The guide opened the front door and flooded the foyer with light.
“Alright,” she started into the foyer backwards gesturing for the group to follow her inside. “This is the grand entrance to the Avery Mansion,” a beatific smile seemed permanently attached to her face. “Please everyone, make your way inside… that’s great. And close the door when we’re all in… Perfect.”
With the door closed the natural light pouring down from the windows high up still lit the foyer such that they rarely needed to light the enormous crystal chandelier that hung down and cast prisms of light around the floor. The guests, mouths agape, gazed around at the Travertine marble floors, the sweeping Imperial staircase whose double sets of stairs framed an enormous painting of a man in a carefully styled suit out of the late 1800s. On his right arm a high coiffed woman with pale yellow hair, a pinched face and enormous blue gown stared off canvas. His left hand held a goblet being filled by a comely servant woman holding a large carafe with both hands.
One thing they didn’t see, however, was the man standing on the landing above and behind the tour guide.
“You’ll see behind me the couple for whom this mansion takes its name – Alexander Avery,” she gestured to the man with the goblet, “and his beautiful wife, Mathilda,” she pointed to the woman with the pinched face. With a little conspiratorial lilt in her voice, the guide started, “You might have heard the rumors that this mansion is…” she put her hand to her mouth to affect a surreptitious stage whisper, “…haunted.” There was a titter from someone in the group because everyone knew the Avery Mansion was haunted – the legend is likely what drew many of the visitors.
“Here it comes…” the man on the landing grumbled.
“You’ll notice a third person in that painting – the lovely servant girl, Eleanor.”
“Never existed!” the man on the stairs yelled.
“Rumor has it Mr. Avery had an affair with the young woman…”
“Who didn’t exist!” the man interjected.
“When their affair was discovered, the story goes that they argued at the top of these stairs. Eleanor begged Alexander to legitimize their relationship and leave his wife.”
“To what end?” The man rested his elbow on the railing. “The story doesn’t even make sense…”
“Eleanor turned to go towards the Avery’s bedroom to confront Mathilda and when Alexander pulled her arm to stop her she lost her balance and tumbled down these stairs…” she gestured to the landing where the man yawned, “where she died. The head butler, James Taylor…”
“John Taylor,” The man corrected. “She always gets my name wrong!”
“…Supposedly disposed of the body, burying the poor woman in one of the gardens behind the house.”
“Like I’d pick up a shovel,” he scoffed.
“The garden was later covered by a concrete patio…”
“How convenient!”
“…so we’ll never know.”
“Oh no, we know. We know your story is bullshit!” the man hollered.
“Many visitors have reported cold spots, items moving on their own, or the bathroom faucets turning on and off by themselves. Most of us think it’s the spirit of poor Eleanor who still walks the mansion.”
“Lies!”
“We’re going to move into the study now. If you’ll follow me this way…” she started off to the room to the right.
“Don’t follow her! She’s feeding you lies! It’s all crap!” he yelled after the departing group.
“Why do you care so much?” a woman’s voice came from behind him. She stood at the top of the stairs dressed in the plain dress worn by the female servants of the original household.
The man whirled to face the woman, “Because, Minnie, it’s crap! I was head butler here for forty years and they can’t even bother to get my name right! But they spin this drivel about some poor servant girl who never existed. For god’s sake, the girl in the picture is the artist’s girlfriend!”
“I know that, you know that… even the biographers have noted that. So what if they want to perpetuate the fiction. What is it to you?”
“I feel a certain… loyalty to the Avery. There’s practically nothing left of the original mansion – everything is…” he gestured to the chandelier, “so much costume jewelry!”
“It’s a lot prettier than the original chandelier,” the woman said staring at the seemingly innumerable glittering, multi-faceted cut glass pieces. “Hell of a lot easier to light, too.”
“Yes, but it all gives a false impression of the place. And, yes, it might be prettier, but at least they could be authentic about our stories! Instead, they make up stories about people who,” he started yelling after the departed group, “NEVER EXISTED AT ALL!”
“It’s not worth working yourself into a frenzy, John.”
“Really? Because I think I’m reaching the limit of my patience! I make the rocking horse in the nursery move and they attribute it Eleanor’s remorse about never having kids! I push a glass off the counter in the kitchen and Eleanor’s ghost is thirsty! Eleanor this, Eleanor that…” he stomped around on the landing.
“Oh, is that Eleanor’s footsteps?” the tour guide’s voice came from the study.
Minnie laughed into her hands.
“Oh, that’s funny?” John yelled at her.
She smiled and nodded vigorously.
“Really? Really, Minnie?”
“Oh John, calm down.”
“No, I’m done! It’s been more than a century. I’m done with this!”
“…Please follow me back through the entryway to the main sitting room,” the guide led the group back into the big airy room.
John’s face went beat red and he started shaking.
“John? What are you doing? Calm down, John,” Minnie tried to get his attention.
“Errr,” John groaned and then all at once appeared on the landing to everyone standing below. “ELEANOR ISN’T REAL!” he yelled to the astonished group.
They stared slack-jawed at the apparition in horror. Even the tour guide’s smile vanished, as did the color in her cheeks.
“It’s all a fiction!” he yelled before he slumped to the floor, his energy expended in the effort to materialize. Simultaneously, his ghostly image disappeared from the view of the living.
“John!” Minnie raced down the flight of stairs and kneeled next to John who was panting and sweating. “Are you crazy?”
“It was…” he grimaced in pain, “It was worth it. Now they… now they know the truth.”
The group still gaped silently at where John had stood visible. Finally the tour guide broke the silence. “Well,” she said trying to regain her composure, “that was clearly Eleanor’s husband, angry about his wife’s infidelity!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” John groaned.
“Where do they get this stuff?” Minnie asked shaking her head in astonishment.
