cannot reach its chill fingers inside the warm, packed car
I squeeze against one door, my friends packed next to me
my mother driving
two friends’ loud voices spilling through the small area
along with the delicious, salty, warm smell of burgers and fries
whose containers we still hold in our lap
as we speed through downtown Doylestown
I am surrounded by warmth, laughter, and light
and I prepare to leave it all behind
For tonight, I will envelop myself in wonder and fear
fall into utter darkness and observe insanity
and leave a different me
as we drive out of the center of town
past a cemetery
and keep driving
until the castle comes into view
dark yet beautiful, it looms up in the wide open fields that surround it
the dark woods behind it only a blur from the car
I know the towers, nooks, and crannies
almost as much of some of the staff
and I love it
this is Fonthill Castle
the tiled, concrete home of Henry Mercer
hosting an enormous collection of prints, tools, books, and so much more
This is my castle
For so long, I have seen the place
in so many different lights
but, even to me, this is new
will the castle be the same after this?
Will I?
We turn down the driveway
enormous trees looming over us
giving us a dramatic, safe, entry
now, our talk and laughter is quieter
the darkness is pressing in
and a thrill, at the wonder and blackness and night
courses through us all
as the castle rises up in front of us
shadowed and tall
we swerve around it, straight past a sign that leads to the back
No Parking
we park in the back
it is our privilege
my right
my father is the site manager
so we are allowed
to bend the rules
we wait, for a few minutes, finishing our meals
now, the talk is even more hushed
as we eat, the anticipation rushing over us
finally, when we are finished, we exit the car
walk across the gravel path, onto a tiled patio
night wind whispering around us
the door appears-
the door to Fonthill, my castle
and we enter
I know the entryway
the tiled arches, small gift shop and register,
the five passageways that lead to other places in the house
tiled and dark, but glowing orange-gold with faint lights
old, and steady and magnificent
one of my friends does as well, but the other gapes in astonishment
a warm glow spreads throughout me
I love when people love the house as I do
we move through the entranceway, through a heavy door, into the Saloon
where the night has begun
The saloon is packed
with people young and old
orange and yellow lanterns shed some light throughout the dark room illuminating the bookshelves, artifacts, and tiles
I smile, so glad to be here, once again
four tour guides stand in different areas of the room
the group is divided, each of them leaving the room in different directions
but we remain
for we are in the fourth group
the group led by my father
he wears a suit, dark and wise and stately in the darkness
his deep voice resonating through the room
charming and clever, knowledgeable and powerful
and the tour begins
we travel through the house, as my father tells of
the history of the house
Henry Mercer’s love of stories
especially gothic literature
though I know the house, and some of the stories
some are new, and I love that
my friends are also enthralled
my father’s entrancing voice telling the tales
the history
the tour is great
we travel through the castle
the shadows making it familiar and unknown at the same time
and I am enveloped in a sense of freedom and joy
in the darkness and electricity of the night
and then, my father’s tour is over
the second part of the night
will begin
We leave the castle
and walk across the gravel toward the garage
which is more like a small house than a garage, and was never used as one
the air chilling our faces, warm from the inside of the castle
my heart is beating steadily
I am at once terrified and excited
now is the moment
we enter the garage
grand and arching
and climb the stairs
in the small room above,
chairs are set up in a half circle
the room is covered in tile, and two heavy red doors loom on one side
it is faintly lit with gold-yellow light
but I can see the eerie dark shadows lurking on the edges,
the dark of outside pushing against us, clamoring to rush in
my friends and I find seats in the front row
I wonder whether they will face this as solemnly as I do
what they are thinking
whether they truly know the darkness that awaits us
we sit, awed already
sparks of excitement already fizzing through me
and then
it begins
After the introductions
a figure steps into the circle of light
he is not what I had expected
short and broad, in a dark suit
with a brisk, funny, mischievous face
how he can perform the task ahead, I do not know
but I am certain that he can
for he is Grover Silcox
a famous actor and comedian
and tonight
he will read and act out Edgar Allen Poe’s
The Tell-Tale Heart
At first, laughter reigns across the room
as Mr. Silcox explains how his love for Poe came to be
and has us play a game he calls, “Wheel of Suffering”
where he asks us Poe trivia
but then, he explains what he will do tonight
he will act out, and recite, The Tell-Tale Heart
and before he begins, he explains
that the man in the story, a murderer caught, is not pleading for his life, but his sanity
he says that he can picture
“Looking into this black abyss of the man’s mind and thinking,
this could be any of us
and the first of many shivers of dread and wonder creeps down my spine
The performance
is stunning, absolutely miraculous
I am enthralled
as he begins, his demeanor suddenly changes
his shoulders shift, and he stands
as though he could suddenly spring at you, tense
his voice is slimy, the menace underneath creeping like maggots
he begins to speak
True - nervous, very very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will you say that I am mad?.....
And, in his creeping, wild tone
he tells the story
of a madman, who crept
in the dark of night
and killed an old man
because of his deformed, pale eye
the man
hides the body beneath the floorboards of the house
so cleverly, so sadistically, in the darkness
yet when the police arrives
he is unable to conceal what he has done for long
for, as he chats with the men, he begins to hear a sound….
a low, dull, quick sound….
that he cannot bear for long
he shrieks out, confessing to the crime
and tells them, that, if they dig up the floorboards, they will find the sound he heard
It is the beating of his hideous heart!
I sit
listening
as his voice grows, low, soft, terrifying
and then he shrieks out, suddenly
and I jump in my seat
feeling the thrill of terror that courses through me
this happens multiple times
we listen, horrified and electrified at the same time
Everyone around us is silent as well
petrified in awe
The high stone room rises around us
with a few flickering lanterns, glowing orange-gold, but
the darkness still surrounds us
courses within us
I can barely look anywhere else but the raving man in front of me
for although I know that he is acting, that it is simply a story-
I flinch every time he comes too close to my front-row seat
not wanting to be tainted, touched by the swirling mind that he wears within
I sit
in my beloved castle
watching a classic, stunning tale unfold
though it is not exactly as I had pictured it
my mind is spinning, thought spiraling everywhere, yet fixated on what I am witnessing
and so
in the darkness and history and tale
I am happy