The Secrets of Lowe Manor

Jocelyn Dow, Staff Writer

I believe the head butler killed the master of the manor.

 

I had accepted the offer of becoming the maid of the Lowe manor deep in the decaying wood of a day of barren several days before and not once had I met the master. Not once while staying in this grey abode have I heard his voice nor saw his presence. The portrait of a dapper gentleman whose eyes where the hue of toothsome caramel and locks the darkest of ebony was my only reference.  The butler had forbidden me from entering the master’s chambers, saying that he would not like to be disturbed or that he was resting. Though it was quite dishonest of myself, I had ignored my supposed superior’s command and had went inside the master’s bedroom, just to see him in flesh and satisfy my curiosity.

He was not in his bed. Nor in the room like the butler had said.

 

“He’ll be here soon,” he would tell me. “ He is about in the wood, hunting like he always does.”  I did not believe him, I could not. The way his tired eyes would appear dead, no one would.

I remember how I had various nights of no sleep, flustered at the thought that polite old man would have the odasity to kill the young master. I always knew that he was a strange man. The fact that the cook of the manor and myself would have a silent dinner with a callous murderer each evening was frightening.

The cook thinks I’m becoming paranoid, but she is not aware of what I saw nights ago. She is not aware that I had saw the head butler come out of one of the chambers from the basement with a large bag he would carry on his fragile back and his smooth waistcoat blemished of crimson. What he would do with what was inside of the large pouch was unbeknownst to me, and I would rather keep it that way. Yet I felt the need to confront him. For all I could know, the cook or myself may be his next victim.

 

I couldn’t eat. Before there was rarely enough food and if we were to have a single crumb of bread it would be of pure luck and blessings. Though the meals weren’t the most savory, the cook’s cabbage soup being an example, it would satisfy one’s hunger. Yet there was a sudden increase of meat, unsurprisingly, the day after I had saw him, his hands red. All I could do was watch the cook and the butler eat the cooked meat so eagerly, it made me sick. “Sir, where did you get this meat?”

 

“Whatever do you mean?” I glanced down at his sweaty palms for a moment, he was clutching them tightly.

 

“This is the master isn’t it,” I felt the words being choked up as I spoke, “You killed him, have you not?”

 

He was silent for a moment. “What in the world are you talking about, Miss?”

 

“Last night I saw you carrying the body of the master in your bag, your hands covered with blood,” I arose from my chair feumed. “You killed him and we are eating him, our master!”

 

His dark eyes were filled with confusement, looked back at the cook and looked back at me. “You are a strange girl.”

 

Instead of confronting my own death, I was bewildered. The tall butler along with the cook escorted me back to the basement and the room where I had found him from previous nights ago. Inside were just animals of the wood, “The master hunts often, it is his favorite sport after all.”

 

“Though this does make a bit more sense, why are there so many animals?”

 

“My dear,” the cook chimed in. “There’s only a full moon once a month.”