The Masked Man's Haunting
Prologue
Most of the homes affected sat close to one another, but The Palmer was isolated, secluded behind stone walls and a wrought iron gate. Giant oak trees overtook the kept lawn, the only survivors of the estate’s scorching wrath.
The residents in the houses escaped before the flames knocked on their doors, everyone except the Palmers.
Going through major renovations, the place had been closed for weeks.
But the family of four was still inside by the time the fire reached their hotel, the smoke rendering them unconscious and eventually taking their lives.
Four innocent souls were killed that day.
A father, a mother, a son, and a baby girl, gone in the blink of an eye.
The billowing smoke hovered over the area for days, like a dark, ominous cloud. Some say that the lingering clouds were the angered spirits taken too soon. Others believe it was the evaporated evil of the earth purged by the flames.
The leveled hotel became a shrine after the incident, thousands of flowers, cards, and gifts appearing at the nonexistent doorstep. The hotel was a crucial part of the community, and a hole was felt in the hearts by many across the city.
Within six months, the lot was sold to the next owners, young Betty and David Schrader.
They rebuilt, and in the place of The Palmer now stands a massive Victorian Gothic Revival–inspired mansion with front and back verandas, towers, and steeply pitched gables.
No price was spared in the construction, no detail too small.
In the end, a masterpiece was erected. Twenty-three bedrooms, a café, a pub, staff rooms, and endlessly long corridors sat on four acres of land.
It became unrecognizable from its origins, taking on a life of its own.
Even the trees healed, larger and more beautiful than before.
Its vibrant leaves scattered the lawn in the fall of 1903, when The Schrader House opened for business, opting to drop the term hotel from the new name.
They wanted the place to always feel like home to their guests, a welcoming and warm environment.
A massive fireplace and handcrafted stone mantel greeted all arrivals in the entryway, a sanctuary in the cold, wintery months that followed.
The Schraders were overflowing with love in many avenues, including celebrating the life of their son, Garrett, born in the spring of 1913. The first few decades were nothing but success, and before the Schraders knew it, their business became a must-visit for any travelers in the vicinity.
Then came the Halloween incident of 1940, when a famous actress stayed at The Schrader House for three nights.
On the third night, at three a.m., she packed her bags and ran for the hills, later giving a report of suspicious activity that couldn’t be seen or explained.
The news caught fire, and people flocked to stay at the haunted house.
Betty and David Schrader continued to run the place for the next ten years—with help, of course—before passing it on to their son, Garrett.
Betty and David died within three days of one another. First came Betty, who peacefully drifted off in her sleep. Then David died of unknown causes, lying beside her grave. People say he died of a broken heart.
Eventually, the chaos around the paranormal claims at the house settled as the years went on. But just as normalcy seemed to return for Garrett and his wife, Linda, they were faced with a new ordeal.
In fall of 1985, a nearby forensic psychiatric hospital had three inmates go missing. Two succumbed to the cold as an early blizzard had hit the city a day prior. But the third … he was never found.
That night, a businessman checked in at The Schrader House, everything seemingly normal.
But as he stowed himself away for the evening, a coldness settled into his bones, an uneasiness taking over that he couldn’t shake.
Then came the pacing footsteps, ones without a body above them, that would stalk back and forth in his room.
It was followed by childlike laughter that was anything but innocent, rather deep and demonic.
Immediately, he packed his bags and fled, never looking back.
Word spread fast, and the poor businessman’s encounter became one of many over the years. The reputation the Schraders had built was once again overshadowed by the ghost stories and rumors that traveled worldwide.
Journalists, self-proclaimed spirit hunters, and curious travelers swarmed the place. The Schrader House grew into an entity of its own, garnishing more success than ever imagined.
Just as his parents had done with him, Garrett handed The Schrader House and its success off to his son, Harvey.
Unfortunately, Garrett, widowed years prior, would only live until Christmas of 1990.
The alleged paranormal activity spiked at The Schrader House after Garrett’s death, as if the place itself was in mourning.
Broken picture frames. Rooms turned upside down.
But gradually, it calmed, returning to the occasional reported haunt.
Harvey goes on to run the house for the next thirty-six years, keeping the business just as his parents created—well, aside from the new annual haunted attraction, complete with bouncy castles, face painting, apple bobbing, a massive corn maze, and anything his imagination desires.
When Harvey falls ill, he decides to sell the estate. He plans to meet with the new buyer and tell him the decades-long secrets of The Schrader House, preparing him for the future. But Harvey dies two days before the meeting, the mysteries disappearing right along with him.
No one knows what walks the halls at night or what whispers in the dark. No one knows what causes the old floorboards to creak or the same picture to fall time and time again. But one thing is for certain: Whatever lingers in the house isn’t finished yet.