Over two hundred years have passed since the fine Rossiter ladies sat beneath the Yew tree, sewing, and talking in veiled ways of romance and social affairs.
The house is open to the public Monday through Saturday but nobody visits the far terrace; it appears abandoned and therefore, uninteresting.
However, if someone wandered down on a dusky Sunday, they might imagine having seen ghostly outlines in silk or satin dresses, and dainty hands tugging needle and thread. They’d imagine overhearing conversation regarding Miss Rossiter’s love interest; a temperamental man with an unexplained fortune, and a habit of losing his wives.
They used to guard the main house, but when the new Chief arrived, he deemed the stone statues ugly and had them relegated, haphazardly, behind the bushes beside the canal.
Mr. Finnegan had chiselled them deliberately, with instructions to place them in a specific order. In this way, they had become a shield; a defense against old, dark forces which lurked underground.
But in their current state of disarray, they were useless. In his rear view mirror, Mr. Finnegan witnessed the lake swell and manifest into a gigantic watery demon. It engulfed the old barracks, destroying it and everyone inside.