Mystery Horror
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The house had been built by the late William Alston in 1877. It was an elegant Greek Revival home that sat on a half-acre plot of land, surrounded by manicured lawns and flower gardens. The front door opened into a large foyer; beyond this was a formal parlor where the grand piano stood, as well as several comfortable chairs.
This room overlooked the backyard; it also had a fireplace with a mantelpiece that contained an antique clock. Next to the piano, there was a portrait of Mr. Alston’s wife, who had died some twenty years earlier from pneumonia.
At night, as she looked out over her garden, Mrs. Alston would often see lights moving around on the lawn; they were not candles or lanterns, but rather stars shining through the trees. She never said anything about them—instead, she just kept looking at those stars until the morning light came up.
After Mr. Alston passed away in 1917, his widow stayed in the house alone until 1930 when she moved to California. There is no record of what happened after that; perhaps her death certificate was destroyed during World War II? But most likely, the woman just lived out her remaining days in peace.
In 1958, a young couple purchased the Alston estate and began renovations. They found the old piano upstairs and noticed a picture hanging beside it which showed a young man and woman smiling together. The painting was done in oils on canvas and depicted the couple standing beneath a tree in autumn.
In the background, there was a horse-drawn carriage drawn by two horses, with other carriages behind it, driving down a path toward the house. The name of the painter was unknown, but he had signed the painting: “To my dear friend Helen Alston.”
When the decorator asked for more information about the family, the realtor told him that the Alstons were not particularly wealthy, nor did they have relatives. Instead, they had inherited the property from the previous owner, but instead of selling it, they chose to keep living in their beloved home.
After the new owners finished renovating the main floor, they decided to move the furniture downstairs. As they carried pieces of furniture down the stairs, they noticed a thick layer of dust on top of each step, as if someone had recently cleaned them. Nevertheless, they brushed off the dirt and continued going downstairs.
A few minutes later, as the last piece of the furniture landed on the floor, they heard a loud creaking noise coming from above. The sound was so unusual that the husband went back upstairs to investigate. He found the entire landing carpeted in a thin layer of dust; it was obviously not there before.
Still curious, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, only to find that every single step had been covered in dust. Anxious, he hurried back downstairs to check the first floor and saw that the same thing had happened.
Then he repeated the process once more—going upstairs, checking each step, finding nothing, then returning to the bottom floor. Each time, the steps were always dusty.
Finally, the husband gave up trying to figure out what was causing the phenomenon. Maybe it wasn’t worth worrying about, he thought. But still, he could not forget hearing that creaking noise. Besides, the couple decided to put a radio in the sitting room downstairs, so they could listen to music while relaxing.
Two weeks later, there was another loud creak from upstairs, followed by the sound of someone crying. The wife ran upstairs to see what was happening, but all she found was that one of the doors on the landing had swung open.
As the years passed, they never had any more strange occurrences in the house. They had children, who grew up in the house with their mother, who was also very happy there. But then, tragedy struck. One day, their son was killed in a terrible accident. His body was taken to the funeral home, and the grieving mother returned home to begin planning the burial.
As soon as she arrived, she knew something was terribly wrong. She walked into the house and instantly felt sickly. The odor of flowers and fresh grass hung heavily in the air as if there had been a recent celebration. She ran to the kitchen, found it empty, then headed downstairs. Downstairs, the smell was stronger than ever; she could feel a presence in the house.
She called out to her husband, telling him to get downstairs immediately. Her voice sounded hollow in the silence like she was calling into an empty room. Yet, as she waited for him to come down, the house began to tremble. Doors slammed shut; there was a knock at the front door, and when they opened it, there was nobody there.
The woman rushed upstairs, and upon entering her bedroom, she realized why the house was shaking. It was as if the entire house were in a state of constant movement, even though she hadn’t touched anything. The bed was undisturbed, the curtains still spread out over the windows. And yet, the walls shook, and the ceiling seemed to move slowly overhead.
The woman began to panic. What was happening? Had something bad happened to her husband and children? She was about to rush to the basement to look for them when suddenly, the feeling vanished. The house remained motionless again.
Later that evening, after her husband came home, they sat and talked about what had happened. They both agreed that the house had not been moving before, or maybe just a little bit. Now, however, they felt they were trapped inside a massive machine that was constantly shifting.
Their minds couldn’t comprehend what was happening, and they wondered whether they should leave the house. But the Alstons had always loved the Alston mansion, and they refused to abandon it. So, they lived in the house, often sitting together and talking about what they had experienced.
After being married for many years, they finally decided to sell their beloved home. But during the sale, they discovered something truly shocking.
They had decided to have a real estate agent show potential buyers around the house. While the man showed people through, the Alston family was waiting outside. During his tour, the agent told the prospective buyer that the house had been built in 1816 and that it was listed on the national register of historic homes.
Although the house had been renovated since then, its original features remained intact. He also said that one of the most interesting aspects of the property was that it had never been inhabited by anyone besides the Alstons. When the agent finished his spiel, he invited the prospective buyer to return with his wife for dinner.
The prospective buyer stayed in town overnight, and on the following day, he returned to the house with his wife. Once inside, the couple sat down in the parlor. Soon afterward, Mrs. Alston left to prepare dinner. When she came back, she asked the couple how they liked their tour. “We love the house,” the man replied, “but we’re concerned about some of the noises.”
“Yes, there are a few creaks and knocks, but that’s probably because the building is old,” the agent explained, though this was obviously untrue.
Mrs. Alston went upstairs to check on the children, leaving the two adults alone. The prospective buyer looked at the agent, asking him: “Do you know what the house means?”
“What do you mean?” the agent asked, confused.
“It has powers, like a curse,” the prospective buyer told him.
The agent did not seem to be concerned at all, so the prospective buyer told Mrs. Alston what the agent had said. At first, she dismissed the comment as nonsense, but she later started to wonder. She remembered the house having a mysterious quality to it, and she had always sensed a strange presence there.
Perhaps the house was haunted, she thought. She didn’t want to tell her husband, in case he decided to sell the house without consulting her. So, she decided to keep quiet, and the prospective buyer and his wife continued their tour.
About an hour later, the prospective buyer mentioned that he would be returning to the city early, and asked if they could arrange for a taxi to take him and his wife to the airport. “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Alston agreed. And although the prospective buyer was tired from traveling, he insisted on staying for dinner.
After the meal, Mrs. Alston excused herself to see to the children, and when she returned, she found the prospective buyer reading a book in the parlor. In the kitchen, she heard her husband’s voice, saying: “Oh my God! Look at the time!” Her husband was ready to go out, but the prospective buyer wasn’t.
He was still reading, and Mrs. Alston assumed he wanted to ask her husband more questions. She walked into the parlor, but the prospective buyer had already put his book aside and stood up. He smiled at her and said: “I’m sorry, I really must be going now. My flight leaves very early tomorrow morning. Thank you for a wonderful meal.”
Mrs. Alston thanked the prospective buyer and escorted him to the front door. Once outside, she turned to her husband and whispered, “There’s something wrong with that man; he frightened me.” As the prospective buyer was walking away, Mrs. Alston noticed her husband reach into his pocket and touch something.
She watched as he pulled out a small stone and held it up to the light. Then, Mr. Alston closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
Mrs. Alston looked at the prospective buyer, who pretended to be oblivious to everything happening around him. He waved goodbye to them and continued to walk toward the driveway. Mrs. Alston ran to the side of the house and called out to the man.
No answer. She hurried back to the front yard and saw the prospective buyer sitting on a bench near the car. He didn’t look at her as she approached, instead continuing to stare straight ahead.
Once beside the man, she asked, “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
He did not reply.
She leaned closer until her face was inches from his. “Sir, please don’t leave.”
Still, the man did not respond. His head was tilted slightly upward, and his eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. He didn’t breathe. She felt panic rising inside her, and she said: “If you try to run away, I’ll call the police. Please stay here.”
The man did not move.
Mrs. Alston searched the man’s pockets and found a wallet containing identification. She opened it and read the name: Thomas Kincaid. But the man was no longer Thomas Kincaid; he had become someone else entirely.
As Mrs. Alston examined the contents of the purse, her husband emerged from the house. Seeing that his wife was nowhere to be seen, he quickly checked the garden and the sidewalk.
They both began calling Mrs. Alston’s name. Finally, she appeared, looking disheveled. She was breathing heavily, and tears ran down her cheeks.
Her husband asked: “What happened?”
“Please, let me explain,” she begged. “But first we must return home. We shouldn’t have left the house.”
Dressed in suits, the couple drove to the local police station, where they reported the incident. Detective White arrived shortly afterward and spoke with them before taking statements. When he asked about the purse, Mrs. Alston told him it belonged to the prospective buyer, and that it contained a driver’s license.
The detective asked her to describe the object. She described how it was shaped, and its shiny surface.
“And what is it made of?” he asked.
“A stone,” she replied.
The detective nodded. “Yes, a stone.” With that, he told her to wait while he went to speak with the other witnesses. He returned a few minutes later and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Alston, for your assistance. I’ll get my men started on this investigation immediately.”
The following day, Detective White met with the prospective buyer’s lawyers. They agreed that the law would need to be changed if they were to proceed with their case. Even though the prospective buyer was presumed dead, there was a chance the murder weapon could be recovered, and that was enough for the defense team to take the matter further.
With the help of a prominent lawyer, they succeeded in having the charges dismissed.
While waiting for the trial to start, the prospective buyer’s body was exhumed. After two weeks of forensic examination, the coroner ruled that the death certificate should be amended. There was no evidence of foul play, and the manner of death was listed as undetermined.
Detective White informed Mrs. Alston, telling her that the body was cremated and that the ashes were given to the prospective buyer’s family.
In the days that followed, Mrs. Alston walked the streets of the town, hoping to find the stranger who killed her son. She visited the places where he worked, and scoured newspapers for news stories about him. She sat on park benches and stared at gravestones, hoping to see an obituary or memorial notice.
She even tried to contact the cemetery, but she received no response. She looked everywhere, but never found him. It was almost as though he’d disappeared into thin air.
One night, Mrs. Alston was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the porch, and the sound of the screen door opening. She lay in bed and waited, watching through the window as a figure dressed in black approached the house. As the man stepped onto the grass, she recognized him and screamed. At once, her husband rushed out of the bedroom and confronted the intruder.
The stranger stood motionless, smiling, and kept walking toward the house. The husband asked, “Who are you?”
The man replied, “You know who I am, Mr. Alston.”
The husband drew his revolver and fired a single shot. The bullet struck the ground, and the man did not react. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced something small and metallic—a key. Slowly, he turned the handle and unlocked the front door. The husband shouted, “Don’t come inside!”
The stranger ignored his warning and entered the house. In seconds, he was gone.
The following morning, Mrs. Alston called the police and reported the intruder. She explained that she believed he killed her son, and she wanted justice for him. Before long, detectives came to question her.
They confirmed that the burglar was a tall, dark-haired man who wore a suit and that he had been wearing the same clothing when arrested. He was brought back to the house for questioning.
The intruder refused to answer questions, remaining silent throughout the interrogation. However, a note was discovered on the kitchen table addressed to Mrs. Alston. The words were written in bold letters:
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. Let us go now. Your son will be all right.
It took time, but eventually, the police were able to track down the person responsible for the break-in. The thief was soon apprehended and charged with burglary, theft, and trespassing. He was sentenced to three years in prison, after which, he was deported to France.
While awaiting trial, he wrote to Mrs. Alston, asking her to stop the court from executing him. He claimed he was innocent, and that the body belonged to someone else.
Mrs. Alston mailed the letter to the French embassy and received no reply.
The End