Robin's Inkwell Mysteries: The Secret of Thornbrook Wall
The shadows of Thornbrook
Hall stretched long across
the floor,
Where visitors complained of
drafts behind the bedroom
door.
Since eighteen hundred
twenty- five, a phantom
paced the hall,
A weeping woman trapped
inside her former bedroom
wall.
The mansion's brand- new
owners felt a constant,
chilling dread,
As blood- red stains
appeared each night beside
their velvet bed.
The spirit could not rest in
peace, her soul forever
bound,
Until the wicked truth of her
untimely death was found.
Her wealthy husband killed
her when she stumbled on
his shame:
He loved a handsome
gentleman she did not care
to name.
To hide his secret male affair
and keep his high estate,
He struck her down and
sealed her in to face a
gruesome fate.
He laid her bones behind the
brick and plastered up the
space,
Then told the town she fled
to France without a single
trace.
For two long centuries she
screamed, a prisoner in the
dark,
Leaving upon the hardwood
floors a ghostly, charred
footmark.
The new owners awoke to
hear a rhythmic, tapping
sound,
As if a hand was knocking
from beneath the solid
ground.
The specter stood before
their bed, her pale hand
pointing high,
Guiding their eyes toward
the wall with a mournful,
hollow sigh.
She wrote the words in
freezing frost upon the
window pane:
"Break down the brick to find
my bones and wash away the
stain."
The husband took a heavy
axe and smashed the
crumbling stone,
Revealing a hidden hollow,
space of mortar, dust, and
bone.
Beside the skeleton there lay
a golden wedding ring,
And a leather- bound
confession of the husband's
wicked thing.
The local papers printed out
the horror of her plight,
And gave the tragic lady's
bones a proper burial rite.
Now justice has been finally
served for a crime of long
ago,
The phantom's spirit fades
away, no longer filled with
woe.
At last the heavy, chilling
dread dissolved into the air,
Leaving the quiet bedroom
walls at peace and stripped
of care.
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