The Strange Tale of Hector and Hannah Crowe

Chapter One: Welcome to Strange Manor

Out on the darkest edge of the township of Hawthorne, Oregon sits Strange Manor, nestled in an old forest at the base of a mountain.

The people of Hawthorne have long talked about the Manor. They say it is haunted. They say the ghost of Bertram Strange still walks the halls, and chases away any who would live there.

They have been telling these stories for decades. And Strange Manor has stood empty for just as long. In fact, no one had lived there for more than a fortnight since Bertram went to meet his maker back in 1899.

To look at the Manor, it is easy to understand why such stories persist.

Hawthorne is a small, humble city. The streets are kept neat and tidy; yards clipped short, trees trimmed regularly. The people are a friendly sort, and everywhere one could go in Hawthorne would lead them to smiles and good manners.

But the well-kept township had a secret, something it did not like to make public. Some time ago, a book had been published naming Hawthorne as the most haunted little town in America. The number of ghost sightings and haunted houses was higher, per capita, than any other city, town, burg, or borough in the great 50 states of the union.

Strange Manor was the most haunted house of them all. It lurked on the edge of town, like a dark reminder of the town’s secret.

Everyone knew how to find the Manor. Bertram had founded the town, laid the groundwork himself, and Main Street ended at the front gates of the mansion he had built with his own hands. The people of Hawthorne said that if you stared down Main Street towards the Manor for too long, you would take a ghost home with you.

No matter where a person was in the town, all they need do was go to Main Street, turn, and walk to the front gates. The Manor lay a good half mile past the last house of Hawthorne, and through a wild thicket of overgrown pine trees. People often told of growls and rumblings in the pines, the sounds, perhaps, of wolves or beasts of the night… but no one had ever been hurt, no one had ever disappeared, and no one had ever actually seen a wolf or a beast of the night.

Still, the stories persisted, as stories tend to do.

Were a soul brave enough to continue the walk down the twisting dirt road, through the rumbling pines, and to the wrought iron gates of Strange Manor, they would find a large, sturdy house of a decidedly non-sinister design.

No matter what the people of Hawthorne said, the house at Strange Manor certainly did not look haunted. The windows were neither broken nor boarded up, and behind the storm shudders and the glass were faint wisps of green, velvet drapes. The steeply angled roof was still as sturdy as the day Bertram finished it. Aside from a few missing shingles, and a large bird’s nest in the top of the chimney, Strange Manor looked to be an inviting place to visit.

The house was surrounded by a small cluster of sheds and cabins, all hand made from logs cut down by Bertram himself. In the past, these structures were worker’s quarters and equipment sheds, but now they were all dark and empty, hidden in the shadows of the massive pines that crouched around the house like a pack of angry giants.

The trees were as old as the house, and dwarfed it in size; the heavy branches swayed back and forth around the house, always keeping it cloaked in shadows that danced and moved.

Perhaps it was this trick of the light -- the sight of the swaying trees casting moving shadows across the face of the house -- that caused the people of Hawthorne to think they saw spooks and specters at Strange Manor.

Or perhaps no one really looked. Perhaps they just assumed that the stories their parents had told were true, and that the old mansion was the most haunted house of them all in the most haunted town of them all.

Imagine the shock and surprise that came to the friendly people of Hawthorne when, one day, they found out that someone had bought Strange Manor.

His name was Dr. Thomas Crowe. He attended a town meeting to introduce himself.

Dr. Crowe was a handsome man, bald, with a blonde beard that came to a point at his chin, and soft, baby-blue eyes behind his black rimmed glasses. He wore a black suit, and carried a black briefcase.

With him was a beautiful woman, Emma Crowe, who wore a white dress and a white ribbon in her hair. Something about her seemed regal. The way she carried herself, even as she was several months pregnant at the time, had the graceful bearing of a duchess or a princess.

Good evening, Dr. Crowe said to the townspeople that night, My wife and I are very happy to have found such a lovely town to call our home.

The mayor was there that night, as were the chief of police and the head of the fire department. The deputy mayor was sitting between the district attorney and chief resident at the Hawthorne hospital. Everyone who was anyone in the town had come to hear why the man had bought the cursed house.

Dr. Crowe talked to them about his desire to start his family in such a normal town, with such friendly neighbors. He offered his hand in friendship to them all, as did Emma.

Finally, the mayor stood up.

You think Strange Manor is really the place to raise children? he asked.

Absolutely, Dr. Crowe said with a smile.

Have you been there?

We’ve already moved in, Mayor, Emma answered.

But…

But what? Dr. Crowe asked.

But… no one has ever lived there. It’s haunted.

Dr. Crowe adjusted his glasses. Well, yes. It is haunted. But I’ve come to an arrangement with the previous owner. He’s graciously allowed us to stay there.

He’s given us his blessing, Emma added helpfully.

The Mayor turned red in the face, thinking that the Crowe’s were making a joke.

The previous owner? the Mayor asked.

Bertram Strange.

And how, exactly, did you get the blessing of Bertram Strange, a man who died almost a hundred years ago?

Dr. Crowe took a business card from inside his black briefcase and held it up.

Well if you must know… I asked him politely.

The Mayor walked up to the front of the room and looked carefully at the business card.

It’s what I used to do for a living, Dr. Crowe said with a shrug. Now I’ll just be working part-time from home.

The Crowes thanked the people of Hawthorne and walked out to a round of silent and curious stares. Everyone thought they were crazy.

The Mayor looked at the card again. It said:

Dr. Thomas Crowe

Paranormal Investigation

Supernatural Threat Assessment

Ghost Negotiation

Free Estimate!

It did not take long for the people of Hawthorne to embrace the Crowes as friends and neighbors. Thomas became well-liked for his giving nature, and Emma quickly proved herself to be a community leader… even if they were a little unusual.

It was a gusty October night when Emma and Thomas became the proud parents of a baby girl. She had her father’s dimples, and her mother’s eyes. They named her Hannah.

Soon after, Emma announced her plans to start a community service program for the women of Hawthorne. She called it the Society of Good and Decent Women. No one attended any meetings at first, and Emma thought the Society was a complete and utter failure.

Thomas suggested that people were not attending because the meetings were being held at Strange Manor. Emma had her next meeting in the basement of the local Friends church, and met with much greater success.

Over time, the Crowes became valued members of the community. The Society grew and grew. By the time she and Thomas celebrated the birth of their son, Hector, there were over sixty women in Emma’s Society.

No one was ever quite sure what Thomas did for a living, but they did know that he was always happy to offer advice about ghosts, spirits, specters, poltergeists, vampires, werewolves, spells, curses, and bewitchings. And while the people of Hawthorne might not have spoken aloud of such things in public, Thomas Crowe received a great many late night phone calls from people with the most curious questions.

As the years went by, more and more people in Hawthorne owed a debt of thanks to Thomas. The Society now counted over two hundred Good and Decent Women in its ranks, and managed to raise tens of thousands of dollars every year, which they always used to help the children of Hawthorne.

But this is not the story of Thomas and Emma Crowe. As important and fascinating as they are, by this time in their lives the elder Crowes were done with having adventures. And that was the way they wanted it.

Emma’s inner nobility had never shone so brightly before. Her work with the Society, and the time with her family and friends, meant a great deal more to her than any adventure ever could.

And Dr. Crowe didn’t miss chasing ghosts and clashing wills with inhabiting spirits. Once known as the foremost paranormal investigator in the world, he was quickly replaced by another once he stepped down. He still enjoyed his consulting work, and had developed a taste for the game of golf. The evidence of his lifetime of work, old case files, arcane texts, and confiscated magical totems were all safely stored away, long since forgotten in the quiet comfort of his new suburban life.

But for Hector and Hannah, the adventures had yet to begin.

Chapter Two: The First Breakfast of Summer

It was the first day of summer vacation. Hector had just celebrated his ninth birthday, and Hannah was looking forward to her twelfth.

The previous day had been the last day of school for the students of Hawthorne. Hannah Crowe had walked out of her last elementary school, and Hector had finished his first year at the School for Gifted (A school made possible by the efforts of the Society of Good and Decent Women).

And on this first day of vacation, Hannah Crowe awoke with a smile on her face. This was the third best day of the year, behind her birthday and Christmas, and she planned to splurge by staying in her pajamas all day long.

She brushed her teeth, and dug around under the foot the bed for her slippers. The bedroom door squeaked open, and she looked over her shoulder to see an enormous Irish wolfhound pad into the room.

Morning, girl, Hannah said, and resumed her search.

Aha! She finally found her other slipper, and rolled onto her butt to put them both on. Come here and give me some love, Gadzooks.

Gadzooks had weighed over a hundred pounds when the Crowes had taken her in. That had been some years ago, when Hannah was still in diapers. Over the years, the big black dog with the white forepaws had given birth to seven litters of pups, and had retained a little weight from each of her pregnancies.

No one knew for sure how old Gadzooks was, but she was at least ten, and now as tall as Hector, and as heavy as brother and sister put together.

Hannah could never remember a time without the faithful, loving dog. She giggled as Gadzooks licked the side of her neck.

Good girl. Now help me up. Hannah held onto the dog’s sturdy leather collar. The wolfhound snorted and backed up a few steps, pulling Hannah to her feet. I think dad’s cooking bacon. Let’s go get us some.

Hannah whistled a complex little tune as she walked downstairs and into the kitchen. It was a song she had been trying to perfect, but so far she could not get the melody just right.

Hector was already sitting at the breakfast table, his face hidden behind a math textbook. Dr. Crowe was at the stove, valiantly doing battle with three different pans and pots. He was wearing peach colored slacks, and a bright green shirt. His garish clothes made up his middle-aged version of an athletic uniform, and served as a clear indication that as soon as the breakfast dishes were cleaned and on the drying rack he would be driving out to the golf course.

Gadzooks rubbed up against Dr. Crowe’s legs, then curled up under the table and closed her eyes. She seemed to spend most of her time napping these days. Sometimes Hannah worried about the old girl

Good morning, Daddy, she said brightly, sitting down next to Hector.

Her brother looked up from his reading, squinted behind his bifocal reading glasses, and gave her a dour look.

For Hector, this was the third worst day of the year, just behind Christmas and Hannah’s birthday.

We’re on vacation, bookworm, Hannah smiled. She reached out quickly, before he could set his book aside, and ruffled his bowl-cut honey blonde hair.

The book slapped shut, and he pushed her hand away.

Knock it off, Hannah Banana, he snapped.

You’re so lame, she groaned. You keep trying to find ways to call me names, but let’s face it, runt – you’re just not smart that way.

Shut up. He picked up his book again, flushing in the cheeks.

Shut up, the both of you, Dr. Crowe intervened calmly. Today I expect you both to keep to yourselves and relax. That’s the plan for your mother and me. I’m going to the links, and your mother has her Society fund raiser today.

As he talked, he picked up the frying pan and ladled out scrambled eggs onto three plates.

Which fund raiser? Hannah asked.

Not sure, the Doctor shrugged, piling bacon onto the plates. Last came the grits, which only went on two plates, as Hector simply abhorred grits.

Bake sale, Hector mumbled from behind the book. Remember all those cookies she baked last night?

Those were for a bake sale? Dr. Crowe whispered. He slid the plates across the table, and made a clucking sound with his tongue and his cheek. I think I’m going to be in trouble. Who wants to take the blame for Daddy this time?

Hector put his book aside. No way. I told her I was the one who dried off Gadzooks with her good bathrobe. I didn’t think I would ever hear the end of it. She took away my computer for a week!

I bought you that laptop to apologize, didn’t I?

Me neither, Daddy, Hannah shook her head. She crunched a piece of bacon between her teeth, and used her other hand to reach down and feed a piece of Gadzooks. I haven’t been grounded in two months, and I don’t want to start today.

Dr. Crowe sat at the head of the table. He snapped his napkin, and then tucked it into the