The Haunting of The Briar Rose by Skylar Finn

Author:Skylar Finn
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2020-01-18T23:00:00+00:00

15

HOBOKEN, NEW JERSEY

Usually, I tried to avoid New Jersey whenever possible. I didn’t like the idea of going to a place I had to pay to get out. It was a sentiment I kept to myself, like many that defined stuck-up New Yorkers. The hostile welcome Paul and I had received in Blackmill was more than enough to remind me of that.

I was startled that eccentric Uncle Wilhelm had chosen to make his home in Hoboken, of all places. It seemed more like the setting for an suburban sitcom than a mysterious old man whose wealth had bred in him some extremely peculiar eccentricities. Or maybe it was the normalcy that appealed to him. Then again, Jersey was known for everything from the Pine Barrens to the Jersey Devil, so from that perspective, it was an appropriate place for a man who was basically a myth to settle.

It was almost three hours after the séance by the time I turned onto Cherry Tree Lane. It was dark and shady, the streetlights few and far between. It was like the set of a horror movie. The towering and stately old Victorians had a slightly derelict and ruined look about them, like they were part of a land that time forgot. I longed for subways, car horns, and twenty-four-hour everything. Maybe Paul was right about us city folk not faring well in the country. Maybe we’d be better off back home.

I pushed these thoughts to the back of my head and pressed on. I had come this far, and I wasn’t about to give up now. I pulled up the long and imposing drive of 262. There was a red brick pillar at the end, the numbers in swirling gold script on a black sign. The house was dark and silent.

I glanced around as I got out of the car. I heard nothing except for the occasional hoot of a nearby owl. It was the height of creepiness. The old wooden front porch steps creaked as I climbed them. There was a brass knocker in the center of the tall and imposing front door, cracked green paint and splintering wood. I knocked decisively, long loud raps. No response.

As much as I loathed the idea, I resigned myself to the inevitable: I would have to investigate. I made my way around the side of the house, passing two dark windows at ground level on my way. Glancing up, I saw that the second level was as dark as the first. It looked like there was an additional room on the third floor, an attic bedroom perhaps, but no light shone from it, either.

I halted when I reached a rotting wooden fence. The fence’s door was wedged open with a concrete brick stuck in the mud. The gap was barely a foot wide. I pushed on the wood and wiggled through, trying desperately not to think of what might lie in wait for me on the other side.

I found myself in an overgrown backyard, filled with weeds, tall trees, and an ominous-looking shed in the far corner of the yard.

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