Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled Echoes of Eldridge, Part One, The
Letter from Eldridge.
Speaker 2: In the heart of a night that seemed to swallow
the world, I sat in my study, the only light
of flickering oil lamp, casting shadows that danced with a
life of their own. Bookshelves rose around me like silent sentinels,
each volume a testament to the macabre tales I've spun
from the darkness of human fears. But nothing prepared me
for the envelope I found amidst the clutter. Its paper
was not just aged, but seemed to carry the weight
of centuries. The seal, a wax e that held secrets.
My name, Edwin Crane, was inscribed in a script so
delicate it felt like the whisper of a ghost. With
a mix of dread and curiosity, I broke the seal.
Inside The parchment felt brittle, as if it might crumble
to dust with the wrong breath. The ink was faded,
a seepier tone that spoke of time long past. The
letter began Dear Edwin, and from those words, the voice
of my great uncle Mortimer Eldridge seemed to echo through
the years. I write to you from the depths of
Eldridge Manner, where secrets older than our lineage await your discovery.
This place, this house, has been the silent guardian of
truths too vast for daylight. The Eldridge legacy, one you
are part of, must be borne by someone with the
courage to face what lies beyond the veil of the mundane.
Come to Eldridge Manner, Edwin. Your journey begins at dusk
on the first night of the new moon. The words
clung to my mind like a fog, obscuring all other
thoughts with their mysterious promise. Eldridge Manner, a name whispered
in my family like a curse or a prayer. Where
Mortimer vanished, leaving behind only questions. I set forth on
the appointed day, the journey taking me through paths forgotten
by time, where trees intertwined above like a canopy of secrets,
their leaves whispering a cacophony of warnings. The Manner loomed ahead,
an edifice of gloom, with ivy claiming its walls in
a battle for dominion. Windows stared out like the eyes
of a long forgotten god, and the sky above was
a tapestry of twilight, as if the manner itself dictated
the light. The door creaked open, as if it had
been waiting for me, the sound a sigh of relief,
or perhaps a warning. The foyer was cavernous, the air stale,
with the scent of old books, dust, and something else,
a hint of decay, or perhaps the lingering presence of
those who once called this place home. My footsteps echoed,
each one a heartbeat in the silence of Eldridge manner.
Room by room, I explored each chamber a tomb of memories.
Paintings of stern ancestors watched my progress, their eyes following
me with a gaze that seemed to pierce through time. Then,
in a room lined with books that held the weight
of forgotten law, I found it a mirror, its frame
not just wood, but a narrative carved in agony and ecstasy.
My reflection was clear, but behind me a figure loomed,
its features blurred by shadows, yet unmistakably there the whisper
came my name on its lips edwin. I spun around
my heart, a drum against my chest, but I was alone,
Yet the whisper lingered, a cold certainty that I was
not the only soul in this house. I continued my exploration,
each step heavier than the last, the manner's silence now
a presence in itself. In another room, I stumbled upon
a diary, its cover worn by years, the pages fluttering
as if eager to share their secrets. I read of
Mortimer's final days, his descent into obsession with the occult,
his belief that the manner was not just a place
but a nexus of energies, a thin place where the
veil between worlds was fragile. He spoke of a ritual,
a binding to keep some ancient force at bay, performed
by each generation of Eldridge, to protect the world from
what lies beyond. But the last entry was a cry
for help, a warning to whoever might read it. I
fear it has grown too strong. The shadows in the
mirror are not just reflections. They are watchers, waiting for
the binding to fail. The night deepened around me, The
manner seemed to grow, each shadow a potential hiding place
for the watchers. Mortimer spoke of I returned to the
room with the mirror compelled by a morbid curiosity, or
perhaps a subconscious call from the figure I had seen
there in the reflection, I saw not just one shadow,
but many, all whispering my name, their voices a chorus
of the damned. They seemed to beckon me closer, their
hands reaching out from the glass, as if to pull
me into whatever dark place they inhabited. I recoiled, stepping back,
but the mirror's surface rippled like water, the figures within
it becoming clearer, more real. One in particular stood out,
its features eerily similar to my own, but twisted by
malice and time. It spoke not in a whisper this time,
but a clear, chilling voice. You've come at last, Edwin.
Now the circle can be complete. The manner around me
seemed to pulse with an unseen force, the walls groaning
under the weight of their dark secrets. I knew then
that coming here was not just answering a call, but
perhaps stepping into a trap laid centuries ago, waiting for me,
the last of the Eldridge line. As the Knight claimed
the manner fully, I realized that the true horror was
not what I might find, but what might find me.
The shadows in the mirror, the whispers in the dark.
They were all part of a legacy I never asked for,
but was bound to by blood and fate. And as
the first light of dawn seemed an eternity away, I
stood there, contemplating my next move. The mirror a gateway
to horrors I could scarcely imagine my own reflection, a
stranger to me now part of the darkness of Eldridge
manor the legacy of my great uncle, the curse of
my family, all converged upon this moment, leaving me with
one haunting question, what would the new moon bring? And
would I survive to see the dawn?
Speaker 1: Ghost is a Calaogus Shark Media production, written and hosted
by Alexander Ian McIntyre, produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers
Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may
have been created with the assistance of Ai Calaruga Shark Media.