should have brought with me a flask of whiskey, as the Champaign they served was horrible, and the alcohol it contained was not worth its hellish taste. My eyes also searched Dr. Atreus Tzeraux.

The party was not as I had hoped, and if I did not have my meeting with Dr. Tzeraux within the next 10 minutes, I was ready to leave. I reached the door which led out to the gigantic garden behind the manor, in which beautiful statues and sculpted hedges, as well as a fearsome maze, spoke of their owner's wealth and taste. Even the garden was flooded by the other guests, all talking, laughing and dancing. Aye, those in the garden seemed to be of the more relaxed and warm kind than those living statues that claimed the first floor of the manor.

 To my delight I found a bottle of whiskey standing on a table in the garden, and I made my way to it, excited. I took it for myself, for I did not intend to share it with any of the guest, neither the warm and loose nor the cold and rigid, because, as I saw it, they could choke on that hideous Champaign which they seemed to enjoy, most likely because of the price tag that came with it. While I drank that divine whiskey, I ventured, through the rooms of the first floor of the manor, through the swamp of deified devils, and out through the front entrance.

Once outside, I rested my back against the wall beside the door, smoked a cigarette and drank more whiskey. I felt that it might had been a mistake, either on my or Dr. Tzeraux's part, for me to attend. I imagined that Dr. Tzeraux would be there to greet me, and lead me into an office of some kind, where we could discuss this business proposition he had, but, as both you and I know, that was not the case. It was at that time my nightmare began.

The sound the guests were emitting suddenly stopped, and silence fell upon the manor, a deafening silence, and it took me aback. It was not something I was expecting to happen, for obious reasons, but I was not alarmed at first, as I did not believe anything was amiss, instead I thought that maybe the guests had been summoned to the garden at the back of the manor, by, perhaps, Dr. Tzeraux himself? If that was the case, which I hoped, then that meant my meeting with this allusive man was indeed to take place soon.

That thought made me dash for the garden, as I did not want him to think I decided to decline his offer with my apparent absence. When I went through the gateway which led to the garden, I was paralysed in the manner in which I entered the garden. It was empty. Not a single human being, apart from myself, was found, and the heavy, hellish silence began taking its toll on my hearing, and my sanity. Something was horribly wrong, something outlandish was at work.

Once I got my mobility back, I turned around and went inside, shaking and tried to keep my balance. I had only taken a few steps inside the manor when the lights went out, and complete darkness devoured the manor. Fear of unknown terror and unspeakable horror began devouring my mind, corrupted my sanity, and gave birth to the madness which all believe was within me from the moment of my birth, only dormant.

The light then returned, and chased away the darkness to, once again, regain dominance over the manor. I thought that the return of the light might have been what I needed to vanquish the madness and horror from my mind, but, as it turned out, the effect was opposite. What my eyes witnessed, as the light returned, and which stated the inferno that raged through my entire being, was something which freezes the blood in my veins by the very thought of it. The guests had indeed returned, but not in the manner I so desperately had hoped. The floor, the walls, even the roof, was covered in the rotted remains of the guests.

If the mere sight of this product of hell did not sated the hunger of the madness inside, then the stench certainly did. From the other rooms came millions, aye, maybe even billions, of insects and arachnids flooded into the room and began to eat on the corpses of the guests. I really thought I must have fallen asleep against the wall beside the front entrance, and that this was just a nightmare which plagued my mind, and I tried to wake up, aye, I even tried to control the nightmare, but to no avail. With panic eating away at my heart as a cancer, I knew that the only action I could take was to escape this Citadel of Hell, so I turned around to run out into the garden. What my eyes met drained the quantum of hope I had left.

The door was gone, and so was the windows which once rested on both sides of the door. There was no escape. I felt resignation conquering my entire being. The sight, the sound, the stench of the nightmare, from which there was no escape, were welcomed by my broken resolve, and I awaited oblivion. Once again, the gods of fate and death had other things in mind, for as I stood there, a shallow husk, waiting for death, the entire atmosphere in the room, in the entire manor, changed. This change was so sudden and so great, that it shattered the resignation which had its grasp on my heart, and resurrected my soul, and brought forth the survival instinct I thought I had lost.

 

I slowly turned around, and saw that the room had returned to normal, or, as normal as it could be, though the guests were still residing in the void; the corpses, the insects and the arachnids, all gone. I knew this was my only chance, so I began running around the first floor of the manor, searching every room for clues and people, as well as some way out, negative on all accounts, I am sad to say. Panic once again rose inside, but this time I did everything in my power to keep it contained. When I had searched the kitchen, with no result, and was about to return to the room where the door to the garden once was, I saw something happen in the corner of my eye.

I turned around and saw, to my utter astonishment, that a door, which had not been there before, had appeared. I started to walk toward it, but suddenly stopped, and began to wonder what might lie behind it. Whatever the cause of this nightmare was, me falling asleep, the result of my madness, or something different entirely, surely what may lie behind the door could only contain the most feverish nightmare of Satan himself, and not my salvation? Why else would it suddenly appear? But, as I concluded, did it really matter?

Either I stayed and awaited another wave of horror, or blissful death, or I could push on, and face whatever may lay ahead. I decided on the latter, which, I must confess, I believe most would, or maybe only I, in my crazed state, would. I opened the door with shaking hands, and stared into the abyss that now was before me. There was a light switch on the right, which I pressed, and lo and behold, light vanquished the darkness and showed me what truly lied within.

 It was a stairwell which led down, farther than the light could shine, into the basement of Silverlight Manor. When I, after much hesitation, took my first step down the stairwell, something answered my intrusion. A growl out of this world, and please forgive me, but I can not describe it, even if I wanted to, because I know of no words which could adequately describe the unutterable dread, the terror of otherworldly origin, aye, even Satan himself would cower in fear if he heard it. You might think that this growl would deter me from continue down, and so did I, but it was something mesmerising in the sound of utter madness which the growl emitted, and which drew me further down, attracted me down to its source.

 I ventured down the stairs, as in a hazy dream, with no real autonomy left in my body. When I reached the bottom of the stairwell and sat my feet down upon the floor of the basement, my eyes scoured the darkness, fervently searched for the source of the growl. Finally, my gaze rested on the centre of the basement. I could not see what resided there, but I knew there was something there. A blinding light erupted from the centre and lit up the basement, showing me everything, and assured the end of my sanity.

There, in the centre, stood an entity which was not, could not, be of this world. It was something which no human mind could ever imagine, and, I think, therein lied the true reason for my sanity's demise, as I could not comprehend what I saw, yet, I knew that it was the very personification of horror and fear itself. Like the growl, I cannot describe this abomination of reality itself, as there is nothing which the human mind could weave into existence in the universe of the mind which could even begin to describe such monstrosity.

I said before that the grow would make Satan himself cower in fear, but the very sight of the entity would drive God mad and turn his omnipotence to impotence.

 

 

This was the conclusive evidence I needed to indeed confirm that this was not any nightmare conjured up by my brain during the event of sleep, and that my very existence was as futile in the presence of the entity as an ant is to the whole universe. I regained my autonomy, thank God (even though I no longer believe he neither exists, nor, if he did, could do anything against the entity which resided in the centre of the basement), and I ran faster than I had ever run before in my life, I would not be surprised if I ran faster than any human has ever done since the species' birth (either from creation or as a product of evolution, as my rationalistic and materialistic philosophy had been shattered by what I witnessed that day).

When I returned to the kitchen, I slammed the door to the accursed basement shut, and then continued to run toward the main hall of the manor. Why? I had no idea, but I felt it was the safest place in the manor. When I arrived, I fell down to the floor and rested my back to where the main entrance once had been, then I began crying violently. With my face in my hands, I knew despair was all that was left, despair and madness. A soft and tranquil voice suddenly spoke. The voice came from in front of me, and I listened attentively to it, for it was the first time since this nightmare began that I had heard a human voice.

“We finally meet, Gregory Templeton.”

 I looked up, my face drenched in my tears, and my eyes sore from the crying, and beheld the man that stood in front of me. The man was dressed in a black leather robe with a high collar which covered his mouth, and the robe was covered in spikes, and a hood covered the man's head. He wore a pair of crimson pants, and a pair of black leather boots. What could be seen of the face, I could see that the facial features of the man were of divine beauty, his wavy hair was pink, and a lock hanged down over his face and reached his chest. But the eyes, they were completely white, whiter than anything on this earth.

“W-who are you?” I managed to ask with a voice broken by the nightmare I had suffered through.

 

 “Oh, what a very excellent question” the man said with a laugh.

“What an excellent question! I am Yeshuah Yahveh, the Lord of Fantasy and God of Imagination!”

Yeshuah Yahveh then brought down the hood from his head, and I saw what the hood had hidden from my view. I recognized that face, and I finally began to piece together why I was enveloped by this nightmare. I had seen this man on TV, his picture in the newspaper. This man, who called himself Yeshuah Yahveh, was the one I, and the rest of the world, knew as Dr. Atreus Tzeraux, 10th Baron of Yahire.

“Y-y-you!!” I managed to scream.

 

 “Yes, m-m-me!” Yeshuah Yahveh answered mockingly.

“B-but, why!?” I continued.

“Why me!? What have I done to deserve all of this!?!”

Yeshuah Yahveh then began to laugh maniacally.

“Why?” He said with a chuckle.

“Why? There is no why, my dear Gregory. You are nothing, of no consequence. I saw you slaving away at that pathetic bar you so apathetically serve, with no reason to continue existing, without any real imagination, and I thought it would be fun to play with you. That's all!”

 I just could not believe it. Was that the reason why I had suffered through worse than anything the human mind could conjure up!? Sure, the corpses and the insects and arachnids, they were mere parlour tricks, nothing special, I knew, but that entity in the basement, that, THAT was where our brains failed, and where the maliciousness of Yeshuah Yahveh succeeded.

“You see” Yeshuah Yahveh continued.

 “I become easily bored, and you brought a little happiness to my heart, and for that, I am grateful. I will tell you a little secret; I can control reality itself with my imagination, and this little passing of time is truly nothing compared to the things I can do! I have created civilizations, worlds, gods, with mere thoughts, and erased them from existence just as easy. If I were you, I would be honoured that such a cosmic God as I chose to play with you. Take solace in that, Greggy.”

 Yeshuah Yahveh then began to levitate a couple of metres off the ground. Then, with his arms stretched out on either side of him, Silverlight Manor began to disintegrate.

“Good bye, Greggy” he said.

“Have a great life!”

A blinding light then began to shine, rendering my sight useless, and, finally, made me lose consciousness. I woke up on the 31st of August, lying on a bed in a hospital, with my right hand cuffed to the railing of the bed. It took my eyes and ears a few minutes to recalibrate to the world, and then I saw a police officer that stood guard in front of the door. When he saw that I was awake, he made a call. I tried to speak but could not utter a word. But I saw that the face of the police officer was contorted in disgust while he watched me. It took around 15 minutes for me to regain my voice, and I began shouting questions to the police officer, asking him why I was cuffed. My questions remained unanswered by the police officer, and, after a while, a detective entered the room, and sat down on a chair beside my bed.

“Mr. Templeton, I am Detective Jonathan Hurley, and I would like to ask you some questions regarding what happened yesterday at Silverlight Manor.”

 

 

 I poured out everything I had experienced at that accursed manor, including the entity in the basement and Yeshuah Yahveh, aye, I told the detective in a very similar manner I have written down here. When I was done, I saw bafflement in the face of Detective Hurley.

 “Mr. Templeton” he began, with a restrained voice, as to not set off a madman.

 “Nothing of what you just have told me happened. But something else did.”

He paused for a moment, then continued.

 “the 150 people that attended the party at Silverlight Manor, you excluded, were found dead this morning. It seems like they all were poisoned, presumably through the Champaign. We are still awaiting the result of the test on the Champaign, but we are fairly certain. From what we could gather, you were the one who delivered the Champaign, as part of your employment of Mr. Richard Drow, for whom you usually worked for as a bartender at his bar, The Green Legend. Mr. Drow also owns a delivery company which mostly delivers alcohol to private parties and events.

 We have already interviewed Mr. Drow, as well as your co-workers, and the picture is quite clear. It seems like you have an intense hatred towards the upper class, and especially toward Dr. Atreus Tzeraux.

Why you hate the upper class is the classic reason; 'they poison the world with their greed and apathy', and you, who are an 'anarchist at heart', thought they should be 'wiped from the face of the earth'. Now these are your words, which you have both said to your co-workers as well as written down in your diary. But why you especially hate Dr. Tzeraux, what we found while we researched you, was that Dr. Tzeraux, who was Europe's foremost brain surgeon, and who had operated on your mother to remove her brain tumour.

Something went wrong with your mother's surgery, and she died. You thought that Dr. Tzeraux was guilty of malpractice, and even that he was drunk when he operated. An investigation was launched, but found nothing, but you were not satisfied, because you had made yourself believe that it was Dr. Tzeraux's carelessness that caused your mother's death, and not her brain cancer and the extremely complicated operation that was needed, which you and your mother were informed on long before the operation itself. I am sure that the test of the Champaign will show that it was indeed poisoned, and I am sure that we will find evidence that it was you who poisoned it, so that you are guilty is beyond doubt in my mind. What I want to know, Mr. Templeton, is what did you do with Dr. Tzeraux?”

 

I was completely astonished by these bizarre accusations which hailed over me. None of it were true. My mother was alive and well, she never had cancer, hell, I could not even remember if she ever had so much as a cold. Everything Detective Hurley said was absurd. I said so to him, and he just sighed, tired and disappointed.

 I also asked what he meant with 'What I did with Dr. Tzeraux'? He said that the body of Dr. Tzeraux has not been found, and no one has neither heard from him nor seen him since before the party; Atreus Tzeraux had vanished. Detective Hurley was certain that I had done something with Dr. Tzeraux, either hid his body or taken it with me, even that I have him locked away alive somewhere, awaiting the torture I had in store for him.

I objected to the horrendous accusations that Detective Hurley let rain over me from the clouds of his mouth, but to no avail. Then I remembered what Yeshuah Yahveh had said, and I told Detective Hurley of it, that Yeshuah Yahveh, who also was Atreus Tzeraux, had the power to control and change reality with his imagination, and that is why everything seemed to be so surreal compared to the original reality which they had existed within before.

Detective Hurley sighed and then told that I had already said this, and that it does not make it any more true to repeat it. I lost all hope, and I resigned to whatever fate Detective Hurley, and this warped reality, had in store for me.

I was tried and charged with the murders at Silverlight Manor, and sentenced to life in jail. Atreus Tzeraux never resurfaced, which, even though they never actually could charge me with his death or disappearance due to lack of evidence, meant that even his life was put on my scales of guilt. I have tried to tell anyone who would listen what really happened, but none believed me. I managed to get my hands on a pen and some paper, and then began to write my last testament in which I am writing in this very moment.

I live not continue to live in this reality warped by Yeshuah Yahveh no longer. I will end my sad existence and walk through the gates of death and pray and hope that neither Yeshuah Yahveh nor any of those cosmic deities to which Yeshuah Yahveh belong, has any power over the realm of death, and that they cannot snatch me from the eternal oblivion. I hope that, at the very least, one of those who will read my last testament will believe me, that is the only solace I can bring with me when I end it all. I bid farewell, and I sincerely hope that this world, nor anyone within it, will ever have to play a game with Yeshuah Yahveh.


© Copyright 2018 JonathanEHova. All rights reserved.

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