The Horror at the Old Stone House

There is an old stone house far back in the old Faubourg Marigny, with ruined gables and moss-covered roof. The wild vines creep up the gray walls, and the mildew clings to the arches. The soft twilight gathers around the pillars and arcades, while the summer night wind nestles among the clinging ivy. Long-ago memories blend with the legend that haunts the place. Silent and still the old house stands, a relict of other times. Its glory and magnificence have fled; the feet of the spoiler have trampled down its splendors, but even in decay it showed how grand it once had been.

Now, as the moonbeams gleam around its quaint mosaics, lighting up its sculptured arches and broken statuary, a mournful beauty lingers on the scene. It was such a night as this, not many years ago, that the horror was revealed that made it desolate. It was then the residence of a merchant, who had purchased it from the last descendant of the Spanish founders. He had not disturbed the old furniture nor displaced the adornments of the grand old rooms. As he found it, so had the house remained. The superstitions of the place were even respected, and the closed room far back in the wing of the mansion endured no intrusion. The old servants looked upon this room with a nameless dread; why, they could scarcely tell—but it was haunted. From children they had grown up to look upon it with horror. Generations had passed away since the room was closed, but the legend that clung to it was fresh in their memories and the fears it had created were still vivid.

It was said… Read More