Hollow manner was built in the late 1830’s by a young up and coming doctor and his wife. The doctor had high hopes for Maine, he had started up his own clinic in town and to his joy, his wife was expecting. Everything seemed to be working out as planned; he had built the house for his wife, a sturdy wrap around pouch to sit on in summer nights, or cold winter evenings with hot chocolate. It was perfect for a new, growing family. Six months later disaster hit the family, the doctor’s wife felt something wrong within her and when she looked down from cooking dinner, blood pooled on the floor, the baby had died. A year later after months of trying again, she had gotten pregnant, the celebrating was short lived however and she lost yet another baby.  Falling into a deep depression, she cried hysterically for weeks on end, until one night, after they had just finished cleaning up dinner, she excused herself and walked up to the attic. A lone rocking chair sat in the middle of the room, she walked towards it a long piece of rope held loosely between her fingers. She looped the rope around one of the attics beams and noosed it, before tying it tightly around her throat. She was in so much pain, stepping up onto the chair she felt it rick beneath her, but she kept her balance long enough to close her eyes, take a breath, and when she opened her eyes, there was the doctor standing in the doorway. With a whispered “I Love You” she kicked the chair, her last image was of her husband running towards her, and then her neck snapped.<br/><br/>Four years later, in the year 1840, a terrible outbreak swept through all of the United States, hitting Maine the hardest. The poor doctor, having been ravaged mad with grief, became a man changed. He no longer smiled, his face forever frozen in a mask of seriousness, sometimes bordering sinister. His patients would come in to see him and he would find clever ways to put them under so he could experiment on them. He turned very morbid and dark. Granted for all the suspicion, he was an excellent doctor and one the people trusted. So it was only natural for his house to be used as a quarantine house for the TB outbreak. Dozens flooded his since empty house, commandeering the living room, parlor, all four bedrooms, and even the basement. For the outbreak the doctor staffed around twelve people to help, one nurse in particular was hired for her amazing naivety and blind trust, while others were hired for reasons less than ethical. The young nurse, a blonde, followed every instruction, questioned nothing, not even when the patients seemed to get worse. She had no idea the experiments happening in the basement.<br/><br/>“Joanne….Please get me some hot water.” The doctor turned to her pointing up the stairs, the patient on the table trembled and coughed, blood dripped from the corners of their mouth.<br/><br/>“Yes Doctor.” She nodded and rushed up the stairs her white shoes clicking on the wooden floors. Walking into the kitchen she removed her mask and breathed, she knew she shouldn’t have but it was stuffy in the house and so full of illness, it was almost claustiphobic. Hurrying with the water she heated a bucket on the stove, placing her mask back on before returning to the basement.<br/><br/>When she arrived she noticed the silence first, it cut through you, next she noticed the doctor blood spattered all over his coat, finally the patient, eyes opened in horror, mouth red as blood slowly dripped from the corners, and a slice in their stomach. Clutching the bucket tighter, least she drop it, Joanne handed it to him. No words were spoken; she turned and went back up stairs, checking on the children.<br/><br/><br/>After the outbreak the people of the town grew wise of the doctor’s methods, he had killed more people than he had saved, and they wanted justice. The Doctor had died just as he had lived, the people mobbed his house, taking him to the basement and chaining him to his table. They took turns dismembering him.<br/><br/>Joanne died a few years later from TB; the exposure warred on her body through the years that she just started to deteriorate from the inside, leaving her bed ridden and coughing horribly, blood occasionally appearing in her handkerchief.   In life she had always been drawn to Hollow Manner in one form or another, in fact before dying alone she had visited the house, walked the now empty rooms, and wondered if it could have been different. Well at least one side of her thought that.<br/><br/>Now in death she haunts the house, still being drawn to the energy within, drawn to the memories of blood, pain, and suffering, and to the house itself, the beauty that hides a horrible beast.<br/>