Sunshine Manor by Guylaine Spencer

Julie had been a professional house sitter for more than twenty years. Although she’d had a few scares in the course of her globe-trotting career, nothing had prepared her for Sunshine Manor.  

            Looking back, she probably should have done more research. All of her jobs came from word-of-mouth, and she had dozens of repeat customers: rich people who moved from one house to the other on a seasonal basis, or who spent several months a year sailing around or cruising Europe. Most of her postings were familiar to her at this point, so they didn’t require much investigation. She had relished the adventure of exploring different parts of the world for two decades, but recently the romance of exotic locations had been fading. Now that she’d built up a nest egg and was old enough to draw a government pension, she was pondering retirement and settling down in one spot.

            She had been mulling over Ida’s intriguing offer for a few weeks. In quiet moments, her brain would flick back to it. Ida was an old friend, now widowed, living in a big house alone. She had offered to share that home with roommates. The city was one that Julie knew well and liked. Two other women had agreed to move in, but Julie was dithering. She knew all of them, and thought they’d probably get along. They’d joked about being the Golden Girls. They could look after one another, be there for mutual support and community as they grew older. But after living solo for so long, Julie felt it was a risk. She feared something would go wrong. What if they ended up as enemies?

At least there was no need to make up her mind just yet. Ida had told her not to rush; it was a big decision. In the meantime, Julie had agreed to take on a shorter-than-usual assignment with a brand-new client. The family had been referred by one of her long-time customers, though, so she took it on faith that the job and the setting would be similar. The fact that the home was a condo was a bit unusual, but more people were opting for condos instead of houses as second homes these days.

            Of course, the new client sent photographs of Sunshine Manor. The condo development looked like a Victorian country mansion: mid-19^th century, stone and brick, multiple stories, and a picturesque tower. A lawn with benches. A garden with a gazebo. A pond with fish. But it was only after she arrived on site that she realized the snapshots had been seriously cropped, leaving out most of the sprawling mass. When her taxi passed through the ornate wrought-iron gates and up the laneway to the building, she gasped at the size of the place.

            No, it definitely hadn’t been a country manor. Not a family home at all.

            “Do you know what this place was before its conversion to condos?” she asked the driver.

            “The mental asylum, ma’am.” He grunted. “I guess these days you’d call it a psychiatric hospital. Although I’m not even sure we have them anymore. We just dump the mentally ill on the streets, right? Or the city parks? And call it freedom and dignity?” He snorted. It was clearly a sore spot for him. In driving through the town from the airport, Julie had noticed people lying against empty storefronts or weaving up and down the sidewalks. One man walked into the road and began yelling and swearing at drivers. He thumped the taxi’s window with both fists as they drove off after waiting for the light to change.

            The noise and the violence had shaken Julie. Even now, ten minutes later, in the calm of the car, she still had goosebumps on her forearms. Okay, there was no reason to be afraid of the condo building, right? It wasn’t as if patients were still roaming the hallways. They were long gone: dead, or “dumped” as the driver said. Sunshine Manor was just a home for the well-heeled now. A gated community. The taxi driver had stopped at the entry and had to buzz to be let in. Be open-minded, Julie. Be curious. And calm. Don’t let your imagination run wild.

            Later that evening, after she’d unpacked, ordered grocery delivery and sent a quick text to the owners confirming she’d arrived, Julie decided to do some research online. The asylum had been built in 1858. The philanthropist and founder expressed the reasoning behind her generosity: “My hope and dream was to provide a refuge for those who could not be cared for at home by their families; to create a quiet asylum for them; and by good treatment and medical aid, to restore some of these unfortunate persons to society.”

Julie kept digging online and found annual reports from government inspectors. One document from 1869 explained that the building had 390 in residence at the time and that didn’t include staff. The asylum had its own sick ward, on-site doctor and nurses. Therapy included balls, concerts, theatricals and other special entertainments, singing and other classes, religious services, readings and outdoor games. Everyone was encouraged to take exercise in the grounds. About three quarters of the residents worked either on the asylum farm or in the kitchen, laundry or sewing room.

Julie found details of how the building had expanded over the decades, and how it finally closed and fell into disrepair. For several years, it was vandalized and victimized by copper thieves and curiosity-seekers. Rumours grew that the building was haunted. Paranormal investigators claimed to have recorded the sounds of ghostly footsteps when the place was otherwise empty.

After hours online, Julie went to bed the first night, exhausted. She thought again of Ida’s offer, weighing the pros and cons, the possible rewards and risks. Unable to reach a conclusion, she soon gave up and fell asleep.

The next morning, she awoke to hear a woman crying. A neighbour, she thought. Her heart went out to the poor soul. She sat up, listening. She thought it was coming from the unit upstairs, until she recalled she was on the top floor. But noises coming from below often felt like that. It had something to do with how sound travelled through the pipes. As she listened to the weeping, she was overcome by a sense of dread.

She got up and went to the couch in the living room to do her morning meditation. Focusing on her breath, she let thoughts and feelings float up freely. She tried to let the feelings go but grew frustrated as they came back even stronger. It felt like a small hand was pressing on her sternum. Finally, she stopped the meditation app on her phone, got up and grabbed a granola bar, and went outside to explore the gated grounds.

As soon as she stepped outside, the pressure on her breast bone disappeared. Was it the air? Maybe the ventilation was poor.

After a walk about the grounds, she treated herself to lunch at the on-site café on the ground floor. She chatted briefly with one of the other residents, but kept the topic neutral. No need to add any fuel to the fire of her fear.

She spent a quiet, if somewhat anxious, evening in the condo before turning in early.

When she woke the next day, the room was silent. As she stood in the shower, though, a wave of depression hit her. She couldn’t pinpoint its source, but when she tried to meditate again, she felt worse. The small pressure on her sternum returned.

After breakfast, which she forced herself to eat, she ventured out to the grounds. Once again, within seconds, her mood began to lift, and the pain in her chest faded away. She attributed the mood improvement to being in touch with nature.

The next morning, the crying returned, and with it a deep feeling of dread. Julie left the building and considered going downtown but her memory of the man thumping on the cab made her anxious. No, she’d stay on the grounds, maybe take lunch in the gazebo. Do some light reading. A novel whisked her away to a different time and place, and within a couple of hours, when she stopped for something to eat, she realized she was no longer as depressed. There was still a lingering feeling there, but nothing too heavy. Maybe her neighbour’s crying had spilled over into her mind. Moods could be contagious, she’d read once … but through brick walls? From someone you didn’t know?

She wondered who the woman was and why she was crying. Of course, she knew better than to go and knock on a stranger’s door and ask.

She went to bed early again, but around three in the morning, she awoke. Her sternum began complaining again. What was this weight on her chest? It couldn’t be a heart attack or a stroke, could it? She sat up.

Just as she was considering whether or not to call the emergency line, lightning struck, and against the window, the dusky outline of a woman in a long nightgown appeared. The flash stopped and the woman was gone, but a soft sobbing began.  

Was she having a nightmare? Or was she awake and having delusions? Oddly, Julie felt less frightened than worried.

Not quite believing what she was doing, she decided to speak to the weeping voice.

“I hear you,” she said. “I see you.”

Immediately, the crying ceased. The small hand pressing on her chest lifted. She took a deep breath and relief washed over her as she breathed out. She lay back down again. I won’t sleep now, she thought.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up and sunlight was filling the bedroom. The clock on the wall said it was noon. She must have fallen asleep instantly … and slept eight hours.

She got up and went to the bathroom to wash up. She did a quick scan of her body and her mind, as if checking for injuries. Nothing. There was no pain anywhere, physical or mental. She went into the living room and did a ten-minute meditation. No fears came up, just a peaceful, hopeful feeling.

She was famished. After cooking and eating some pancakes, she went out for a walk. This time, she left the grounds, and walked around the neighbourhood. Then she walked all the way downtown.

At one point, as she was approaching an intersection, a barefoot and shirtless young man came spinning around the corner, arms outstretched, eyes closed, and almost ran right into her. She had to jump over to the very edge of the sidewalk, without falling into the roadway traffic, to avoid getting hit by his flailing fist. Once passed, she took a deep breath and a sign of relief that she’d dodged harm – this time. She wondered where the man lived, if he was getting any help, but guessed that the answers were: nowhere and none.

Shaken, she acknowledged her fear but was determined that it wouldn’t overcome her. Head held high, she went into some shops, bought a few books, chatted with the bookseller, and returned home for lunch.  

The condo was silent, and a feeling of peace filled the space.

She dialled Ida’s number. After catching up on her friend’s news, she delivered her decision. “I’ve been thinking … and yes! I’d like to move in with you when this assignment is over—if you’ll still have me.”