I had never been afraid of the dark, not even as a child. I have always greeted the darkness like an old friend, welcoming it each night with open arms. Until one night, the darkness that was once my old friend had disappeared, and in its place was something else, something menacing, something evil.
It was a cold day in November when everything changed. I had just bought my own home in Kingsport, Tennessee. In hindsight, I should have known that I was being swindled by the realtor. The house was magnificent, but the price was extremely low, especially for how ridiculous the housing market was then. Built in 1818, on the banks of the Holston River, the Rotherwood Manor was a breathtaking sight. The three story, brick home was awe-inspiring, and I fell in love with it at first sight. I was so incredibly lucky to be able to say that I owned the historic Rotherwood Manor. Or so I thought. I should’ve researched deeper into the house’s history, but I was blinded by its grandeur. That will always be my biggest mistake.
Not long after moving in, I began to notice some... odd... things. Whenever I went into town, the people would attempt to stare at me discreetly, but I always noticed. There was something in their eyes, though, when they stared at me that shook me to my bones. Then, I never could decipher what it was in their eyes that frightened me so much, but the longer I lived in the Rotherwood Manor, the more I began to understand. They all stared at me in horror. Horror that I was living in what they called “Hell House.” Horror that I would end up on the long list of tragedies at Rotherwood Manor. The townspeople’s stares had shaken me, but that’s all they were. Stares. No one verbally warned me about the house. No one told me the history of the house. No one told me anything about the house. They just silently stared as I walked into the lion’s mouth everyday.
The longer I lived in the manor, the weirder things got. Soon, I began to hear a dog around the manor. I would hear guttural growling, snarling, and howling at all hours of the night, keeping me from sleep. After hearing the sounds for a few days, I began to search for this mysterious dog all over the manor, both inside and outside, but found nothing. There was no stray dog to be found anywhere on the property, and I had never owned a dog. So where were the sounds coming from? Even after these occurrences, I still brushed it off as me just being paranoid in the old house, and pushed it all to the back of my mind. A week later, the circumstance had elevated. The growls were getting louder.
One night, there were no sounds to be heard. For the first time in days, I was able to embrace the darkness and peacefully fall asleep. I think I got about 2 hours of sleep before my brain jolted awake. There was something wrong, someone or something was in here with me. I refused to open my eyes, terrified of what I would find if I did. The hair on my arms stood straight up as I heard that same low, guttural growl. Maybe I am still being paranoid. Maybe if I continue to ignore it, whatever it is will just go away. Oh boy was I wrong. Suddenly, the growling stopped. I waited a few minutes, and then I opened my eyes. Coming face to face with a gigantic black dog with red eyes snarling at me. Before I knew what was happening, it pounced. Its sharp, black claws came down hard on my cheek. I was overcome with a blinding, white hot pain on the left side of my face. I could feel my blood, oozing out of the four gashes in my cheek. This is
just a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, the dog was gone. It was just a nightmare, I was ok. For the first time in my life, I was afraid of what could be hiding in the dark.
The next morning, I went into the bathroom to begin getting ready for the day. When I looked in the mirror, my heart started beating out of my chest. I could see four long claw marks along my left cheek, with blood staining the left side of my face. This is just a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. I closed my eyes, but when I opened them again, the marks were still there. This is just a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. This is real. I could no longer ignore the weird occurrences in the manor and the strange behavior of the townspeople. There was something happening here, and the proof was displayed across my face. It's time I find out more about the history of Rotherwood Manor.
After I had calmed my pounding heart, I set out to the local library to see what I could dig up about Rotherwood Manor’s history. As I tirelessly search through document after document, I finally found something. In the library archives, I found a few newspapers that had been salvaged from around the time the house was built. I read through newspaper after newspaper, each headline worse than the last.
“Ross’ Groom Perishes in Holston River on Wedding Day”; “Rowena Ross Commits Suicide in Holston River”; “Rotherwood Plantation Sold to Joshua Phipps”; “Phipps Suffering from Unexplainable Condition”; “Phipps’ Coffin Found Empty”; “Worker Claims HellHound Attacked Him at Rotherwood Manor.”
The headings were enough to terrify me, but I still needed to dig deeper. What happened at Rotherwood Manor? Was the HellHound what attacked me? Why were there so many deaths at Rotherwood Manor? I need to talk to some of the townspeople. With this in mind, I headed into town, just waiting for someone to stare. Walking towards Anna’s Bakery, someone finally gave me the signature stare. She was biting her lip, as if debating if she should approach me or not. Intrigued, I waited for her to make a decision. Finally, the blonde begins trotting across the street towards me. Before I can greet her, she tightly grips my arm and yanks me down the alley after her. After letting her drag me along for a few minutes, I yank my arm out of her grip.
“Are you going to tell me what this is about, or are you just going to keep dragging me along this alleyway?” I asked her.
She crosses her arms and starts biting her lip again. Finally, she opens her mouth and says, “You need to get out of Rotherwood Manor and never go back.” I watch her as her eyes shift around the alleway, as if waiting for something to strike her down. She then continues to say, “It is not safe for anyone there. Bad things always happen at Rotherwood Manor.”
“What do you mean it isn’t safe?” I interrogate her. “What bad things have happened there? What is there to be afraid of?”
Still looking all around her, eyes shifting from side to side, she confesses, “Rotherwood Mansion is haunted. If you don’t leave, you will die in Hell House!”
Before I can ask anymore questions, she runs off, leaving me alone in the alleyway. My suspicions about the manor are being confirmed, but I still don’t know what happened. How did this beautiful manor become haunted? How did it earn the name
Hell House? Maybe I can find some more information online, now that I have a few names to go on. Slightly afraid to return to the manor, I headed to the coffee shop on the corner to do some more research on the tragic past of Rotherwood Manor. During my research, I found a website that seemed to have a detailed history of the manor and everyone who had lived there. The first horrifying story at Rotherwood Manor was about Rowena Ross, who seemed to have a curse on her love life.
“The Story of Rowena Ross. Rowena found a man that she claimed was her true love, and the two were set to be married. However, on the day of their wedding, the groom gathered a few of his friends to go fishing in the Holston River. In plain view of Rowena, the men’s boat was capsized. Three of the four men miraculously made it back to shore, but Rowena’s fiance was never to be seen again. Two years later, Rowena met another man who managed to capture her wounded heart. The two were married, but shortly after their wedding his life was claimed by the yellow fever. Rowena tried her shot at love for a third and final time. She was married once more and the two shared a daughter. For six years, Rowena was seemingly happy. Until one night when she claimed to have heard her first love’s ghost beckoning her to the river. Following the ghost of her first true love, Rowena walked into the Holston River, and took her own life.”
The second horrifying story at Rotherwood Manor was about its new owner Joshua Phipps, who bought the place when his client, Frederick Ross, suddenly had several failed business attempts after his daughter’s death and could no longer afford it.
“The Story of Joshua Phipps. Known for his cruelty, Phipps carried on that legacy as the lord of Rotherwood plantation. Phipps, and his slave mistress, were know to viciously beat the slaves and enjoyed hearing their screams. In 1861, Phipps mysteriously fell ill with an unexplainable condition that caused fevers and delusions. It is rumored that the day he passed away, there was a cloud of flies that descended upon Phipps, suffocating him to death. However, when the doctor and Phipps family came into the room, there were no flies to be found. The only thing they could see was Phipps' eyes looking upwards and his face frozen in horror.”
The third horrifying story at Rotherwood Manor was about a HellHound rumored the be seen and heard at the manor on several occasions.
“The Story of the HellHound. Two weeks later after his funeral, the remaining members of the Phipps’ family were tormented by shadows, animal noises, and the sound of Phipps’ laughter echoing around the home. It was said that Phipps’ rose from the grave with a giant, balck dog to torment the residents of the house every night. Finally, the family decided to dig up Phipp’s grave once and for all to see if he was really dead. Once they opened the casket, there was no body to be found. The only thing remaining in the casket was tufts of black animal hair. In 1940, the Rotherwood Manor was purchased by the US government and was being renovated. During the renovation, a workman claimed to see a man in a dark suit materialize out of the wall. Next to the man was a black dog with glowing red eyes.The workman claims that the dog chased him out of the residence before vanishing.”
OH. MY. GOD. I cannot sleep in that place tonight. I know too much now, there is no way I can stay there. Despite my fear, I have to head back into the Rotherwood Manor to gather my belongings, before I can book a hotel to sleep in for the night. First thing tomorrow morning, the realtor will be getting a call from me. I would rather be homeless than spend another night in that place, after everything that I have seen and learned. I make my way inside the manor, shifting my eyes left and right, seeing if something will jump out at me. I make my way up the stairs to my room, searching for my suitcase. I know I left it under my bed when I moved in, but now I cannot find it anywhere. Where is it?? Oh, screw it! I just grabbed any bag I could find and started packing as much as I could before it got dark. Lost in packing up my things, I did not notice that the sun had set. Oh no. It's gotten dark. The darkness was no longer my old friend, now it was something else, something menacing, something evil. And it was coming for me.
I grabbed everything I had managed to get packed, and took off running for the stairs. As I’m running, I can hear the sound of claws scratching the wooden floor, the sound of paws bounding towards me, and the sound of an evil laugh. My heart was pounding in my ears, tears spilling down my face, and finally I reached the first floor. Before I can reach the door, I feel something crash into my back, knocking me into the floor. I can feel claws digging into my back, the HellHound’s hot breath fanning onto my neck. It snarls at me, holding me down, as his master materializes through the front door. “Did you really think that you could leave that easy? You’re ours now.” He looks at the dog and points down, the HellHound seemingly understanding what he was meant to do. Howling, the HellHound clamps his jaw around my ankle and drags me through the house, kicking and screaming for someone to help me. It tosses me down the stairs, into the basement. As I look around I relaize this is where the slaves were kept in their cells.
“No! No, please! Let me go!” I plead with this apparition.
He cruelly smirks at me and says, “You can scream all you want.” With an evil grin and amusement shining through his dead eyes, he continues “In fact, I encourage it. It's always more enjoyable when they scream.”
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