Scary & Freaky stories: The Paranormal World

A Betrayal Amongst Friends

About a mile outside of Charleston, past a forgotten bend in the main road that overlooks a now equally abandoned stretch of property facing the ocean, sits Branson Park. At the turn of the last century, this acreage had been a much sought after destination for the local gentry – an elegant playground, lit nightly by tea lamps and rose coloured lanterns. It was a place for long walks and good conversations with cherished friends, and it positively wreaked of the gallantry and gentile charm that had once been so emblematic of the entire south. Its moonlit courtyards and secluded, meandering pathways through the lumbering pines and luscious willows, were the absolute perfect spot for sparking after sunset, tasting the cool salty breezes after a nice hot meal.

Now, truth be told, the locals liked Branson Park just the way it was. Especially with the likes of Humphrey McDonaugh there. He had come from back east to erect a formidable hotel at the embankment facing the ocean. This was a rather stately retreat that catered to very swell affairs indeed. And Humphrey was, himself, the most congenial sort, good natured and even tempered. He was a big, tough scoundrel of a man, with a barrel chest and meaty hands that could break any man in two. Not that Humphrey ever tried, but he certainly gave every indication that he could if the spirit moved him. But for a time he was liked by everyone, and not just for the cold whiskey and elegant clean rooms he could provide.

Now Humphrey was good friends with the mayor, Alec Renault, better still acquainted with his wife, Isabella, who liked her men tall and strong, and a little rough around the edges. She was willowy and smart, with a thick ebony mane and piercing green eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. But she was severely bored with being married to Alec, who had all the money to pamper her, but none of the proclivity to creatively mistreat her as she wished to be in the bedroom. For this latter excitement that would have raised more than a few handsome eyebrows in her husband’s front parlour, she came to Humphrey two or three times a week. Afterward, the two would acquit themselves quite nicely of the ball and claw bathtub in Humphrey’s suite, where Isabella could pleasantly cool the remnants of her lusty palpitations and wash off their sweaty flesh as it continued to twitch toward relaxation beneath the tepid waters together.

Only on this particular eve, Isabella was to encounter a most gruesome end to their affair. As the moon hid behind an approaching bank of storm clouds, she had encouraged her lover to light a candle next to the tub, then to run down to the pantry for another bottle of gin they would share together. It was all so tawdry and sinful and quite exciting to her. But she had already consumed far too much that night, and had oddly stepped into the smooth porcelain without Humphrey at her side for balance. She lost her footing and toppled backward with a sudden thud and miscalculated splash beneath the water. As she slid downward, her head struck the hard sharp and curiously greasy edge of the tub, knocking her unconscious and cracking the back of her skull wide open.

When Humphrey returned several long moments later he did not see this spectacular demise – at least, not at once. It was too dark to see anything at all. The candle next to the tub had been snuffed out.

“Where are you, my lovely?” he whispered into the dark.

But there was no reply.

Again, he called to her in the night, feeling about the shadowy room and bumping into furniture while approaching the bathtub and whispering softly that he adored her, still with visions of her ripe, sweaty cleavage bobbing about his filthy mind.

But now the floor underfoot was sopping wet, and not from an overflow of bathwater either. Humphrey had stepped into a vast pool of Isabella’s blood. As he struggled to compose himself, Isabella’s swollen head, face down, crested ever so slightly above the water’s edge. Outside the moon grew full, casting long tenacious fingers of pale light through the thickening moss covered branches of the willows.