Craven Manor(51)

“Vikings?” Daniel prompted.

She bobbed her head. “Yes, yes, Viking family. Warlords. It is said a great king became a monster in battle. A beast with huge claws and gnashing teeth. Kill his enemies in one swipe!” She mimed the motion, baring her dentures and swiping a hand through the air. Her tea sloshed dangerously, and Daniel rushed to steady it for her.

“A shape-shifter.”

“Good, Daniel, yes. Myricks family became very rich, built mansion, built town. Named house Craven Manor. Craven means fear, coward, yes? House was to create fear in people who saw it. But over time, meaning changed. People began saying it is a house of the craven. Great warlord was long dead. Myricks descendants grew sickly and strange. More and more, they hid in their house and only spoke with people through letters.”

Mrs. Kirshner adjusted her blanket again and shuffled her fluffy pink slippers. Daniel noticed she’d replaced her old, holey grey slippers. She looked adorable.

“Finally, the great Myricks family is just three: a mother and two children. The husband died young. Son was strong, but daughter was sickly. Couldn’t see sunlight; it burnt her skin like fire.” Another tsking noise. “Son went to new country for his studies. Mother stayed to look after daughter.”

Daniel scooted a little closer. “Do you know what Eliza Myricks was like? Was she a mean woman?”

“Ooh no, no. Very shy woman, very sweet. Afraid of everything, so stayed hidden in manor all day. Afraid of doctors, but let one visit for daughter’s sake.” Mrs. Kirshner huffed out a sad breath. “Then famine came to Flinton. Crops wouldn’t grow. Animals went hungry. People ask why. Back then, everyone very religious. Very, uh… very superstitious. Priest says they are under curse, that a witch killed their plants. They believe him. They look for witch. Decide it must be the little girl in the manor.”

“She was so young, though.” Daniel spoke before he could stop himself, but Mrs. Kirshner didn’t seem to notice the slip.

“Yes, yes, only twelve. But villagers say she is ungodly. She never goes to church because she cannot leave home during the day. They think the sun sickness is a sign of demons. They say she is the witch and attack the manor. Take her back to the town. Burn her at stake.”

Daniel grimaced. He hadn’t expected Mrs. Kirshner to know all of the gory details, but she recounted them without hesitation.

“When mother arrive, all that is left is burnt bones. She collect them in bucket and take them back to home with her. Very sad. Lock herself in house, never come out again. Then son return from school.”

Alonzo shifted on Daniel’s lap. He curled his arms around the cat to keep it from falling off then resumed scratching around its head. “What do you know about the son?”

“Bran. He was not good man. Very cruel, very angry. He loved sister and thought mother was to blame for death. He attacked her. Killed her. Buried her in shallow grave. Then he went to the town.” She gave him another searching glance. “Here is part people do not believe. But legend say he became great beast, like the Viking warrior in his blood. A monster and a shadow, breaking doors, killing when people tried to stop him. He left a great sickness behind him… a plague. It got into people, make them rot before they had chance to die. Some run into woods, but Bran catch them before escape. Others hide in church.”

Daniel visualised the door, torn off its hinges, massive claw marks gorged into the wood. He was grateful he had Alonzo in his lap; the cat was the only thing keeping him warm.

“They thought holy ground save them.” Mrs. Kirshner shook her head and murmured something in German. “It did not. All who ran to church died that night. Every last one of them. And after he left, sickness spread through town, killing people who had hidden. When they realise what happened, people from other towns send help. Send doctors and supplies. But anyone who step foot in town get the same disease. It grow in their veins, like plant, and kill them same day.”

Daniel blinked and saw the corpses, bloated and bulging with the fungus. It had spilt out of tears in their skin. His fingers itched, and he wished he’d asked Mrs. Kirshner for a shower before sitting down. But by that point, he was too deep in the story to stop.

“When they see the plague spread, other towns stop sending help.” Mrs. Kirshner drained the last of her tea and set the cup aside. “They not let anyone come to them, either. No asylum. They shoot them when they see them come down the road. They scared of letting it spread, yes? Don’t want their own families to die.”

He nodded slowly. It sounded horrible, denying help to people who were dying, but if your life and the life of everyone you cared for was at risk…

“Flinton dead in two days.” She held up two stiff fingers. “No people, no animals live. Other towns agree—they not let anyone visit for fear of more death. It becomes ghost town. Dead town. Forgotten. All around is forest, so plants grow through town. Now it is not on map. People forget it is there. If history books write about it, they talk only about plague; no mention of Myricks or great beast.” She shrugged. “All that is left is stories told between friends, like this.”

“Thank you.” Daniel’s mouth was dry, and he finished his tea. It didn’t help reduce the parched sensation. “I’m glad you could tell me about it.”

She folded her hands and gave a small sigh. “Is nice to talk about history. I miss it, yes? Wish historical society could meet again. But so few of us are left, and we have no money for room rental. But perhaps… perhaps we figure something out. I may visit friends again. See if we start meetings again, even just for a short while.”