What was left of the Barnsley estate rose into view at the hilltop. A full moon made the mansion skeletal, something from a grotesque animal more than remains of an antebellum home: a vision to match the story of its curse. A razor of wind cut across my fingers and kicked up leaves; I thought they might have been footsteps following behind me.
Moonbeams revealed a dwarfed boxwood maze that seemed to guard the entrance walkway. Winding through a rose-framed garden knot, the path to the front door was deliberately designed to slow the pace of anyone coming to