Grimwood Mansion

It was as if she were in a trance.  Everything around her faded into nothingness.  Her eyes were riveted on Grimwood Manor.  She walked towards the imposing, Gothic facade of the house.  It loomed like a foreboding giant watching her come closer like a spider watching a fly lured to its web.

She paused and looked up at the top three windows.  A light went on and the curtain moved in the middle one.  The spell was broken.  Her heart lurched in palpable fear.  The house was supposed to be deserted.  She thought she saw a figure.  Terrified, she turned and ran as fast as she could, falling a couple of times as she tumbled across the field.

She didn’t stop running until she was safely back at the cottage.  She darted inside, closed the door behind her and leaned against it to catch her breath.  Her aunt was in the kitchen and she bustled into the foyer when she heard her come in.  “Good heavens,” she exclaimed.  “What happened to you?  You look like you have seen a ghost.”

She stumbled over to the sofa and sank heavily on to the cushions.  “I just came from Grimwood Manor,” she said.  “I thought it was supposed to be deserted.”

“It’s deserted but not abandoned.  Now and then someone, perhaps the caretaker goes there and tends to the place.  They have to keep it in good condition in case they wish to sell it one of these days.”

“Who would want to buy it?  It looks creepy.  I saw a light at one of the windows, the curtain move and a figure standing there.”

“Granted it’s not one of the best looking mansions but it’s not haunted as some like to say.  I there-say, it use to be full of life back in the 1800s.  The family was always throwing balls.  It was deserted in the early 1900s but cared for.  It’s not so bad during the day.  Why did you go there tonight?”

“I hadn’t planned to but on my way back here, I had to pass it.  I was drawn to it.  I had never seen a Gothic mansion before.  I read so much about them.  Do you suppose the caretaker would show me around?”

“I don’t know.  You will have to ask him.  When you go take someone with you.  Don’t go alone.”

“Would you like to go with me, Aunt?”

“No, thank you.  I don’t fancy traipsing about in a rundown old mansion.  Such things don’t interest me.”

“Very well, Aunt.  I will ask Joe to go with me.”  Joe was her Aunt’s neighbor’s son.  This was her way of asking Joe out on a date without really asking him.  She liked Joe but was still not sure how he felt about her. Hopefully, while exploring the mansion, she would find out.

“Good idea.  Joe’s a upstanding young man,” her aunt said.  “Are you hungry?  You should be after your gallivanting.  Your supper is on the table.”

She smiled and got up from the sofa.  “Thank you, Aunt.”

She went to the kitchen where a large plate of piping hot, mouth-watering beef stew and dumplings awaited her.  As she tucked into them, she thought about Grimwood Manor.

It was hard to believe that it was once filled with life and laughter.  Now it looked like a dead, empty husk.  Yet, in spite of its lacklustre appearance, she had been irresistibly drawn to it.  If she hadn’t seen movement in the upstairs window, she would have gone inside if the doors were unlocked. And who knows what she would have found lurking in any of those rooms.  She shuddered at the thought.

 

Sources:  Fantasy Name Generators; The Spruce

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The Intruder

A storm was raging outside.  The rain was beating relentlessly against the windows.  The lightning flashed across the sky and soon followed by the loud thunderous clap.  She hated storms. And being alone in the house didn’t help the situation.  She chided herself for coming ahead of the family to this place which been closed up for a year.  It feel strange being on her own in this large house.  So many rooms.  So many stairs.

She had come down to check the windows to make sure they were securely locked.  She was half-way down the hall when she heard it.  It was during the intermission between the clap of the thunder and the next flash of lightning.   At first she thought she had imagined it and continued walking.  There it was again.  She froze.  Her heart pounding now with fear.  She hadn’t imagined it.  She heard the jangle of keys.  She wasn’t carrying any keys with her.  Someone else was.  Who was in the house?

Then she heard the footsteps.  They were coming down the hall behind her.   Terrified, she darted into one of the rooms and locked the door.  She leaned against it, shaking like a leaf.  Again she wished she hadn’t come here tonight.  What on earth had possessed her to do so?  Why her parents and siblings were sleeping peacefully at the inn, she was here hiding from an intruder.  All sorts of terrifying thoughts assailed her mind.  It could be an escaped convict and the jangle she heard were his chains.  He had some how gotten into the house.

She heard the footsteps stop outside the room she was in and she almost dropped the candle.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath was coming in short gasps and her legs had turned to jelly.  “Oh please, go away,” she whispered.

Then she heard the key turn in the lock.   She ran away from the door, her eyes darting wildly about the room for some way of escape.  The windows.  She could open one of them and climb out.  She and her brother used to do that when they were children. Climbing down the trellis in the pouring rain and possibly slipping and having a bad fall was preferable to what was going to come through that door.

She quickly blew the candle out and dropped it on the rug.  She ran to the window just as the door opened.  Frantically, she tried to unfasten the latch on the window.

“Who’s there?” a voice boomed.  “You are trespassing on private property.”

She swung around to face the speaker and just then lightning flashed across the sky and she caught sight of a tall figure wearing a raincoat. He was carrying a lantern which he now held up.   In its glow she could make out his features.  This was no convict.  It was Mr. Crawley, the caretaker of the property.  Relief washed over her and she stumbled over to him.  “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Crawley.”

“Miss Catherine?”

“I heard someone moving about in the house and I was dreadfully afraid.”

“I saw a light on in the house and came to investigate.   I didn’t expect anyone to be here until tomorrow, Miss.”

“I know,” she said.  “I decided to come ahead of the family.  I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, Miss.  Will you be all right?”

She nodded.  “Yes, I’ll be all right.”

“You can take my lantern, Miss.  I can find my way all right.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crawley.  Good night.”

“Good night, Miss.”  He bowed and left her.

She stood there for a moment, listening to the storm, no longer afraid.

woman with a candle

Breakdown in the Closet

MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe, explores the realities and ideas of a new global generation of mothers through art, stories, and powerful new voices. The exhibition aims to turn inspiration into action helping fuel a worldwide movement of advocates for mothers’ human rights and advances in maternal health. Just recently I got an email from them to vote for our favorite community piece. The voting ended February 29.  The finalists were very impressive.  They were as follows:

Each of these stories represents an important, and unique, aspect of motherhood around the globe.  I voted for Birthmarkings because it explores self-image and how our bodies change after we have children.  Some women feel self-conscious and unattractive.  I never felt unattractive because of my husband.  He always made me feel beautiful.  My self-image after birth has not changed.  My changed body is a reminder for me of how blessed I am to be a mother.

The winner of this competition is Humaira Abid’s Breakdown in the Closet.  What a concept.  Six wooden hangers in a closet–two of them bare.  These two hangers depict the pain and disappointment that comes along with miscarriage—a frequently unspoken part of many women’s experiences of pregnancy and motherhood.  The clothes look so real.  It’s hard to believe that they are made of wood.  We see the mother’s dress and the father’s pants and shirts.  This is a family wardrobe.  A husband and wife are expecting a child but tragedy strikes.  On the floor between the mother’s and the father’s clothes, we notice something that stands out in sharp contrast–the red baby shirt.  This is meant to represent the mother’s miscarriage and both parents’ loss.

Humaira explains that this work is a part of a series called “RED” named such because the color red represents love, passion, blood, anger, and loss–all strong emotions. Yes in the subcontinent, red is the traditional color of bridal dresses, and often is associated with love, sexuality, and fertility. Yet in some parts of Africa, red is a color of mourning and death-often associated with the color of blood. She herself suffered from miscarriages so she knows how tough this can take both a physical and emotional toll on women.

As the winner, Humaira Abid receives a US$1,000 prize, with $500 going to the artist and $500 going to a nonprofit charity of her choice!  Notes to Women congratulate this amazing artist who uses her work to a very painful experience for women.  Unfortunately miscarriage is very common, occurring in about one in five pregnancies.  Some women feel a strong sense of guilt, even though it is not their fault. These are natural reactions.

Breakdown in the Closet brilliantly and skillfully addresses a topic that is very difficult for women.  Humaira’s work recognized internationally for its originality and excellence has earned her a gold medal. Her work has been exhibited in Malaysia, India, Mauritius, Nepal, Kenya, Dubai, Bolivia, Germany, Russia, UK and USA. Humaira graduated from National College of Arts Lahore, Pakistan with Honors in the year 2000. She majored in Sculpture, with Miniature as her double minor.  We salute this internationally renown artist who uses her art to take action against the issue of gender inequality.  Brava Humaira.

We are pleased to announce that last month Humaira had her first child.  Congratulations, Humaira.  We wish mother and baby all the best.

If you are interested in seeing more of Humaira’s art, check out her website at:  http://www.humaira.com.pk/

I am from a country and society where showing your emotions and expressing your opinion is not welcomed–especially if you are a woman. Many experiences and roles of women are not properly appreciated. They are simply considered to be their duty or part of life.

I am trying to raise these issues through my work, which counters the stereotypical image of women in a male dominated society. In an environment where women have a considerable way to go to become full partners of men, I want my work to reflect the aspiration for gender equality.

Source:  http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/diseases/facts/miscarriage.htmhttp://mama.imow.org/yourvoices/breakdown-closet