I've had this brewing in my brain for awhile after I had a nightmare about it. This story is about a supernatural disease that drives its host completely insane and they become murderous, stereotypical right? God I hope not..
The working title so far is Cabin Fever and it looks to be a novella...
Police Report, April 14, 1977
Homicide
Investigating Officer: Lt. Nancy Jaax
Loveland, Colorado
Case Description: Body of eighteen year old male found on side of highway on the date of April 13th, 1977. Body ID’d as one Jerome Tyler of Boulder, Colorado. Slashes and multiple lacerations to the face and upper body. Major concussion and cracked skull. Near the body were personal effects including a journal, audio tape recorder, and a headlamp. Body appears to have been frozen in the ice since sometime in January 1977. Journal soaked but intact, audio recording fragmented. Tyler has been reported as a son of Rose and Grant Tyler who took winter residence in the ancestral Tyler Manor, an isolated manor for rent up in the deep mountains. An investigating team sent up to the Manor found evidence revealing that-
The following are the contents of the journal documenting the last days of Jerome Tyler. It reads as follows:
December 1, 1977
Found this journal just lying up in the attic. Very old-looking, but at least it's a distraction from my family. This place seems so empty for a manor, I can't hear anybody downstairs, perhaps I'm alone. I wonder what I'm doing here anyway, my parents have a ridiculous notion of reconnecting with the past. I suppose the only thing I can do is write the series of events that led us on this misadventure.
-Denver, Colorado
I woke up this morning in a cold sweat. The nightmares were back again. They had plagued my sleep again. They seemed so vivid in the midst of them but now back in reality, the morning light obliterated the details. Fragmented images of dark rooms with blood-smeared walls and snowy peaks danced through my head.
Suddenly a memory of the date crashed into my head. Shit, today was the day we forcibly isolated ourselves from society. My parents, my lazy cousin, and I were to travel up to the ancestral Tyler Manor in Loveland and stay the winter in stead of the usual caretaker.
To say that us Tylers were rich would be a gross misconception. Back in the 1836 century my ancestor, Aaron Tyler, had struck his fortune in the gold business in California. What followed was 100 years of ridiculous wealth and indulgence. Tylers were among the richest socialites in America during the Depression. The lavish Tyler parties in the mountains of Colorado took their place in the legends and hearts of America's upper class. That was where the monolithic Tyler Manor came in.
Built in 1926 in Loveland for the purpose of pleasure, the Tyler Manor became host to hundreds of parties hosted by the then-owners of the estate Zachariah and Lilly Tyler. Surviving the hell that was the Depression, the Tyler Manor became the center of the hopes and dreams of the upper class. But then came the Second World War Two and Zachariah's son, my grandfather Keith, was drafted into the Army. He was killed in combat in Kyoto and that proved too much for Zachariah. They found him on VE Day with a shotgun shell in his head, no note left.
This also proved too much for my grandmother Lilly. The parties of the olden days had left the Tyler family impoverished. When Lilly realized that the days of the Tylers were over, one night in the winter of 1946 she drunkenly stumbled away from the Tyler Manor and froze to death that night.
This ended everything for our family. Keith's sister, Leanne, ran away from the legacy of her family and gave birth to my father Grant Tyler. Tyler Manor was left to decay. The city of Loveland, determined to keep Tyler Manor alive (at minimal cost of course) and hired one man to care for the Manor in the winter months. He died last year, and my father, Grant, nostalgic for the old days of Tyler supremacy (which he never personally experienced) agreed to take on the job for this winter, dragging my family and I with him.
I groaned and rolled out of bed. My short, spiky, blonde hair was matted down this morning with the sweat of my nightmare. No time to fix it, I combed it out and pulled on ripped jeans and a faded black t-shirt.
I grabbed my duffel bag and headed down to the kitchen to meet the rest of my family. On the way down I ran into my cousin, Vic.
Vic Magnus was nothing but a twenty three year old slacker. He had come to live with us after his parents became sick of his act and threw him out. Being the generous person my dad is, we decided to take him in to see if a winter in Loveland would be the kick start he needs. I highly doubt that, ever since he came to live with us, he's gone from bad to worse. Many a night he would stumble home smelling of cheap weed and filthy bars and collapse on the kitchen floor until we found him the morning after.
I could already tell that Vic was high, his bloodshot eyes stared out at the world in almost a boredom towards reality.
I held no delusion that this trip would do anything to reform Vic, all he saw in this was a fantasy getaway, but so did I. My dad's drinking had picked up again. He longed for the days of the wealthy Tylers as well. Reality is not something my family tolerates well.
Outside, our '72 Cortina began to sputter to a start.
Shit, I thought, overslept again.
Vic seemed in no mood to miss his ride/ meal ticket, so he shoved me out of the way and stalked out of the house. I followed him outside and we all piled into the car.
My mother was already in the front, her crimson curls pushed back into a bun this morning.
"Late again Jerome?" she berated me, "let's get this drive over with, I intend to be sipping a merlot and laughing at all the poor bastards who have to spend the winter in their...poor people houses!"
I snickered, more of my mother's humor. She knew very well that as of now we were struggling to make ends meet. That seemed about it for any conversation, this wasn't the occasion for it. One was not often forced to abandon civilization for months just to earn a bit of cash.
My dad stuffed my duffel bag into the trunk last and clamored into the drivers seat. I looked at his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. Funny, he didn't appear to be in the grasp of a hangover. Maybe this trip's nameless magic was already working on him. I didn't even hear the expected clink of beer bottles in the cooler as we lurched out of the driveway.
The hours after we left passed swiftly. The streets of Denver gave way to the sun drenched foothills and the monolithic Rocky Mountains. the town of Loveland rose up in the Cortina's windshield and I sighed in submission.
This one sight of Loveland was going to be my only taste of civilization until April. The Cortina swung to the right and Loveland spun away from the windshield and that nameless frozen mountain which housed the ominous Tyler Manor filled my vision.
The Cortina sped through the (frozen hellhole) forests that dotted the mountain's side and above the treeline, there sat the Tyler Manor. The Cortina pulled up to the ornately carved front door and we all piled out.
The dark figure of the Manor towered above me.
Almost like a beast ready to eat us
I brushed the thought off. Where did an odd thought like that come from? The Manor was built in the style of mountain men, with a moose head mounted right above the front door.
I'm sure that's not a traditional style, I thought.
I was broken out of my reverie by my father pushing his way past me to the front door and pulling out a large brass key. He fit it into the door, and with a click, the door slid open to reveal the darkness inside.
LIke a maw of a beast, came that errant thought again.
The rest of my family passed by me and disappeared into the Tyler Manor, leaving me out on the front porch alone. The feel of this place just wasn't...right. I took a deep breath, threw my caution to the wind, and went forward into the maw of the ominous beast.
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