An evening at Whitetree manor

Rain lightly pattered against the roof above me while gravel crunched and crinkled beneath me. I peered through the window from the inside of the cold, damp carriage and could very clearly see a a large manor made from brick. At the front was a grand set of stairs leading to double, heavy oak doors, above the doors was a brazen plaque with the name “Whitetree” stamped into it.

The ride came to a slow halt in front of the manor. Almost immediately a man wearing a black suit with a long tail on the coat and white gloves opened the door to the coach “This way, sir.” He gestured toward the doors with his free hand. The doors had been opened by that time and inside stood a man standing tall with brown hair, both on his head and his face, wearing all black, except for the buttoned up shirt beneath the vest of his suit.

As I clambered towards the peak of the stairs, he greeted me beneath the plaque. “You must be Johnathan.” He grabbed my hand with both of his. “Charles Whitetree.” I stepped inside the doorway before responding. “A pleasure.” Charles motioned a hand to his right, which when I looked, realized it led into the dining hall. “The reading of the will is about to begin.” I continued to the dining hall, which was filled with people, all part of the same family; my family or so I was told.

A man wearing a fine, silk suit with a monocle looked slightly annoyed as Charles and I found our way to empty seats across from each other at the table. The man with the monocle shuffled a few papers in front of him and lifted a single page. “Let us begin, this is short and won't take much time at all.” He cleared his throat and read aloud. “This is the final will and testament of James Cornelius Whitetree. I wish for all of my personal belongings to donated to the orphanages of London, to which is the choosing of the family. As for my monetary funds, I wish the sum of twenty-thousand pounds to be given to my dear, youngest son, Johnathan Matthews. For the remaining funds, place them into the care of the same orphanage that my belongings are distributed to.” He set the page to the same position he had lifted it from.

Silence filled the room for a moment. “This is outrageous! He's not even part of the family!” A woman yelled from down the table. Loud chattering followed, as everyone seemed angry except for Charles. “Easy, my dear family!” The crowd quieted. “If this is what Uncle James wanted, then so be it. Johnathan here is his only child and he he always liked to give to the less fortunate. Everything will be alright. Now, I think it's nearly time for dinner to be served, please allow Uncle's lawyer exit and let us return to our separate rooms.” He nodded at the man with the monocle. He mouthed back the words “Thank you.”

The crowd slowly dispersed into the foyer and upstairs. Charles stayed behind to speak with me. “Please forgive them, they expect too much.” He said. “It's quite alright, had I had a family this size growing up, I might have reacted in the same way.” I replied. He chuckled a little. “For tonight dinner is going to be served across the manor since the dining hall was being used for other purposes. I'll be eating in the study, across the foyer, if you'd care to join me. We are, after all family and I'd like to my own cousin a little better.” I nodded in response. “That sounds lovely.” Charles nodded as well and walked into the foyer.

On the wall were lamps, powered by gas I think, lighting as the outside world became darker. Charles and I found our way into the study, a room lined with book shelves, all filled to the edges with literary pieces. There was a desk where Charles would write, I'm assuming, a fireplace to the left and a couch and two chairs across from it. “Please, take a seat.” I sat on the couch, while Charles took a chair.

Shortly after we sat, two men wearing aprons entered, rolling silver platters on carts. Following the two men were two maids, each carrying a fold down table for the food to be served on. After the small tables were set and the food was placed, one of the chefs bowed. “Please enjoy the food.” They all four exited the room, closing the door behind them.

We each had a steak, served with asparagus, the meal was smaller as there was less time to prepare and more space to cover when it came to serving the food. “So, what do you do in the city?” Charles asked as we were beginning to eat. “Well, I work at the docks, I load and unload cargo on the river.” I replied after I swallowed, to not appear rude. “Interesting line of work, I myself used to work at a warehouse, loading and unloading, but that was in my younger days.” Now that I could see Charles' face more clear, I realized that he already looked young. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe twenty at the most. I was twenty-five and I knew he was older, but it was odd that he looked younger, although I still did not want to appear rude, so I continued with the meal and conversation.

“It is, I suppose, an interesting line of work, what with all of the strange things that go through. Sometimes it's rope or instruments for the sailors at sea, sometimes there's boxes we can't look in or even go near.” Charles nodded, our friends in parliament have some curious of ways of doing things.” Charles rested his silverware on the plate, he had already finished the small steak and the asparagus. “You've hardly touched your food, Johnathan.” I looked down and realized I had indeed only eaten part of the steak and only a stem or two from the greens.

“Not that hungry, I suppose.” I wasn't hungry, I lost my appetite for food and increased my appetite for wonder. Why did a man older than me look at least five years younger? “That's quite alright, the help will take it away, maybe the dogs will have a nice meal.” Charles stood and took his place near the desk. He opened a drawer and scrambled to find something inside. After a few moments, he retrieved a small, black book. Something was different about this book, I could feel the entire atmosphere change as he held it in his hand.

“Do you know what this is?” Charles asked. I shook my head, I wasn't sure if I even wanted to know. “This is something passed through the family, we've had it for around five hundred years. Your father gave you away to an orphanage in London because he didn't want you to know what these pages held.” He said with a slight bit of anger in his voice. “What are in the pages?” I said, my voice shaky. “Magic. Or at least that's what I was told. At a young age, each person in the family writes their name in the book and it grants us never ending life. That's why I look young, yes I saw the way you were looking at me. I wrote my name in here at the age of nineteen and I've looked the same for nearly a hundred fifty years now.”

I was shocked by the words that were coming out of his mouth. Magic of eternal youth? It was all a hoax, but still his face looked too young, I didn't know what to believe. “Write your name, Johnathan, join us in the family, become a Whitetree as you should be.” He held the book out, which I hesitantly grasped with shaky fingers. He handed me a pen “Once your name is written, you'll never die.” Magic didn't exist, so even if I wrote my name, it wouldn't affect me. The last name written in the book was Charles' and under I wrote “Johnathan Whitetree” Because Matthews was the name of my adopted parents.

“Good, good.” Charles retrieved the book and pen from me. He lifted the book to where he could see the words in the light of the fire and ran the pen across the parchment swiftly. He looked me in the eye and shook his head. “Your father was a sneaky bastard. Crossing your name out should have killed you, but he must've given you a different name at birth.” He threw the book and pen at me.

I was caught off guard, the book landed on the couch next to me, the pen had gone elsewhere, but Charles' had drawn lifted a knife from his platter. “You see, dear cousin, that inheritance was meant to be mine. I worked hard to be in James good graces and that bastard forsook me entirely! Instead he gives his money to hopeless children and his own child that he gave away?! That money is mine alone!” He charged at me with the knife. I didn't understand what was happening, but gathered my mind at the last second and dodged the blow. He stabbed into the couch next to the book. “That could have been bad.” He murmured to himself.

He turned to me. “The son of a bastard, not even one of us, gets his inheritance. I had to kill him for it and he gave it away to you, so now I'll just have to kill you too.” He charged me once more. I rolled out of the way, earlier that time. The book was the answer, he crossed out my name and expected me to die, then when he almost stabbed it, he was concerned. If I could somehow destroy the book, maybe it would put an end to this insanity.

He stabbed the knife into the mantle above the fireplace, but I was at the book by that time. “What are you going to do, Johnathan? There's no way out of this.” He jerked at the knife, now placed firmly into the wood. I was speechless and afraid, I didn't know what to do. Charles pulled on the knife and it came loose. A third time he charged me with the knife. I held the book in front of me and he jutted the blade straight through to the other side. Charles fell and looked as if he were in pain. “Clever bastard, just like your father, I'll give you that much.” He said. “I'd rather be a clever bastard than a murderous one.” I pulled back my arm and tossed the book into the fire. The book caught alight and green smoke came spewing out of it. Screams could be heard throughout the house.

I looked at Charles, now standing with his legs wobbling beneath him. His face began growing older at a quick pace. “Wherever you go, you won't escape this. You won't escape him.” He placed his hands on my shoulders, which disappeared quickly, as his hands and his entire body turned to ash. The screams stopped, silence filled the house, except for the sound of the help running from the house in fear. I didn't care what happened to the mansion, I just knew I wanted out.

I walked to the foyer and through the already opened double doors. The help weren't running from the dead, they were running because the manor had caught fire, however I had no reason to stop the cursed place from burning. The stagecoach that had brought me there was waiting for me. I stepped inside and took a seat as it began to roll away. Rain pattered the roof above me while gravel crinkled and crunched below as I left that cursed manor behind.