Story 15: Whispers of Georgetown Manor, Act 1

Jenna had always loved road trips, and this one felt exceptional. The long drive to Mississippi was bathed in golden sunlight, the fields stretching endlessly on either side of the highway. She was going to visit her old friend Kristie, who had recently moved into a historic mansion in a sleepy little town called Crystal Springs.

By the time Jenna arrived at Georgetown Manor, the sun hung low, casting long shadows over the grand white pillars of the house. Kristie greeted her with a warm hug and an excited chatter about all the history the house held. “You’ll love it here,” she promised. “It’s got character. Maybe even a ghost or two.”

The next morning, Kristie had to run into town for some shopping, leaving Jenna to explore. The house was eerily quiet, the wooden floors creaking beneath her feet as she wandered through the dimly lit hallways.

Stepping onto the back porch, she nearly bumped into a man standing at the railing. He was tall, with tousled graying hair and a sly grin. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Jenna laughed, steadying herself. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I’m Dave,” he introduced himself. “I do odd jobs around here, everything from fixing broken lights to making sure the internet is up and working.”

They struck up an easy conversation, and soon Dave offered to show her around the grounds. Together, they strolled past the towering oaks and cottonwoods, their branches draped with moss, and made their way toward an old garden with crumbling stone pathways. The scent of magnolias lingered in the air as they walked past a weathered gazebo.

“This place must have been something in its prime,” Jenna mused, running her fingers along the ivy-covered trellis.

“It still is,” Dave said with a smile. “It just takes the right eyes to see it.”

They wandered past an overgrown fountain, where dragonflies skimmed the water’s surface, and followed a narrow trail leading toward the back of the property. Just as they reached the edge of the trees, Dave checked his watch.

“I almost forgot, I have to meet Jackson,” he said. “He’s a tenant who rents the carriage house on the back acre.”

Jenna tilted her head. “There’s a carriage house back there?”

“Yeah, kind of hidden in the trees. Jackson keeps to himself, but he’s been here a long time.” Dave hesitated, then added with a playful smirk, “Some folks say he knows more about this place than anyone.”

Jenna’s curiosity piqued. “Mind if I tag along?”

Dave chuckled. “I don’t think Jackson would mind. Let’s go.”

Together, they stepped deeper into the woods, the air growing cooler as the trees thickened around them. Jenna had come to Georgetown Manor expecting a quiet weekend with an old friend, but it seemed this old house had more stories waiting to be uncovered.

Jenna followed Dave down the winding path, the trees closing in around them as sunlight filtered through the dense canopy. The air smelled of damp earth and honeysuckle, the sounds of rustling leaves and distant birds the only interruptions in the quiet.

After a few minutes, they reached a clearing where a two-story, weathered carriage house stood nestled among the trees. Large barn-style doors adorned the front and Jenna could see a weathered staircase leading up to the floor above.

As they approached, the upstairs door creaked open, and a tall, muscular Black man stepped onto the porch. His presence was commanding yet calm, his deep brown eyes observant beneath the brim of a worn leather hat.

“Dave,” the man greeted with a nod, his voice smooth and rich. Then his gaze settled on Jenna. “And a visitor, I see.”

“Jenna,” she said, climbing the steps and offering her hand. He took it in a firm but warm handshake.

“Jackson,” he introduced himself. “Come on in.”

Inside, the was cozy, filled with the scent of sandalwood and something faintly spicy, like cinnamon and clove. The furnishings were simple but comfortable. Well-worn leather chairs, a sturdy wooden table, and bookshelves filled with an eclectic mix of literature. A black cat lounged on the windowsill, flicking its tail lazily.

Dave set down his bag near the couch. “You ready for your session?”

Jackson stretched his broad shoulders and grinned. “Always.” He turned to Jenna.

“You’re welcome to stay and watch if you’re curious. Dave’s got a real talent.”

Jenna glanced at Dave, who shrugged with an easy smile. “No pressure, but I don’t mind.”

Intrigued, she nodded. “Sure. I’ve never actually seen a professional massage before.”

Jackson led them to a back room where a massage table was already set up near a window that let in the golden afternoon light. He removed his clothes, revealing a powerful frame, and lay down on the table face down. Jenna settled into a nearby chair.

Dave moved with practiced ease, rolling up his sleeves before rubbing his hands together, warming the oil he had taken from his bag. His fingers pressed firmly into Jackson’s shoulders, working in slow, deliberate motions. Jenna watched as the tension in Jackson’s muscles seemed to melt away beneath Dave’s touch.