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The Lady of Hillcrest Manor
Pride and dignity. To Miss Patricia Appleton, those qualities defined a woman. In the designer clothes she wore, in the proud, aloof look she gave the world, she was the very image of a dignified lady.

Patricia was descended from an old, storied New England family. The current recession, however, had dealt her a cruel blow. Forced to sell her Manhattan penthouse at a loss, she had no choice but to move to Hillcrest, the ancient, decaying family manor in the Berkshire Hills of western Massachusetts. Along with her maid Dorothy, she determined to ride out this latest reversal of fortune with, of course, pride and dignity.

The lady had just turned thirty, but that was a well-kept secret. She had briefly tried marriage, to a Saltonstall of Boston even, but found it disagreeable. To Patricia, men were, on the whole, coarse and not very bright. Like bubble gum, they soon lost their flavor. Worst of all, it was impossible for Patricia to feel dignified and ladylike while lying flat on her back with a hot, perspiring man atop her.

So it was that she had become a confirmed bachelorette. On a brisk autumn morning, she and Dorothy arrived at Hillcrest Manor. After the movers had brought in their furniture, the maid then set to work dusting and mopping. Toward the end of the day, Patricia invited a distant cousin for dinner. Dorothy commenced preparing the elegant meal expected by people of Patricia's social class.

The lady herself took a shower and began to dress for dinner. She had just put on a silk slip, trimmed in lace. Quite suddenly Patricia noticed a chilling of the room, a coldness that seemed to seep into her bones. "Oh dear," she murmured, closing a casement window that was slightly open.

She returned to her dresser, touching the ends of her perfectly coiffed auburn hair; then, leaned forward and began to apply her lipstick. Without warning, Patricia's derriere was slapped with such force that she nearly lost her balance. Along with the sharp sound of the smack came stinging hot pain that spread throughout her buttocks.

"Ooh!" she yelped. There could be no question. Someone had hauled back and smacked her bottom.

Patricia whirled around, but was quite alone in the room. She ran to the door and looked down the hallway. Again, no one. She continued on to the head of the stairs, now realizing that there was not the least sound in the house. It was as still as a tomb.

"Dorothy!" she called out.

Her fifty-something maid soon appeared, wearing a black and white uniform which, combined with her pasty skin and salt-and-pepper hair, rendered her entirely without color. "Yes Miss Appleton?" she said, surprised to see her mistress only partially dressed.

"Who else is in this house?" asked Patricia.

"Why, no one, just you and myself."

"Are you certain?"

"Oh, for sure. The movers left an hour ago. It's been so quiet since then; creepy almost."