The rain beat against the mansion. A pair of headlights cut through the rain. The limo pulled into the driveway. The chauffeur opened the door and out stepped Barbara Homestead, a reporter for the Supernatural Tattler.” She wore simple attire: a blue blouse, a brown jacket, blue jeans, and brown platform shoes. She was a woman of her time, and that time was the 1990’s. The year was officially 1995. Vietnam had just ended. The date was October 1st. She needed plenty of time before Halloween to get her story published. She used the garage door knocker and waited for a reply. She heard footsteps on linoleum.
The door opened,d and a handsome older man answered. His gray eyes sparkled as he locked his sights on Barbara.
“Come on in,” he said, id stepping aside to let her pass. She stepped inside and looked all around. Her eyes fell on the staircase. It led to a second level where one could go right or left.
“This place is breathtaking,” Barbara said. He smiled.
“It is just a house,” he said.
“You’re very cool in your own mind, aren’t you?” Barbara said teasingly.
“I am a man of great confidence, and I have reason to be so,” Holland Black said.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked.
“No thanks,” she said. He brewed some coffee and sat with her at the dining room table. It was a Mahogany table with leather chairs.
“What makes Holland Black tick?” She asked. He rubbed his chin.
“I work hard, and I play hard,” Holland replied.
“How did you acquire your wealth?” she asked.
“I’m the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company,” he said. Her eyebrow raised.
“What’s the name of your company?” she asked.
“Fulcrum,” he said. “We trade on the New York Stock Exchange.”
“Nice,” she replied. “What are your hobbies?” Barbara asked.
“I play a little tennis and enjoy a good novel from time to time,” he said.
“What’s your favorite novel?” Barbara asked.
“To Kill A Mockingbird,gbir,d” he replied.
“Nice,” she said.
“What makes you think your home is haunted?”
“I have experienced many things here in my home that led me to this conclusion,” he confided.
“Prove it,” Barbara said. Her eyes were full of challenge.
“My spirits do not perform parlor tricks,” he insisted. Barbara’s eyes raised on that one.
“Sounds like a cop out.” The coffee mug slid across the table. She observed this, and her mouth hung agape for a second or two. Her eyes widened, but she was quickly able to recompose herself. Holland folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against his chair. He gave a smug look. She cleared her throat.
“What kind of activity do you experience here?” Barbara asked.
“The apparition I live with is named Lucy, and she can be a handful, Holland said. She tapped her fingernail against her teeth. A beautiful woman dressed in a wedding gown descended the stairs.
“Speak of the devil,” he said. Barbara’s eyes fell on the bride. She moved with another worldly grace. It seemed to take the steps two at a time. It vanished when reaching the last step.
Barbara blinked and tried to process what she had just seen.
“That was insane,” Barbara said.
“She has a way of making an entrance,” Holland said.
“I’ll say,” Barbara said.
“Are you a believer now?” Holland asked.
“I think so,” she admitted. Barbara got up and walked out of the mansion. The rain had stopped, and he watched her ride off in the limo. Holland felt the bride’s hand on his shoulder.
“We made a believer out of her, didn’t we?” Holland asked.

The Mansion

The Mansion

Passages

The Mansion