Chapter 1

Blackstone Manor had been erected so long ago nobody could remember a time when it didn’t rest at the end of Deerwood Lane. The paved road merged with the gravel driveway that sliced through the acreage once surrounding the grand home, effectively making the street a dead end. New development slowly crept in its direction, cookie cutter suburban houses eating up empty fields. The greedy company had already received permission from the city to destroy the old overgrown vineyard that used to produce some of the best wine in the state, all despite a vast public outcry; which was ridiculous given the last bottle had been sealed some thirty years earlier.

The history of Blackstone Manor was whispered about, speculated over, most of the records regarding it lost in a flood that happened decades ago. The public seemed torn. Half of them were happy to see the spooky place bulldozed, citing it a hazard to curious teens. The other half fought to have the estate marked as a historical structure, pointing out how it had stood the test of time and that there would be a loss of character.

And on a cool June night Io instantly sided with the history buffs. Blackstone Manor was beautiful, easily shaming all the newly built houses. Of course, some might say he was biased for any number of reasons. For one thing it was his job to care about old places more than the average human

Simply because Io was a Masonry Gargoyle, considered to be the lesser of the two gargoyle species. Masonries included the wickedly cool statues found along some rooflines and those like Io. It was their job to preserve history, to keep pieces of the past moving into the future, strictly in relation to buildings, of course. They guarded old homes and long forgotten asylums. As long as certain places remained standing the balance between the spiritual and living worlds was maintained. Io didn’t quite understand how it worked, but he suspected it had something to do with weak spots and keeping the dearly departed happy.

The second reason he wanted to save Blackstone Manor was because of love. It may have been unrequited, yet love all the same.

Io flexed his bat-like wings, letting his gaze roam up the brick exterior of the manor. Apparently, it got its name from the black marble columns standing to either side of the front doors, so he heard. Spires jutted toward the sky while three stories of blank windows, most of them broken, faced the world. There were designs in the brickwork, an attention to detail rarely seen in modern works. Ivy covered part of the fa?ade. The front steps were crumbling. A plastic bag clung to one of the bushes, rustling in the gentle caress of the breeze.

Gravel crunched under Io’s boots as he headed for the front doors, curious to see what it looked like inside. The cement steps nearly tripped him up, a chunk falling away under his feet. He ran fingers over the smooth marble, somehow untouched by time, perfect and cool to the touch. He turned to the ornately carved heavy oaken front doors, complete with long tarnished doorknockers.

Marring their appearance was a notice fastened to the wood, one declaring it illegal to trespass on the property and that anyone caught doing so would be charged with accordance to the law. The fine…

Io rolled his eyes. “That seems a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” He tore the warning free and crumpled it into a ball. Effortlessly he broke the lock, nudging the door open with the toe of his boot. The air that greeted him was stale, stagnant, stinking of mildew and mold and lives long forgotten.

Underneath it lurked something else, the hint of a scent he should have known but at the present moment couldn’t place.

It was dank, dark inside without even the touch of moonlight to offer an eerie glow. Decaying leaves and discarded trash littered the worn floor. What once used to be a grand entrance, the staircase starting a bit further in and sweeping up over the front door, was now a ghost of its former glory. The banister was gone, fallen to the floor below, and a few of the steps looked like even the weight of a feather would send them to the same fate.

Io wandered further in, mindful of a hole near the entryway to the ballroom.

The faded glory of an impressive painting remained on the ceiling. Closing his eyes Io began to dance around the space, imagining what it must have been like to attend a formal ball there back in the day. In his mind he conjured up the images of the gaily dressed couples swirling around and around, a band in the corner playing festive music. Laughter and happy chatter. Staff moving effortlessly through the throng of partygoers dishing out fine stemmed glasses of the family wine and delicious hors d’eouvres

Oh, what a wonderful time it would be.