The Victoria

Dedicated to Adam Dubia The Best Manager & Good Friend Happy Birthday!

I didn’t know who to believe, now I know….

It was my third week in the new office. I was a floating leasing agent for Atwood LLC. The money was good, and I wasn’t tied down to one spot in case I hated the location. This location was called the Victoria here in the Riviere d'Erbane. This was normally a disaster-stricken area, but with Harbourage's help, the Atwood company was able to develop it.

The Victoria was a garden-style apartment community that overlooked the Fowl River. It wasn’t a pretty sight; the water was murky and alligator-filled. There were signs on the property that read, "Do not feed alligators." We did have 2 pools… in which the alligators would sometimes get in. There was a gym that was always full of children for some reason, and an abandoned pet park with a large weeping willow tree in its center. The property wasn’t a sad sight by any means. Despite being in a swamp, it had bright, attractive building colors; flashes of orange and yellow. There were art murals on the corners of the property where the picnic areas were. The lawn was kept kemp and weed-free. The apartments' interiors were relatively modern. Open two and three-bedroom floor plans were fifty percent of the property, and the other fifty percent were townhomes. The floor plans were extremely spacious, and each apartment had natural lighting, new appliances, flooring, and windows. All apartments were fully renovated,

The community was a total of 508 units. With one vacancy. Unit 1013. That unit was under special supervision by the managers and ownership. It was in the right corner of the property, towards the treeline. I’ve walked past the area, and it’s still well-lit by natural lighting around its perimeter. From the outside, it didn’t look any different than the other apartments. Expect it always had fresh flowers by the doormat. Fresh sunflowers, to be exact. That was a two-bedroom, downstairs unit with a backyard, or at least that’s what the floor plan should have been. The agents weren’t even allowed into the unit; only upper management was. Since I’ve been leasing at this community, it’s been vacant.

The Victoria overall was a large and busy community. I was part of a three-agent leasing team, including Neale and River. Neale and River mostly dealt with the residents, while I handled online requests. I liked it better that way. I didn’t want to waste time getting to know the residents, since I knew I would be shipping out sooner or later. This was my longest assignment. It wasn’t that I wasn’t having a nice time at the property; it was just that I’m getting homesick. I miss the Californian waters… swamp waters and rivers just aren’t for me. Since being in Riviere d'Erbane, I’ve been having busy days and marvelous nights. The team went out every Friday night, and they would drag me along, despite my protests. But what did it hurt? The office was closed over the weekend, and it was a nice way to kick it off.

There was a Mardi Gras-themed speakeasy. It was a neat little hole-in-the-wall bar with an alligator pin, where you can pay $2.50 for a pound of raw chicken and throw it to the alligators. Dangerous but neat. All the same, I missed California. Thunderstorms and hurricanes are not my thing. And it’s coming up on hurricane season, I didn’t want to be here for that. The thunderstorms were terrifying enough.

I was dragging that Monday morning. It was storming out, and I wanted nothing more than to remain curled up in my hotel room. When I got in, I was greeted by Neale, who was already on the phone with either a tenant or a tour.

River was stocking the WOW fridge with sodas and waters. It had appeared that they were the only two in the office at the moment. I gave a big ‘GOOD MORNING’ to set the mood.

I was met with Neale’s low-energy head nod: “Hey, good morning.” She said, hanging up the phone.

River popped his head up from the small fridge. “Hiya!” He chuckled.

We agents were always a tad bit earlier than the managers. But they rolled in, Madison, the community manager, was the first out of the three. “Morning.” She slipped into her office. She gingerly pulled out her laptop and started assembling it with her monitors. About ten minutes later, York and Xavier waltzed in with coffee and donuts for the team.

“Hello, Hello!” York smiled.

‘We bring early morning treats!” Xavier announced.

“Oh, thank God.” Madison groaned, rushing over to the coffee.

We all traded weekend stories before setting up in our stations for the day. I didn’t have a dedicated area; I was forced to use either the table next to the window or the kitchenette. I preferred the kitchenette. I was in a lovely little spot out of the residents’ view. I opened my laptop and got to work.

I was deep in emails when Neale and River came up to the kitchenette. I overheard their conversation about unit 1013. Apparently, it had been vacant for a month. River saw me grimace.

“Well, there was a reason for that.” He hummed, grabbing a pastry from the snack bin. “There was a death in the unit. So we have to disclose that when touring. So the manager has taken over renting out the unit for ownership.”

“What happened in the unit?” I asked while River picked over the snacks.

“Don’t know, but it was bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“York and Xavier found the bodies,” Neale said coolly, reaching for an apple.

My eyes widened. “WHAT do you mean, bodies?”

“Well, it was an entire family. Murder-Suicide.”

Neale hummed. “That’s what the reporters said. I don’t know about the suicide part.”

I was captivated by this. I wanted to know more. A murder-suicide? In all of my years working in property management, I had never experienced something so horrible. It intrigued me. I’ve never even found a dead person in a unit before. It shocked me how blasay the other agents were recalling the incident.

“Why don’t you believe it?” I closed my laptop and turned to Neale.

“Are you the queasy type?” Neale munched on her apple.

I shook my head.

“Brenda was found without a face.” River chimed in.

Before I could follow up, I heard Madison’s door open, “Property walk time. Ownership is coming this week. So you know what that means?”

“That Mr.Atwood is going to get drunk and do the worm, again,” River added.

“That Mr. Atwood is paying for drinks?” Neale spoke between bites.

“Mr. Atwood never buys drinks back at the home office!” I looked to Madison to see if this was a joke, but she merely shrugged.

“So, like I said, property walk. Everyone gets a section and a buddy.” Madison handed out maps. “We’re looking for terrible patios, and bullshit that shouldn’t be on them like flammables. Let’s take about 30 minutes to get this taken care of, and when we get back, we can talk about lunch on the vendors.”

Neale was paired with Madison, York got River, and I ended up with Xavier. The property was massive. There weren’t enough golf carts to go around, so we walked. We started in the back corner of the property and worked our way back towards the office. We walked by the back pool; surprisingly, there were no alligators. Our walk wasn’t a silent one. We joked that we needed to do River a favor and set him up with the bartender at the speakeasy. We discussed the property’s occupancy.

“So have you seen anything weird here?” Curiosity got the better of me.

He was silent for a moment. “Yeah, something heavy,” he sighed.

“What’d you see?” I asked.

“Oh, you know, something that haunts my dreams.” He retorted sarcastically and laughed. “There was no smell in the unit, oddly enough. I’ve found dead people in units before, and there’s always a telltale sign. The smell of a rotting carcass is one of them. When York and I entered, it smelled like fresh lavender. I found the kids first. They were all half-naked with their faces blown out from the back of the head. All the kids were lying on their stomachs; their backs had carvings. Then there was Brenda.” There was a long pause, then he raised his hands to demonstrate his line of sight. “Brenda was straight ahead of us, strapped in a chair; her clothes were burnt and her entire face gone. I don’t know how that could be suicide. ”

“Jesus, that is heavy.” I gave a sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry you guys had to see that.

“As I said, it haunts my dreams.” Xavier shrugged.

Later that night, back at the hotel, I decided to do some digging on my own. Through a series of articles and YouTube videos, I learned that the Victoria was the site of one of four slave plantations owned by four sisters. Maison aux Fleurs Rouges was the plantation's original name. It operated for a hundred years, and on its centennial in 1849, the slaves revolted.

For its one hundredth anniversary, the plantation's owners decided to hold a masked masquerade ball. The three other sisters were invited, along with their children and husbands, as well as Mobile citizens. The slave owners wore elaborate gowns and regalia and horrible masks. The masks were made from the faces of slaves that they deemed worthy or pretty enough.

As the slave owners prepared for the celebration, so did the slaves. According to the surviving diary entries, the slaves prepared the elaborate meal. The main courses, desserts, and ale were all laced with copious amounts of lavender. The slaves didn’t have access to poisons, so they used the medicinal herbs they knew and had available. There were fields of lavender just on the edge of the marshy swamp on the other side. The slaves also prepared their own masks. Their masks were made of wood and painted to represent that nameless religion of the Bellows.

The nameless religion of the Bellows was another deep dive on its own. What I learned is that it is a counter to Christianity that was forced on the slaves in the swamps. The religion was full of blood rites, vengeance fables, and astronomy. There is a common theme of the Bellows being a type of purgatory that the souls of the damned must journey through. This is part of a multistage trek to find glory. Glory wasn’t adjacent to the Christian heaven; it was the final stage where the soul has a chance at reckoning. The soul has a chance to come back to earth to get its final dues, whatever that may be. After that, the soul is reborn or set free.

The masks the slaves wore were black with red-painted stars. These masks represented the sky described in the nameless religion at the event before Glory. “The sky black and the stars reddened with the hands of retribution.”

The slave owners' ball was held in the cleared-out barn. The slave owners ate and drank to their fill. The lavender in the food and drink relaxed them to the point of sleeping where they stood and where they sat. While they slept, the slaves first set the horses free. This was so that no carriage, wagon, or slave master could leave the Maison aux Fleurs Rouges. One by one, each of the guests was bludgeoned to death with makeshift weapons. The weapons that were used were sharpened rakes and sharpened stakes. In the case of vampires, you would impale the heart, but in the case of slave owners, you impale the face until hollow. There wasn’t a sound from the owners except the cracking and breaking of bones.

Two of the four sisters managed to wake up from their stupor only to see their family massacred. Faceless bodies lay all around them. They screamed, alerting the slaves. The sisters attempted to escape the madness that they saw. The lavender left them groggy and bumbling. One sister didn’t make it far out of the barn. One of the female slaves threw the rake like a javilin and it struck and stuck in the back of the sister. The other sister ran inside the main house. She barricaded herself in the master bedroom. She could hear the slaves ransacking the house before setting it ablaze.

Investigators showed up at the plantation a week later, after the mayor’s cousin didn’t show up for another event. That is what led them to the Riviere d'Erbane and straight to the Maison aux Fleurs Rouges. The plantation was found burned to the ground. Forty-eight bodies were found on the plantation. Uniquely enough, the bodies had strange markings and carvings on their charred frames. The bodies were placed in star-like formations surrounding the main home, with the sister’s body in the middle. Her body was found sitting upright in a chair in the ash and rubble of the house. The investigators at the time noted that the slaves on all four plantations were gone, as were the farm animals. The lavender fields were now only ash, creating a clearing in the swampy marsh. Bodies were out in the summer sun. They were bloated and swollen with decay and rot from the sun. There wasn’t any signs of wildlife scavenging the bodies. The investigators assumed the smell was masked by the copious amounts of lavender burned. The Mayor of Mobile, whose cousin was among the dead, sent for the best slave catchers that money could buy. It would be two years before the mayor would give up the search. No slave from either of the four plantations was found.

In the 1960’s, back when the company name was Atwood & Hamilton LLC, David Hamilton, with the assistance of Charles Atwood, fought Mobile County and purchased the dilapidated plantation. He attempted to purchase the other three but was outbid by the historical society. David Hamilton had the land bulldozed, and the Victoria was built right on top of it. Even stranger was that David Hamilton went missing after making the purchase.

I lay back in the bed staring up at the ceiling. One thought was pervasive in my mind… The Victoria was on cursed land. On to my next search. The primary head of household of unit 1013 was Brenda Gibson, mother and grandmother to seven other occupants. I searched news articles and public records, and I found nothing. The local paper had an obituary but nothing else. No public investigation or suspicion of foul play. Something as gruesome should have left a paper trail. But there wasn’t much of anything…

The next morning, I walked into the office and was met with quite a sight. There were pastries and hot coffee filling the tables and the kitchenette bar. There were flowers filling the desk and offices. The next thing I saw was Madison peaking out of her office. She waved me over.

“Mr. Atwood is here, and he’s brought his newest assistant. Fun. I got word last night, had the landscapers get us some flowers, and sent the boys on a food run. The other agents are walking the property to make sure no foolishness is around.”

“Speaking of foolishness…” I sat on the edge of my seat. “I did some digging, and this place has to be haunted.”

“Well, that does sound foolish. This place is far from haunted. Tragic history; yes. That’s so silly.”

“A slave plantation is just tragic history?”

“ A slave plantation?!” She echoed with surprise. “Where did you get that nonsense?”

“I did a deep drive,” I stammered. I pulled out my phone to show her, “Back in 1849, there was a ball, and the slaves revolted.”

Madison took my phone and started reading, her brows furrowed together, and her eyes rolled, handing me back my phone. “This is a creepypasta website. So anyway, Mr. Atwood is in town, and we need to have a unit ready for him to tour.”

“There’s only 1013 where the murder happened,” I spoke nervously, taking back my phone. I was looking at the webpage. Was it a creepypasta website? I thought I did my research. “That’s a spooky unit. I don’t think I can tour that unit. Is there any way we can have an occupied tour?”

“Mr. Atwood is expecting to see unit 1013 because of what happened. We finally managed to get the smell out.”

“Smell? I thought the unit didn’t have a smell? Xavier said it smelled of lavender.”

Madison leaned across her desk with confusion etched on her face. “What on earth are you talking about? The smell in that unit was putrid. Did Xavier tell you what he saw?”

I was almost afraid to answer. Did Xavier lie about what he told me? I was afraid that if I said the wrong thing, Madison would leap over her desk and strangle me. I cleared my throat, “ He described it. Xavier said that they were found lying face down-”

She raised her hand to stop me. “That’s not what he saw, that’s what’s in your creepypasta.” She gave a long sigh. “ The family was found lynched in their own apartment. Maybe Xavier painted a pretty picture for you, but it wasn’t. Brenda Gibson was a believer in some old-time swamp relgion and she killed herself and the others. She mutilated their bodies before hanging each one. They were found three weeks later. Do you know what happens to the human body in a hot, unventilated home as it decays? They weren’t more than rotted meat on a string.” Her cold eyes were fixated on me as she continued. “Worse, they weren’t the cleanest people. We already had reports of the rats in their unit. We didn’t know they were dead, then. The neighbors called about the rats. The smell… sad to say, we thought it was normal coming from that unit. They lived in utter filth. It was when they didn’t pay rent that we noticed. Brenda made sure to put a check in my hand on the 1st of every month. It wasn’t until the end of the month that we checked in on her. We posted a twenty-four-hour notice to check for abandonment. The next day, we found them. Well, not me. York and Xavier. I only saw the apartment after the coroners took the bodies. It’s been completely renovated. New floors, new appliances, and fresh paint. Back to a normal apartment; nothing more, nothing less. With that said, I’m going to need to place those flowers in the unit. Make it look nice for Mr. Atwood’s arrival.”

Before I could protest, Madison shooed me out of her office and out of her eyesight. I reluctantly gathered up the flowers, placed them on the maintenance golf cart, and started my long drive to the corner unit 1013. On my drive to the unit, I pondered. Why would Xavier lie about the smell, the bodies? And the website seemed legit. Maybe the property isn’t haunted. Maybe Madison was right; it was just a tragic unit. Maybe I was overreacting.

I pulled up to the unit with the flowers in tow. The unit was … nice. The front door was freshly painted apple red, the hedges were newly trimmed, and the floor mat was clean, with the word "Welcome" on it. As I approached the unit, I noticed nothing. Nothing about the unit was remarkable from the outside. I inserted the vendor key and slowly made my way in with a bouquet of flowers. I opened the door, and it silently gave way, not even a creepy creak as the door opened wide. I tried to get the smell of the place from the outside doorstep.

Nothing. Not lavender, not decay… it smelled like a normal empty painted apartment. I reached inside to turn on the foyer lights. I didn’t need to; the unit had natural light from the skylights above. I gave myself a tiny prayer, and I stepped into the apartment. It was bone silent aside from my footsteps on the vinyl plank. It was a normal apartment. I didn’t want to linger for more than I had to. I wasted no time setting up a lovely presentation of flowers on the kitchen counters. Overall, it was a nice apartment; it wasn’t spooky at all. It was almost laughable how scared I was. Xavier must think this was the funniest thing in the world. Pranking the temporary agent.

Neale was right: Mr. Atwood did indeed buy us drinks while we were in the speakeasy. The tour was a success, and he was proud of the unit. It went well. So how did I end up here?

The last thing I remember is talking to Mr. Atwood and Xavier. With liquid courage, I confronted him about the white lie he fed me. But I was only interrupting their conversation about masks.

“And you’re sure I’ll get to see it happen tonight?” Mr.Atwood’s voice was hushed even for the speakeasy.

Xavier nodded, and his attention drew to me. “Hey, we’re about to do a toast to the arts.”

I narrowed my eyes in thought, before I could even decide to embarrass him in front of ownership, Mr. Atwood chimed in. “ Oh, let’s have a Dagenhart Cider liqueur. I hear you can only get it in this region of the world.”

Xavier was saved by our boss, and I took the shot. Everything from there got hazy. Now. Now, I’m in unit 1013. I don't know how I got here. But I can hear Mr.Atwood. I ran to the door, and I couldn’t open it. I pulled frantically, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Mr. Atwood!” I called out, slamming my hands on the door. “Mr. Atwood, can you open the door?”

“And you’re sure this is the room it happened in?” Mr. Atwood questioned.

“We compared maps and sure enough. This is where the master bedroom would have been. Ever since the initial slab leak, and the bodies were recovered, we’ve had to keep this up.” I heard Madison’s voice next.

“MADISON!” My hands were getting sore from beating the door. “Let me out!”

They were both ignoring me. What did she mean by that? What bodies were recovered from a slab leak? Why weren’t they letting me out? Then I smelled it. Lavender. I smelled lavandered and I started to wail and cry. I could escape through the windows, I thought. But, they, too, wouldn’t budge. The windows, like the door, were sealed shut, with no way to exit. I was trapped.

Xavier’s face in the window frightened me as he watched me from the outside. “Sorry, Kiddo. You’re tonight's guinea pig. ”

“Guinea pig!?” I was confused. I searched for my phone only to see Xavier holding it up. “You need to let me out of here. People will notice, they’ll come for me. Where’s Mr. Atwood?” I began pleading, “ Please let me out. I can smell the lavender. I believe you, I do.”

“Mr. Atwood is paying Madison for the next ten years for this apartment.” He was overly jolly. “He’s a collector of objects and apparently now liminal spaces.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I began to sob.

“Nothing. You were just accessible.” He said coolly. “Madison and I started to see some rather unsettling things in our offices and in our units. Shadows here, hearing low chats there. Objects started going missing in the office, like files, and the cameras stopped working. It all started when the bodies were found from the slab leak. Turns out this place was not only a plantation but they think this is where the that old time religion started. If I had to guess the spirits are hungry sense they’ve been disturbed.”

I felt the blood run from my face. Madison was the one lying, this was a plantation. They were going to feed me to the ghost? I couldn’t breath the smell of lavender was suffocating. I placed my hand on the glass. “Xavier, let me out we can talk about this? We can find a different way.” I could feel my voice trembling as I begged but what else could I have done?

“Can’t do thatMr. Atwood chose you for a reason.” He held up his hands. “But for us, you’ll give Madison and me some peace and quiet. The first family had their skulls blown out and that old nameless religion on their flesh. That was true. It’s true that it haunts my dreams. The second family was Brenda’s. I can’t say I was surprised or say I’ll miss them. But I’ll miss you.” He gave a sad smile, and he began to turn away.

No matter how I pleaded, he didn’t turn back. I began to hyperventilate. He wasn’t lying about the events, just the order of events. I had to find a way out. I tried throwing myself against the door and against the windows, but to no success. The apartment had sealed itself. I wasn’t getting out, and the smell of lavender was pervasive; it filled my lungs, making me tired. I couldn’t go to sleep, not now. I needed to get help. I couldn’t be an experiment for someone else’s peaceful night’s sleep.

Moving was labored; I sat in the middle of the living room watching the flowers for any sudden movements. I tried rocking back and forth to stay away, but it was futile; I was only lulling myself to sleep. I heard footsteps all around me. They’re coming for me.