Christal
Rice Cooper
article
with excerpts 2,480 Words
Guest Blogger Kristine
Goodfellow:
The Dark Side of Writing
Mansion on Butcher Lake
*Reader’s Note: The Mansion On Butcher Lake takes place
in 1887 Pennsylvania where red-head Gwen Butcher is a witch in every sense of
the word. She is the wife of the very
wealthy Lane Butcher, co-owner of the prestigious industrial business Valiant Ironworks and the family estate,
Iron Heights. The other owner of Valiant Ironworks and Iron
Heights is Lane’s brother Cameron.
The brothers appear to be close, but something happens the moment Lane
Butcher marries Gwen, and that something worsens when Gwen has her husband
drink a certain potion. Then Lane makes
a startling discovery that involves Gwen and his brother Cameron, throwing him
into the dark side. . .
What results is sex, passion, anger,
hate, revenge, love, and in the, end redemption, in the form of Corwyn
Blackstone, who, along with her abusive husband Jayce, comes to Iron Heights. Jayce, Lane’s cousin, not only abuses his
wife, but the servants as well, while Lane hides in the basement, haunted by
things that are terrifying and real.
Soon Lane and Corwyn develop a friendship
that makes them realize their enemies are not of flesh and blood, but of
spirit.
As with all my stories, the idea for Mansion
on Butcher Lake started with a visual muse,
followed by a flash of inspiration which continued into full-blown obsession.
On a walk with my husband, we found a wonderfully, spooky, mansion…and I fell
in love.
The real mansion on which the story is loosely
based was built in the 1700's by a wealthy ironmaster who owned the iron forge
across the street. The gorgeous estate was passed down for several generations,
but then was sold. Years later, it was
abandoned.
After a couple decades of falling into
disrepair, it was once again purchased, renovated and reoccupied. However, it
wasn't long until it had been abandoned again.
This
time—it was abandoned with everything inside.
The once-glorious mansion had a story to tell. On
my many, many furtive visits, I sat mesmerized by its crumbling magnificence. The
house called to me. I listened. Mansion
on Butcher Lake is a work of fiction. Names of people, the events and
most of the places are strictly from my imagination.
However, there are many ideas in the book that
came from visiting and/or obsessing about the actual estate. For example, in my
book there is an explanation for the Japanese Garden hidden in a grove of
trees. The once-beautiful garden is now forgotten and rotting.
Lane
bounded into the parlor where Gwen read her new novel. She reclined in a black and red velvet
fainting couch. “There you are! I have a surprise for you. I couldn’t give it to you yesterday since the
weather was bad, but I can’t wait for you to see your birthday present.”
“My
birthday?” She wrinkled her nose. “That was weeks ago.”
“I
know. I’ve been waiting to give you
this. You were gone and I really wanted
to-“
“”Can’t
you just give me the present here?”
“No,
you must come with me.” He grinned. “It’s not something I can bring inside.”
“Can’t
this wait? I only wish to read my book.”
“No,
this has been long overdue. Come with
me.” He held out his hand.
Gwen
sighed and placed her book on the end table.
She stood up without his assistances and followed him out the kitchen
door and down the steps. He cupped his
hands over her eyes and guided her behind a group of trees on the west side of
the estate and thirty yards form the summer porch of the mansion.
“Really,
Lane, is this ridiculous pretense necessary?”
He
removed his hands, “Just for you, Gwen.”
Dainty
red metal lanterns led to a Japanese garden complete with koi fishpond with
lily pads. A footbridge crossed over a
babbling brook. Imported Asian lawn
furniture sat in a cluster on a brick landing under the shade of trees.
She
squealed with joy, “Oh, how beautiful!”
Gwen wiggled her finger sin the koi pond. ‘I never expected this.”
“A
tranquil, special reading area just for you.
Happy belated birthday, my love.”
Gwen
threw her arms around Lane’s neck, but before their lips touched, she pulled
away. “I’ll be right back. I want to get my novel.” She left him standing under the blood red
leaves of the expensive Japanese Maple tree.
At last, one of my gifts did not
fall flat. It was wroth bringing in the gardeners
from Philadelphia and paying them extra to work here.
Excerpt
from Mansion On Butcher Lake
Pages 13
-14
Copyright
granted by Kristine Goodfellow
And just like in the book, the real house is across
the lane from an iron forge/furnace. Of course, the physical descriptions of
the house in the book came from staring at my muse in all her decaying glory
and trying to capture the splendor with words.
There
are several instances where the strike of imagination came from something I'd
seen while 'visiting' this house.
He pulled on the reins and stopped the thoroughbred
before he approached Iron Heights. Atop
a hill, looking down on his beloved home, a sad sense of nostalgia gripped him
for a moment. Double door with
decorative beveled glass were propped open to engage the cool autumn breeze. The stately Federal–style mansion shining
pristinely in the Pennsylvania sun should’ve made him proud. Built by his grandfather, Iron Heights bore
witness to the Butcher family’s continuing prosperity. Everything belonged to him now, but Lane
couldn’t enjoy the breathtaking sight
Excerpt
from Mansion On Butcher Lake
Pages 17 – 19
Pages 17 – 19
Copyright
granted by Kristine Goodfellow
After admiring the mansion from a decent
distance, I eventually gathered enough courage to walk up to the porch and peek
in the windows.
What I saw set my imagination on fire. It looked
like nothing had been disturbed inside the house in years–everything had a
layer of dust. Cobwebs hung from every doorframe. To the side of the staircase stood
a half-decorated Christmas tree, a box of ornaments near its base. Garland hung
suspended from the banister as though someone stopped midway through the job.
Boxes marked ‘ornaments’ lined the walls. The entry table held several
Christmas knickknacks. It looked as if the residents started decorating and
someone or something scared them away
and they never returned.
As soon as I peeked through the door windows, a
narrative began forming in my mind. An idea was planted into my subconscious.
Standing
on the front porch of Iron Heights, Hugo removed his hat, wiped his sweaty brow
with his handkerchief and knocked. He wrinkled his nose at the dead
Christmas wreath hanging from the front door. Coated with dust and almost
devoid of needles, what was left of the wreath was laced with silky spider
webs. The ominous adornment warned him that something within was
extremely wrong. He clanked the door- knocker with more force.
Excerpt from Mansion On Butcher Lake
Page 169
Copyright
granted by Kristine Goodfellow
I found beauty in the mansion, but also sensed
danger. There was something sad, yet proud. Angry, yet resigned. I felt a powerful yearning radiating from the
walls and since the current owner denied my frequent requests to learn its
actual history, I simply made up my own. I used some strange features I'd found
on the abandoned estate to enhance my tale—details of the house that piqued my
interest.
And perhaps, just perhaps, there is a reasonable
explanation for simply abandoning a house halfway through decorating for
Christmas. However, I let my imagination loose to come up with a sinister
explanation.?
I’m influenced by so many writers, but I don’t
know if any of them specifically inspired Mansion on Butcher Lake. However, I
once read a book where a crumbling, decaying mansion was almost like a
character in the novel. I loved that idea. The book was The Thirteenth Tale by
Diane Setterfield. It’s a dark story that follows an aging novelist who enlists
a young woman to write her life story including her enigmatic childhood spent
in a dilapidating mansion called Angelfield. I loved how the house in The
Thirteenth Tale almost had a personality. I tried to make Iron Heights (the
name of my fictional manor) as much part of Mansion on Butcher Lake
as any of the characters.
My writing this fear-provoking story coincided
with my husband’s six-week-long business trip. And this business trip coincided
with a series of violent spring thunderstorms that plagued south central Pennsylvania
for weeks. I remember writing until deep into the night. Thunder shook the
window- panes as the sun went down and shadows crept up the walls. Sometimes
the house creaked and moaned after a storm.
A few times, I became so lost in writing, it
would become dark in the living room (where my desk was) and I wouldn’t even notice
until there was a lightning/thunder episode that jolted me back into reality.
One time, I heard something in the basement. I
sat in my darkened living room unable to move. My watchdog was nowhere to be
found—probably hiding under my bed. The next clap of thunder made me slam my
laptop shut and fly up the stairs turning on every light along the way. I’d locked
my bedroom door, threw myself under the covers and turned the TV to a nice
romantic comedy. I fell asleep with the lights and TV on.
On
one of her walks, she’d discovered a neglected Japanese garden. Overgrown bushes almost hid the red iron lanterns
lining the path. She stepped over the
tangle of thickets and thistles and crossed the small arched bridge over a
brook. A swollen carcass of a mouse
floated atop a mossy pond. The young
widow carried her novel to one of the lily-carved chairs under the Japanese
Maple. Weeds chocked everything
surrounding the reading terrace. Shaggy
grass grew between the bricks beneath her feet.
An
ebony bird with a yellow head picked through the dead grass snatches up insects
until it suddenly turned and fixed jet black eyes on Corwyn. Her heart beat as though she faced a dire
threat. They studied each other without
moving until the bird flew straight at her with rapid wing beasts. Had she not ducked, it would’ve flown into
her forehead. Corwyn covered her face
and cried.
After
a few minutes, she gained control of herself.
She lifted her head. Iron Heights
came into view. The white mansion
appeared sullied and dull. Because of a
particularly cruel autumn, the red paint on the double-arched front doors
curled and peeled into sharp slivers. Ivy
crept up the walls like a hand from the grave coming to claim its rightful
property. The vine twisted up the
Georgian pillars and crawled across the porch’s roofline. Gangly stands hung off the edge like a row of
nooses swaying in the breeze.
Excerpt
from Mansion On Butcher Lake
Page 245
Copyright
granted by Kristine Goodfellow
Of course, the next day I continued writing. And
scared the crap out of myself all over again. Every day, I vowed to stop
working when it got dark and every night, I regretted not stopping when it got
dark. I simply lose myself when I’m working on a novel. I wouldn’t have it any
other way.
I
had fun writing Mansion on Butcher Lake. I’m not sure I could pick out the
‘most’ compelling scene. But, when I wrote the following excerpt, I realized I
was going to a very dark place—a place I hadn’t gone in my writing before. To
be honest, I enjoyed releasing a little bit of my dark side.
Sitting
on the bank of the stream, Lane broke a stick into small pieces. He tossed them
one at a time into the water of Winter Creek. As the strong current swiftly
carried the pieces downstream, the increasing need for his wife’s comfort
burned within him.
I’ve
done what she asked—everything she asked and she still looks at me with
contempt, he thought.
At
dusk, the stream appeared bottomless. Low, black clouds assembled above him.
Lane shivered. He stood, ready to go home again when a voice behind him
whispered, “Murderer.”
He
whipped around. He listened with intent, but only heard the sound of leaves
rustling, predicating a fall storm. One quick glance at the tree line disclosed
a pair of yellow eyes staring at him from the dark woods.
“Who’s
there? Identify yourself at once.”
A
voice came from behind him, the opposite direction than before. “Murderer,” it
whispered again.
Lane
spun around, wishing he’d brought his revolver. His heart thumped in his ears;
his mouth dried. “I demand that you come out and show yourself.”
Two
consecutive lightning bolts lit up the sky. A large, mysterious shape ran on
all fours straight towards him. Abruptly, the wolf-like creature stopped at the
edge of the woods. He stood upright revealing he was no animal, but a misshapen
man. Course patches of fur and rough skin covered his body. Long, matted hair
topped an elongated, deformed head. His sinewy arms hung down at his sides; his
oversized hands clenched in fists. Before Lane fully processed what he’d seen,
another series of lightning bolts let him witness the man’s head falling
backward like the hood of a cape. A torrent of blood spilled down the sunken
chest. A large snake slithered out of the gaping hole atop the neck. During the
next lightning flash, the blood-bathed snake glared at Lane with saffron eyes.
Its split tongue thrust out between fangs. “Murderer!”
Darkness
enveloped the woods once again.
A
clap of thunder jolted Lane out of his terror-induced paralysis. His breath
came in short bursts; his heart flogged his chest as he hurried to his horse.
The next bolt of lightning startled [his horse] and lit up the forest once
again. Lane glanced over his shoulder afraid the creature had followed him. The
forest showed no signs of such a being.
Lane
jumped on [his horse]. He raced through the meadow en route for the comforting
lights of the mansion on the shores of Butcher Lake. Rain came down in giant,
heavy drops soaking both horse and rider.
Excerpt Mansion On Butcher Lake
Pages 38 –
40
Copyright
granted by Kristine Goodfellow
I had a hard time classifying this novel at
first. But, then I heard of a genre called Supernatural
Suspense. Blogger, RN Adams, describes Supernatural
Suspense as “The plot revolves around the ‘other-worldly’ but the emphasis
is on suspense rather than horror…”
I thought that description fit Mansion
on Butcher Lake pretty well. I do believe that is about spiritual
warfare, too. Overall, I believe Mansion on Butcher Lake is a tale of
love, redemption and forgiveness. I like to tell people it’s a love/hate story
about people trapped in a haunted house. I often get puzzled looks, but I think
they get what I’m saying. I hope so.
Photograph
Description and Copyright Information
Photo 1
and Photo 5
Kristine
Goodfellow standing in front of the Pennsylvania mansion that inspired the
story Mansion On Butcher Lake.
Copyright granted by Kristine Goodfellow
Copyright granted by Kristine Goodfellow
Photo 2,
Photo 8, and Photo 21
Jacket
cover of Mansion On Butcher Lake
Photo 3
Painting
attributed to Franz Von Stuck (02/23/1863 – 08/30/1928)
Public
Domain
Photo 4
18th
Century Painting
Public
Domain
Photo 6,
Photo 7, Photo 10, Photo 13, Photo 14, Photo 18, and Photo 20.
The real
mansion in Pennsylvania that is the inspiration behind Mansion On Butcher Lake.
Photo 9
The
Japanese Garden behind the real mansion
Copyright
granted by Kristine Goodfellow.
Photo 11
Kristine
Goodfellow peeking over a tree
Attributed
to Christal Rice Cooper
Copyright
granted by Christal Rice Cooper and Kristine Goodfellow
Photo 16
Diane
Setterfield’s web logo photo
Fair Use
Under the Untied States Copyright Law
Photo 17
Jacket
cover of The Thirteenth Tale
Photo 19
Painting Thunderstorm Over Dordrecht
Painted by
Aelbert Cuyp (10/20/1620 – 11/15/1691)
Public
Domain
Photo 22
Kristine
Goodfellow in Montgomery, Alabama
Attributed
to Christal Rice Cooper
Copyright
granted by Christal Rice Cooper and Kristine Goodfellow
Photo 23
Kristine
Goodfellow in Pensacola, Florida
Copyright
granted by Kristine Goodfellow
