|Photo courtesy of Magpie Tales|
The house was built some 75 years ago by a wealthy man for his young bride. It was built from the finest materials that money could buy. The furniture was custom made in England, and was shipped over by freighter, along with china and crystal. There were Persian rugs upon the polished oak floors and chandeliers that sparkled like a thousand diamonds. It was a dream come true for the young woman, for her life with her handsome husband to be lived out here. They would throw lavish parties, raise beautiful children and grow old together here.
However, fate is cruel, and on a trip to purchase yet more trinkets for his lovely wife, the train he was riding violently derailed. The cars were nothing but twisted steel and mangled bodies beneath the fullness of the moon. At home, his bride awaited his return with a candle upon her desk by the window. All night she waited, alone and worried. She had received no word, and knew not of the wreck. The next day a telegram was delivered. The terse message conveyed only the barest details of the accident, and that her husband was among the dead.
Clutching the telegram, she sobbed uncontrollably and staggered up the stairs. She had almost reached the landing when, in her grief, she missed the last step and tumbled back down the steps. As she lay at there in her last moments of life, her mind returned to the past night when her husband was still coming home to her. Each fall, around the time of her death, when the moon is full, her candle can be seen as she wanders through the house waiting for him to come home.
After the death of the young couple, the house was sold, fully furnished. The new owners and their children and grandchildren have lived in harmony with the former resident.
Written for Magpie Tales #29.