The Haunting of Twisted Oaks Inn (#1)

[Adelina]

Note: This story was first posted on another spanking forum. Since I kind of like it here, I'll see what you's guys think of it. More parts are forthcoming; I'm pretty sure it's bad form to slap up all ten parts at once.

The Haunting of Twisted Oaks Inn: The Discovery

Attics have long been fabled for their propensity to harbor the strange and intriguing. From the looks of it, this one probably held plenty of both.

Never in her life had Ivy been faced with such a mountainous array of unfamiliar property. A stale air of dust and age surrounded her as she did a quick visual sweep over the contents of the attic, taking in the eclectic gathering of artifacts, heirlooms, and plain old junk. Stepping carefully, she weaved her way through the dusty space, dabbing at the pearls of perspiration forming on her forehead and sending up a brief prayer of thanks that the withering heat of summer had taken a hiatus this week. It was going to take a lot of work to sort through all this stuff.

Two weeks had already passed since Ivy had moved into her new home, a large turn-of-the-century house that someone had converted to a cute bed-and-breakfast. “Twisted Oaks Inn,” read the sign hanging by the road, paying homage to the pair of huge old trees whose branches had intertwined over time, forming a neat arch over the driveway. Thus far, much of Ivy’s time had been taken up with the usual tasks, the cleaning and purging, the unpacking and putting-away. Most of the furniture and other such contents were still perfectly usable from when the Inn last operated, which wasn’t too long ago. The widower she’d bought it from was such a nice old gentleman, said he couldn’t run the place without his dear lady gone. How sweet, Ivy thought to herself. You don’t find men like that anymore.

Catching herself with a sigh, Ivy promptly wiped the sudden flash of self-pity from her mind. This endeavor was to be a new start, a fresh new adventure for her, and darned if she would let the lingering aura of her crumpled engagement weigh her down. Shaking herself alert, Ivy wandered amidst the clutter, taking a mental inventory as she went along, noting the various furniture, knick-knacks, the odd bit of clothing. Various trunks held dishes and glasses and silver, while a tall cabinet housed piles of musty linens. Next to the cabinet, a rather plain wooden box sat atop a battered old dressing table. Ivy casually flipped up the top of the box, expecting another set of silver or some such thing. But she didn’t find any silver. Instead, nestled neatly among a fluff of red velvet, she saw a long wooden paddle.

“Well, now,” thought Ivy. “This is different.”

Ivy bent to examine her discovery, finding it to be carved from what appeared to be oak, which made sense given the ample herd of oak trees that dotted the property. It had an aged appearance and was quite smooth, undoubtedly worn from years of use. She found the sight of it rather quaint. After all, nobody within her social circle would ever think of laying a hand on a child, much less a hunk of wood. Ivy shook her head, wondering at how many poor, helpless youngsters had had the misfortune of crossing paths with this antiquated tool.

Succumbing to curiosity, Ivy lifted the paddle from its comfortable bed. It was not quite as heavy as she’d expected it to be, but it still had substance. She had no doubt that a few swats with this thing would tame any miscreant in a hurry. No wonder it had earned such plush accommodations. She glanced appreciatively at the box’s velvet lining, then back at the paddle… and back again at the box. Ivy noticed an off-white corner peeking up from underneath the fabric; a quick shift of the cloth revealed a small collection of papers, browned with age. Setting the paddle down on the table beside the box, Ivy gingerly lifted the fragile old sheets and peered closely at them, straining to read the tiny, ornate handwriting. It appeared to be a list of names, accompanied by corresponding columns of numbers and of descriptions of various misdeeds—“a punishment log,” Ivy realized at once.

Her interest was sufficiently piqued to prompt a closer look. She swiped a layer of dust from a nearby wing chair and took a seat, settling her eyes on the list. As she read, she detected a few patterns. She noticed that all of the names on the list were female ones, and that the numbers in the second column seemed to creep upward as a particular name appeared subsequently. The nature of the recorded misdeeds seemed to indicate that, contrary to what Ivy had first assumed, this paddle was not used on children; rather, it seemed reserved as a means to discipline maidservants. From the looks of it, whoever was using this thing had pretty high standards and not a lot of patience. Some of the alleged crimes seemed rather petty to Ivy, but times were different then, she supposed.

Skimming along the pages of the document, Ivy noticed that a few names seemed to appear far more often than others. This one, this Julia… whoever she was, she seemed to have a real knack for attracting trouble, or at the very least, for attracting the attention of whoever had kept this list. She even had the distinction, Ivy noted, of being the last recorded victim of the paddle, for, let’s see… the handwriting was a bit fuzzy, but it had something to do with a stable boy. “Way to go, Julia,” thought Ivy with a smirk. No number was recorded, though; that column was blank. Considering her track record, it wouldn’t be surprising if Julia had earned enough smacking to wear out her disciplinarian’s arm, to the point of being unable to write!

A sudden growl from the pit of her stomach shifted Ivy’s attention from her reading to her watch. Ah, yes, it was definitely time to go and have some lunch. Besides, it was pretty stuffy up in that attic, and the dust was making her eyes tear.

After carefully replacing papers and paddle into their case, Ivy retraced her way through the vintage collection, sprinted down the creaky staircase and headed off toward the kitchen, utterly unaware of the dark figure watching her go.

[sarah thorne]

Oh! Really glad to see this here!!

sarah

[Gary D.]

the story sounds great so far Adelina........somewhat reminiscent of those wonderful old stories found in Janus a few years back. looking forward future installments

Gary D.

[RG_]

GREAT idea, Adelina (to start a serial)! Thanks!

I'm sure that everyone will look forward to future installments.