Step into the shadowy realm of "Poe's Nightmares," a mesmerizing collection of short stories and poetry penned by the enigmatic Lady Eckland. This anthology is a tribute to the master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe, whose spectral whisper resonates...
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"As I stumbled bleeding onto the mansion's moonlit lawns, I dared a glance back at that accursed portrait of Eliza Grey, her emerald eyes now seeming to glow with a sinister light. And as a cold wind whipped through the empty galleries, I could have sworn I heard her ghostly voice utter a final warning: 'All who look upon my face shall know the cold hand of death upon their shoulders...and mine shall be the last face they ever see.'"
I stumbled upon the Greylock Estate completely by chance, while searching for a secluded place to spend the summer writing my new novel. As an author struggling with writer's block, I hoped the solitude of the old mansion deep in the countryside would help inspire me. Little did I know what I would uncover during my stay, and the horrors that would awaken inside Greylock’s walls.
When I first arrived, I was struck by the estate’s beauty—the sprawling gardens, the towering oak trees, the elegant curving staircases inside the stately stone mansion. It looked like something out of a gothic novel, both romantic and eerie at the same time. The real estate agent told me its last occupant had died over fifty years ago, and since then the house sat forgotten,home only to dust and memories.
The agent also mentioned, almost as an afterthought, the story of Eliza Grey. She had been one of the mansion’s inhabitants during the late 1800s. A stunning oil painting of her still hung in the upstairs portrait gallery—a beautiful, arresting image of a young woman with long golden curls and piercing green eyes. According to legend, Eliza vanished from the house without a trace while still a young woman. No one knew if she had run away, been murdered, or simply disappeared. Her fate remained a mystery to this day.
In my curiosity, I eagerly toured the portrait gallery when I first moved in. The massive room held paintings of Grey family ancestors dating back hundreds of years. But it was the portrait of Eliza Grey that drew me in. Her emerald eyes followed me as I walked past, giving me an unsettled feeling in my stomach—almost like she knew me. Or wanted something from me.
I laughed at myself for being spooked by a silly portrait and got settled into the master suite just down the hall. I hung up my clothes, set up my laptop on the antique writing desk, and gazed out the window at the gardens below. It was perfect. I brewed a pot of tea, eager to outline ideas for my new novel’s characters and plot.
That first night, I dreamed about Eliza Grey. In the dream, I stood with her in the overgrown garden, surrounded by roses in full bloom. But Eliza kept glancing back at the house, wide-eyed with fear. When I asked what frightened her, all she said was, “Someone’s watching...” Before I could see who she meant, I woke with a start, moonlight filtering through my curtains.
Shaking off the unsettling vision, I descended to the kitchen for breakfast. To my surprise, I found a silver platter laid out with scones, butter, and an ornate tea set. Confused, I called the estate agent to ask if he had come to the house this morning. But he had no idea what I was talking about. Uneasy, I started to wonder if I was really alone in this empty old mansion. As the long-forgotten Eliza had warned...someone was watching me.
