The Ghost at Rose Point Manor

I’m not crazy. Do you believe in demons? Paranormal forces? Ghosts? I didn’t before I moved into Rose Point Manor. I write to you from St. Kevin’s Asylum up on Mount Desert, County Cork, in the Isle of Saints. It is January of 1897, a few weeks from my nineteenth birthday. I have been stuck in this place for almost a month now. But bear with me, reader, and hear my side of the story, though it may make your hair stand on end.

My name is Voilet Ó Braonáin. Coincidentally, my surname means “sorrow” in the Irish language. Contrary to my name, I have always lived my life in love and light, until the fateful day I moved into Rose Point Manor. My parents were not well off; we were not homeless but they did use almost every last penny to feed, educate, and clothe me. I was their only child, as my mother fell ill after giving birth to me and was unable to have any more children. My father was a wise and reasonable man. It was just the three of us in the small town of Inistioge, county Kilkenny, until they left for a trip to visit some friends in County Clare in December of 1896.

A week and a half after they had departed, I received news that their carriage had wrecked. To say I was shattered is an understatement. I was numb, then panicked. I had no family, no idea what I was to do or where I was to go. I spent several days mindlessly knitting and taking long night walks before receiving a strange letter in the mail.

With trembling hands I opened up the letter. It was crisp, thick, and sealed with a red with with “V.O.” inscribed into it. I tore it open. I read the letter 3 times before the reality of it set in. I thought “You’re delusional, you’ve hardly eaten in days, you spend your nights walking rather than sleeping, this isn’t real.” The letter was from a great uncle that I had absolutely no prior knowledge of, Victor Ó Braonáin. Little did I know, this letter from Mr. Victor “Sorrow” was to change my life forever.

“Voilet, though you may have been suppressed of my existence, I am your great uncle. My brother, Rory, was your grandfather. We were separated at birth, as we were born as bastard children by our mother. Rory was given to a poor family in County Kilkenny while I was given to a wealthy family in County Waterford. I’m writing to you today because I only have a few days left on this earth. I have no children of my own, no one to inherit my estate, so I invite you to come and live at Rose Point manor. All I ask is that you take care of the home and to treat the servants with kindness. This may seem a lot to ask, but I would like the estate to stay in the family and I will be sending a carriage in a few days’ time to fetch you.

God bless.

Victor Ó Braonáin,

December the 29th 1896

Rose Point Manor, Blithe Hallow Hill

County Waterford, Ireland.

Confusion, happiness, fear, bewilderment; all circling through my brain at once. This was my way out—or so I thought. I had to jump at this chance. I mean, servants? I’ve never even come close to having something like that in my life, and here was my chance. I immediately packed everything I owned, which truly was not much. I scraped together all that we had in our little home and got a carriage ride to this Rose Point Manor. My stomach swirled and turned with anticipation, but this was the only choice I had.

After what seemed like a lifetime, I finally arrived at Victor Ó Braonái’s home. Pulling up to the mansion, my entire aura seemed to change. When the house was still at a distance, fog rolled around the exterior of the home, giving a disheartening feeling; the moon shone bright upon this mansion showing its haunting atmosphere. A panic started to set in once the driver stopped abruptly in front of the front entrance. I mustered all of the strength that I could and brought myself to the front door. Before I could even knock, a ghastly looking butler opened it.

This butler, who told me his name, Darcy, looked as if the life had been sucked out of him. His deep-set eyes and grey skin gave me an unnerving feeling. Though I was frightened, I followed him to my room. I had so many questions yet I could not force a word out of my mouth. On the way to my room, I counted 16 doors. I wanted so desperately to open each and every one to see what might be lurking around.

It was breathtaking, beautiful, despite some cobwebs and dust. Gold lamps, hand carved furniture, and immaculate art; at once, my stomach started to settle. Darcy left and coldly told me he would return when dinner was ready. I wondered who had lived in this room before, but I didn’t wonder long. Exhausted from my trip, I decided to nap and quickly dozed away. I cannot recall my dreams exactly, but I remember them being the most gruesome that I had ever had before. This was only the start to my horrifying slumbers to come.

To my knowledge, I was never woken for dinner, but I awoke in the middle of the night. I took one look at the old grandfather clock that was positioned across from my bed; it was 3:13 in the morning. I was still drowsy from my long nap, but was almost immediately stricken with terror once I heard something outside of my door. Who would be awake at this time and outside my room? I stayed as quiet as a bat. The moonlight was shining into my bedroom at this point, so I could see quite clearly. After a few minutes of petrified listening, I decided that my mind was just playing tricks on me. It took me quite some time, but I finally fell back asleep.

In the morning, I awoke to knocking on my door. I opened it to see a haggard old maid with a silver tray of food.

“Breakfast,” she spoke in a monotonous tone. Before I could even utter “thank you,” she was already barging into my room and placed the tray on my desk.

“Ma’am, do you mind me asking a few questions? I wanted to last night but I accidentally fell fast asleep,” I kindly spoke to her.

“What do you want to know?” she replied.

“Well, I wanted I’m very curious about my great uncle. Is he here?”

“Master Victor passed the day before your arrival,” she said with an air of solemnity.

“Oh, I’m quite sorry… May his soul rest in heaven above. Has the house been in Victor’s family long?”

“This house has been in the same family for around 200 years. My mother also worked here before me, and I have a special attachment to this home. I have work to do, I must be going.”

Her ratted hair and hunched back told me that she was indeed a hard worker. I was shocked that this estate has been in the family for that long, and I wondered if Victor was the reason it had gone almost to shambles. I decided to explore the house once I finished my breakfast. The drawing room was also a gargantuan library; I had never seen such an extensive assembly. One that stuck out to me was an old and tattered book covered in an inch of dust resting on top of a row of books. I grabbed the novel, which turned out to be “Pride and Prejudice” I opened it only to find writing on the inside of the front cover, “To my dearest Victor, may our love forever prosper. -Valencia” I found this quite odd since Victor had included in his letter that he had never married or had children. Thinking nothing of it, I put down the novel and continued to look around the estate. In the parlor, I noticed quite a large stain on the beautiful rug, half covered by an old armchair. I moved the chair to the side, revealing the real size of this imperfection, 3 feet by width and length. Though I was puzzled, I continued my searches around the home.

I came upon a study room that looked as if it was Victor’s. Searching through each drawer, I came across an old picture. There were two people in it, a handsome young man with dark dark hair and fair skin around the age of 40 and a stunning young woman who too had extremely dark hair and was wearing a beautiful wedding gown. I assumed this was an old photo of Victor’s parents, but once I flipped the photo over, I saw “Victor and Valencia, 1845.” I tried to suppress my feeling of discomfort, but some sort of dread felt like it was hanging over me. My thoughts were disrupted by a call to dinner by Darcy. I made my way into the dining hall only to find a long banquet table with only one place made. Sitting alone at this massive table only made me feel even more lonely. Oh how I missed my parents, the safety I felt with them, and the warmth of good conversation. As the old maid, who I later found out was named Nancy, brought me my dinner, I tried to make small talk.

“May I ask, who is Valencia? Victor wrote to me telling he nary had a wife nor children, but I found some things that suggest otherwise.”

The second the name Valencia left my mouth, Nancy’s expression turned from bored to absolutely terrified. Without answering, she put my plate down and darted out of the room; she truly looked as if she’d seen a ghost! Well, reader, this is only the start.

A little shaken from Nancy’s abrupt departure, I made my way to bed after dinner. The room’s gorgeous décor had made me comfortable for my first night’s stay, but now I started to feel quite uncomfortable. My second night was one that I will never forget. After getting into bed, it seemed to take me a few hours to get to sleep. I remember seeing the clock right before dozing off and it was about midnight. Next thing I know I woke up to the sensation of being pulled by my ankles. I opened my eyes to dear darkness, and I was almost a foot away from my pillow. I felt violated and nervous, yet extremely curious as to what had just happened. I know I was not dreaming; I had been pulled. I quickly lit a candle and held it near my ankles. There it was, my skin had turned red around both ankles. I screamed when I saw it- nobody came. I checked under my bed, in the cupboard, every nick and cranny in the room- no one was there. The time, just like the previous night, was 3:13 in the morning. I crawled back into bed and laid petrified for hours until the sun came up.

To calm my nerves, I decided to go on a morning stroll since the sun was glimmering and the weather was tolerable for a mid-December day. The land surrounding Rose Point was surprisingly alluring. I found what seemed to be a neglected and overgrown garden next to an old oak tree in the back yard. As I got closer to the tree, I noticed something that made me quite uneasy yet again. It was hard to make out at first, but once I saw it, I could not unsee it. “V+V” carved right into the wood of the tree. I had to find out what happened with this Valencia, and I was starting to fear what the answer would be. The rest of the day was bleak, I wandered the grounds a bit more, and decided I would take a bath. The bathtub was grand, but looked like it hadn’t been used in a number of years. I undressed, walked towards the tub, and turned the handle. I could hear the creaking of the pipes all around me, an eerie and unnerving sound. I climbed into the tub even before the water had started running, and once it did, I went cold. What looked like thick, dark, blood streamed out of the faucet. I rubbed my eyes and once I opened them, there was no trace of red at all. Clear water was streaming and looked like it had been the entire time. To say I was perplexed is an understatement. I sat there in amazement for a few minutes trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, and decided to lay back in the tub and relax my rushing mind.

“I didn’t sleep last night. My eyes are playing tricks on me. I need rest.” I told myself.

I laid my head on the back of the tub and started to drift off into unconsciousness. Right before my mind slipped into oblivion, I felt an icy cold touch on my neck. My eyes flew open, but no one was there. I was all alone. I got out of the tub almost immediately and decided that my lack of sleep was making me paranoid, so I got into bed without dinner and tried to sleep. I tossed and turned for hours on end, not being able to escape the dreaded thought of Valencia. Finally, I grabbed a book from my nightstand. When I was with my parents, my mother would always read to me if I had trouble sleeping, so I thought this act would ease my wandering mind and help me sleep. Unfortunately, the only book on the nightstand that was not in Latin was “The Judge’s House”. I remembered my father had read it before, so I decided it couldn’t be too bad. I began to read for about an hour. My eyes were glued to the book, I was delving into the world of Sleepy Hollow, and my mind was finally off of Valencia until. . .

In my peripheral vision, I saw something move. Thinking again my eyes playing tricks on me, I went back to my reading. This book made me the opposite of sleepy, and I was addicted to the storyline. As I was reading a passage about a particularly gruesome murder, I noticed something above my book. I was too terrified to look up, as I could make out the shape of woman in a long white dress. I ignored it for as long as I could and what I saw when I looked up will never leave my mind again. My eyes slowly crept up from my book and the figure didn’t move. It was the woman from the photo with Victor… it was Valencia… she looked exactly as she did in the photo, except one gruesome detail; her throat was mangled and slit. I sat there in my bed, fossilized. My eyes creeped to the grandfather clock and again, it was 3:13. The dark figure didn’t move. She stood at the end of my bed in the flickering candlelight and I couldn’t move either. Not more than 10 seconds could have passed when, in a flash, she was next to my bed, inches from me, and blood spouted from her neck. I closed my eyes and screamed at the top of my lungs. I felt the blood dripping down my face, covering my sheets, everywhere. I sprinted to the bathroom and locked the door. I knew I was right; blood really was all over me. Darcy and Nancy quickly rushed into my room and I ran to meet them at the door.

“What on earth are you screaming about girl?” screamed Darcy.

“The woman…. Her throat…. The blood.” I couldn’t even mutter out words I was in such a shocked state.

“Dear, what on earth are you talking about?” asked Nancy.

“Do you not see this blood on my face? It’s splattered everywhere! Her, Valencia, the woman with the cut throat!”

I reached up to touch my face, and to my utter astonishment, it was completely dry. There was no sign of blood anywhere.

“She’s sick Darcy… Get her to bed.” demanded Nancy.

She again turned cold at the sound of the word Valencia. I fell silent. There was no blood on the sheets, no blood anywhere. I know it was real. I could even taste the blood in my mouth, it was so real. Nancy tucked the sheets around me.

How could they suppress this paranormal activity? I lied awake under the blankets, hoping the thin veil of cotton would protect me from the otherworldly spirit was tormenting me. The rest of the night was filled with intense anxiety, and the creaks throughout the old house did not make the situation any easier. To my astonishment, I made it alive until morning. The sun shone bright on this December day, and I decided I needed to make a plan to ward off this dark spirit. I headed down to the library to search for any helpful information about the spirit world. After hours of searching, I came across an old book of Irish Folklore and Mythology. The book made it clear that fae, ghosts, and other supernatural entities could be warded off with iron. I immediately took off to rummage through this old mansion for something iron. It took some time, but finally found an old iron rod that is used to tend fires.

After dinner that night, I headed back to bed with the slight bit of confidence that I could protect myself if the ghost should put me in harm’s way. With the iron rod at my bedside, I was able to doze off at about midnight; my first sleep in days. I awoke to a thump near the corner of the room. It was another night of near darkness. My candle was across the room and I didn’t dare get up and expose myself even further to the entity. I had no light to guide my eyes, and I was absolutely terrified. It started to quietly that I almost couldn’t make it out. It grew louder and louder until I realized I was hearing a laugh; the most sinister laugh that could be possible. Within seconds, I heard a woman’s voice whisper in my ear.

“You’re going to sleep… eternally.”

I screamed at the top of my lungs and scrambled out of my bed as fast as I could. I grabbed the iron rod and started to run. The laughing started again, and this time it was circling all around me. It grew so loud I thought my head would explode. I left my room and started sprinted down the hallway. I turned my head to look back as I was running, only to see the ghost drifting close behind. She did not look exactly like the first time I saw her, but seemed to be even more mangled and rotten. I darted to the front door only to find that it was locked. Jiggling the doorknob as hard as I could, and I then felt a hand touch my shoulder. In a panicstricken state, I swung around and plunge the iron rod into what seemed to be a thick, fleshy, stomach.

That’s where everything went black. The doctors said I went into a psychogenic blackout most likely due to the lack of sleep and the high anxiety of the move and my parent’s death. I still cannot believe what they told me happened. Nancy was dead. They say I killed her with that iron rod, but I have no recollection. The last thing I could remember was the ghost coming after me and the hand on my shoulder. The hand must have been Nancy’s instead of Valencia’s, but I know the ghost was there. I am in this psych ward and not jail because Darcy told the guards that I thought I was seeing ghosts. I know I saw a ghost. I still do not know exactly why she was there, what happened to her, or even anything about the stain in the rug, but one day I will figure it out. Reader, if you find yourself on top of the hill of Blithe Hallow, beware of the ghost of Rose Point Manor.