09/14/2023
The tale of the residents at Deadwood Manor.
On the 18th of September 1917, Frederic Hesterhagen married his young bride Wilhelmine Luebben in Eureka. The newlyweds enjoyed less than a week of wedded bliss in their new home when Frederic left to join American Expeditionary Force in Europe.
A German counter-attack forced his unit to retreat from Épinonville. In the chaos of returning across no-man’s-land Frederic is hit by a shell blast leaving him badly wounded in the bottom of a muddy crater. Frederic begged the thundering sky for his life. He was too young to die. There was so much more he wanted. Amid his sobs, he did not notice the form of a broken man emerging from the mud. A voice rasped from inside the mangled co**se that did not belong to him. The grey, dead eyes stared to nowhere from inside the shattered skull.
“What...would...you...exchange...for...your...life…?”
“Anything!” gasped Frederic.
“Your life...will be extended...at the cost...of many! Do...you...agree?”
“Yes!”
The co**se collapsed back into the mud as the scream of artillery ripped through the sky. Frederic jammed his fingers into his ears and curled into a tight ball. The earth shook as the shells impacted the American lines.
As the hours passed and the shelling quieted, Frederic was unsure whether what he had seen had actually happened. He did feel strong enough to make the slow, painful crawl back to his unit. He was not prepared for the horror he found. Not a soul of his unit had survived the shelling. He came into medics and replacements trying to clean up the mess. Frederic was immediately taken to the hospital where he made a miraculously quick recovery. The doctors said he must have a guardian angel watching over him. Everyone else placed in his ward after surgery died.
When Frederic was well enough to travel, he was placed on the transport USS President Lincoln. Once they had cleared the most dangerous waters, Frederic finally began to relax. The nightmare was behind him. He began to feel a peace that he had not known since leaving Eureka. Suddenly the entire ship lurched to the side as two torpedoes from Germany’s U90 ripped into the forward section. Frederic barely escaped the water rushing into the ship only to bob on the Atlantic alone for two days. An es**rt ship picked up Frederic and returned him to the United States.
By the time he began his week-long journey across the United States by rail, he was a husk of a man. He rocked like an empty bottle with each bump of the train. His eyes stared out of the window at the passing countryside. They saw but did not see the plains, the mountains. It was not until he changed trains in San Francisco that he began to come back. He looked out into the bay at the ferries crossing back and forth between San Francisco and Oakland. The familiar smell of the salt water shook the spider webs from his head.
As the train safely clacked north on the rails headed to Eureka, Frederic began to believe the nightmare was left in Europe. As he stepped onto the train platform, he could see the familiar sight of Gunther Island in Humboldt Bay. Walking down the road, he was finally home. Buildings that had been ordinary before were now a fantastic sight. He walked past the Crocker Brother’s Emporium. He saw the turret of the old Victorian Carson house as he was about to turn down Myrtle Ave. The trees around their homestead loomed just down the road. He broke into a run as he passed Park Street and the old Northern California County Hospital.
He was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a doctor walking out the front door. He burst through the door to see his wife clutching his son, both soaked in sweat, surrounded by bloody rags. Wilhelmine’s eyes grew large as she saw her husband for the first time in years. “Your son,” she gasped, holding up the feverish child. They locked eyes for a moment before the child’s eyes flickered and closed for the last time. He glanced up to see Wilhelmine’s body racked with coughs. She gasped her last as blood trickled slowly from her mouth.
Frederic wept uncontrollably as he dug their graves on their land. He then walked into their home and sat staring blankly at the bloody sheets where they had lain. He waited, catatonic for death to take him. Days and weeks passed. He scarcely moved, sitting in this state of living death. His body weakened; his mouth parched; and yet, death did not take him.
He was shaken from this oblivion by a knock on the door. Frederic made a slow, shuffling lurch to the door. He opened the door to discover Doctor Isaiah Dead who had been attending his wife and child. The doctor’s eyes widened as he took in Frederic’s emaciated form.
“Good God, man!” he stammered. “When was the last time you have eaten?! Come sit down.”
As the doctor helped Frederic to the chair by the table, he suddenly clutched his chest. His legs gave out, and they both crumpled into a heap on the floor. Frederic strained to pull himself up to look at the doctor. The doctor was already gone. Frederic knew the doctor did not have family, so no one would likely come looking for him. Over several grueling days Frederic buried the doctor near his wife and child. Frederic wondered vaguely how long he had sat waiting. Most of the area beyond their property showed signs of early spring; however, his trees seem to be wilting.
Frederic continued his futile vigil for death, now understanding that he would not find relief until the contract had been fulfilled. So he sat in a paradox of wanting to be free but also wanting no more innocent lives to be lost.
The next unfortunate victim of Frederic’s contract was Louis “Lou” Serr, a door-to-door salesman for a fence company. Lou had never been a very good salesman, and he was getting desperate, so the black, gnarled trees and tombstones in the yard barely made him pause. He walked right up the stone steps and knocked on the door. “Go away!” came a rasp from inside.
Frederic thought that perhaps he didn’t touch the man, the man might escape.
“Come now, sir,” called Lou, “you haven’t even seen my samples.”
As Lou held up the heavy bag to gesture to his samples, his foot slipped. There was a sicking, wet crunch as he fell onto his sharp fence samples. Once again Frederic dragged himself to the front door. Once again Frederic buried the body. Once again Frederic slumped into his chair to wait.
One night shortly after Attorney General Edmond Brown closed the brothels in California, Miss Ima Florence Lucy came by looking to earn her keep. She didn’t even make it to the front door when a limb broke off one of the trees due to the wind. Ironically, she was killed by a large piece of wood in the end. Frederic strenuously added her to his growing cemetery.
Another of the contract’s victims was an unscrupulous lumberjack named Balsa Granite. He dismissed the growing legend of a curse at the house with the cemetery. He only saw all the dead wood on a likely abandoned property. He didn’t believe the tales until lightning flashed out of a clear night sky at his up-swung ax. What was left of Balsa was much lighter than he had started out. Frederic did not need nearly as big of a hole to plant Balsa in.
Over the years the legend and cemetery grew. For decades no one came anywhere close to the house or the trees or the headstones. Until one fateful day that a group of local boys double dared Isaac Oliver Ward to sneak into Deadwood Manor. He was tired of being called a chicken, so he crept up to the house. He reached a trembling hand for the ancient, decrepit doorknob. It took all his strength to force open the door. Dust clouds erupted from every surface inside the dark room. A single word croaked from a corner of the murky room. “NO!”
Sheer terror stopped Isaac’s heart. Bright red light shone from between the floorboards which began to shake and tremble. The ancient planks in the center of the room fell in leaving a large, seemingly endless abyss. A thousand voices shrieked from the void as all of the souls who lost their lives to Frederic’s contract came pouring out. As one pulsating figure, the thousand victims pulled him screaming into the chasm.
Deadwood Manor had been quiet for several years, the thousand victims of the contract restlessly wandering its grounds with no living being to reap the toll of their anguish and frustration. Until now, when an unfortunate family came to Deadwood Manor and renovated it. In their attempt to make the home fit for the living, they have unwittingly unleashed a legion of the dead.
