The road leading toward the O’Nuallain Estate was long deserted and untended. Nature had risen to reclaim the old cobble passage as its own and many vines snaked across the aged potholes. The feeling I got whilst traveling this long forgotten path was a feeling of awe and excitement. As a child, grandfather had read me many tales of adventure and they had always left an impression upon my mind. Now for grandfather and I to be making our way to our long forgotten ancestral home felt like living one of the stories I’d grown up with.
Finally the ancient iron gates rose up before us and I stepped out of the old ford ranger to wrench them open. At first they wouldn’t budge but after straining for what seemed to be a small lifetime, they slowly creaked open. What struck me first was the weight they yielded as I struggled forward with them. The rusting bars left reddened stains on my jeans and the muscles in my arms tightened as I made one final push. As I stepped back towards the vehicle I noticed there were some largely eroded symbols carved into the bars of the gate. I supposed they must have spelled the name of the manor and I resolved to take another look at them another day.
By now grandfather was rather anxious to get to the property and begin determining its state of decay and whether or not it would be at all livable in its current state. Beyond that, he was eager to arrange our living quarters here so he could follow the breadcrumbs and continue searching for the answers he so desperately wanted.
Before long the manor came into view and I was surprised to see it hardly looked at all in disrepair. In fact, apart from the unruly gardens surrounding it, the wild vine covered walls, weathered stone and crumbling driveway, it looked as though it had never been abandoned at all.
“Just as I suspected…. just as I suspected.” muttered grandfather as he slowed the car to park beside a tall garden archway, draped with wisteria. Outside my window rose a striking granite fountain. In the midst of the basin stood a statue of a woman cradling a large gilded urn while around her feet rested a pool of stagnant water and humming mosquitos. I stepped down onto the drive and took in the scenery. The building was an enormous three storeys and resembled a sprawling castle complete with towers. To the right of the manor grew a monstrous oak tree and to the left rose an enormous beech. Hanging from the oak was an old wooden swing, honeysuckle and jasmine fought to entwine the ropes that supported it. Beyond the beech wound an overgrown garden path and beside the oak ran a ring of tiny toadstools. In the distance a river sang its watery song. It sounded as though it ran beyond the end of the garden path.
As I stood there taking it all in, grandfather jostled past me and toward the path through the garden to the water. I immediately followed him, ducking beneath branches and skipping over vines. Before long the path turned into pale grey stepping-stones and neared the river. Grandfather stood with his head resting against a pair of hazel trees that stood beside the water, framing a quaint wooden footbridge.
“Where do you think it leads?” I asked. Grandfather just stood there and sighed before turning and placing an arm around my shoulders.
“They say that two hazel trees next to each other near a body of water is a gateway to the fairy kingdom or the Otherworld. This place does have an otherworldly feel to it.” he spoke softly and then looked me in the eye, “There are so many little things… your grandmother….” his voice trailed off and then he turned and began walking back to the manor.
