Chapter 1

Present Day

The house sat back in the woods, forgotten and abandoned. It was an old, once white two story Victorian that had been built in the 1800’s. Through the rusted and rotted tin and shingles of the roof you could see the rafters of the house jutting up like the rib cage of a skeleton.

It was cold, unloved and frightening to behold.

There were stories, oh yes; there were stories of all the tragedy that had taken place in those crumbling walls.

1865

Christian Harfield had found the place where he wanted to settle. While out scouting for the perfect place to build a home for his soon to be bride, he came to the settlement of Whistler. Whistler was a tiny community consisting of a one room schoolhouse, a church, a small mercantile, a sheriff’s office with one small jail cell and a central meeting house with a saloon attached. There were a scattering of farms and country houses ranging out from this central hub.

Christian wanted to bring his soon to be bride here to start fresh, away from the bustling city and away from his family.

He had found the perfect spot for a home about a mile out of town. It was a nice level space on top of a gently sloping hill with a small stream flowing on the back side.

He set about immediately hiring local men to begin construction. The house went up fast. As the house was completed, Christian hired Mrs. Hobbs, a local woman to come in as cook and housekeeper, her husband was also hired to work as stable and grounds keeper. They were to live in a small servant’s cottage that had been built along with the house, for this purpose.

By winter Christian and his new bride, Camilla Swanson Harfield, were ready to move in. Little did they know the tragedy that was to come.

1867

“Christian,” his wife said as he came in through the massive front doors, “darling, I have such wonderful news for you!”

Christian stood for a moment taking in the appearance of the beautifully flushed woman standing before him.

“What is it, dear?” he asked, hoping against hope it was the news he had been waiting so long to hear.

“We are going to have a baby, Christian, after all this time, God has seen fit to bless us with this wonderful thing!” she cried, as she fell into his arms.

Tears of joy poured down his face as he swept his wife into his embrace.

“Oh, Camilla, I do love you so much.” He whispered into her lovely auburn hair.

1868

After eight months, Camilla was heavily into her pregnancy. One morning after sleeping rather later than usual, she arose, wrapped her silk robe around her bulging stomach, and started downstairs for breakfast. After stepping onto the second stair step, she felt a sharp stabbing pain in her abdomen; it seemed to heave with the force of the pain. She screamed.

Christian heard his wife scream in pain and ran out of his study to find her. He made it to the base of the staircase just in time to see her clutch her heavy stomach and collapse, unconscious.

He watched in horror as she tumbled down the stairs towards him, landing with a sickening crunch at his feet.

He yelled in anguish as he dropped to the floor, cradling her broken body in his arms, screaming her name over and over again, her head hanging at an odd angle. He kissed her face, her lips, as he cried. He knew she was dead.

In one moment fate had taken his whole life away. His sanity slipped from him as his wife’s blood seeped across the cold stone floor.