Duxford Airfield (the band) Pt. 05 by ThickAsThieves,ThickAsThieves

…Walking toward the staircases now, it felt as though it took us a whole minute and a half to cross the empty foyer past the piano and long-dormant water fountain, which had been painted an aqua green within its reservoir, and was in fact empty. The fountain had two marble, three-foot-high, angels within its center which were quite erotic and kissing passionately.

The fountain stank horribly of bird droppings…

“I’ll bet that most of these birds were born inside this house and have never been outside,” Andrea said.

“They must have some source of food, probably rats. Either that, or there’s an open food celler here,” Helen replied.

“We’ll be able to smell it; if there is,” Kendall said.

…Walking further, we discovered that the west-wing marble staircase itself was adorned with more elaborate scrollwork along its hand-railing and also the steps themselves. Climbing the huge marble staircase felt like taking a journey back into time itself, it was eerie to ponder who may have climbed or descended these very stairs, a hundred years ago…

Reaching the top of the staircase, I looked down a long and foreboding hallway which was the width and length of a neighborhood street. I suddenly comprehended that the front of the house, where the foyer stood, was only the beginning of the massive house. I now realized that the layout of the house was shaped like an upper-case “T” and we’d only been just inside the entryway, or top portion of the “T” itself.

All along this floor, close to the foyer, were wooden benches with ornate iron frames and large white porcelain pots that had once held exotic plants. As with everything else in the house, the porcelain pots were ornately engraved with more intricate scrollwork.

…Looking down the massive hallway again, it appeared to go on for an entire city block or more, it was hundreds of yards long, trailing off into the darkness of the far reaches of vision with only a dim shaft of light shining at the very far end of the hallway. The light probably coming in through a window or another skylight I suspected. It was no exaggeration to say that I could easily pull a set of full-size double trailers, with the Peterbilt, down the long hallway. My thirteen-foot exhaust stacks would have cleared the ceiling with ease…

I also saw a hundred or more of the gold-plated doorknobs decorating rows of closed doors that neatly lined each side of the hallway. Each of the doors seemed to be fitted with a gold latch plate and a keyhole for another one of the massive keys. More of the green rug carpet lay within the center section of the long hallway, over what appeared to be yet more marble flooring. The green rug carpet reminded me of a paved highway along a desolate route running through the Mohave desert, it seemed endless.

Intricate scrollwork also lined the edges of the marble ceiling and wall paneling here as well. Other than a slight degree of dust and minute amounts of peeling paint, the hallway looked like it could have been in use last week.

I now looked at the hallway’s panel of light switches, there were probably two dozen of these switches within the gold-plated panel. These antiquated porcelain light switches moved in and out, with one switch for “on” and another switch below, for “off”.

…I pushed one of the antiquated light switches on the hallway’s wall panel while simultaneously watching the overhead light fixtures above me but nothing happened, as I’d expected. The porcelain switch had a solid sound and feel to it with an audible clicking sound echoing within the vast space of the house all around us. In a way, the lonely sound of the switch itself was a bit discomforting…

“Even the gold light panel itself; has scrollwork,” I said incredulously with a shake of my head.

“I believe it,” Kendall said looking at the panel.

The whole house had a surreal feel to it, almost as if a person were exploring Ceasars Palace after the fall of the Roman empire. A person expected to see live people in a house but there were none here, only the faint echoes of ghosts from long, long ago.

…My God” Andrea said in awe, grasping my arm and drinking in the massive size and grandeur of the house as she gazed out onto the foyer once again.

“Where do we even start? The house goes on forever…” Helen marveled in awe.

Helen now had ahold of my other arm as she ran a hand through her hair and just gaped at the long hallway in disbelief.

I turned and looked down into the massive empty foyer again, shafts of early afternoon sunlight were now streaming onto the grand piano and vacant dancefloor, bathing everything within a strange yellow light. The long shadows seemed to present everything with an even more mysterious and haunting look. As before, one could almost see the ghosts of society’s elite, dressed in Victorian attire as they danced to music that had been composed before or during the Civil War.

It almost seemed as if they’d only left, hours ago…

For the next hour, the ladies and I just explored this second-floor balcony yet we never strayed too far from the seeming safety of the foyer’s rays of sunlight. We discovered a huge chapel that appeared to be Evangelical; with more elaborate stained glasswork. A long-dormant U.S. Post Office was also on this floor along with a telegraph office and barbershop. Along with an ancient dark room, for developing photographs, there were also several large leather chairs for shining shoes and a men’s lounge, complete with six huge billiard tables covered with yellowing dusty sheets. There was what appeared to be a board room with around forty chairs, a long table, and a chalkboard at the front of the large room. As with the rest of the house, everything was ship-shape, orderly, and immaculately clean.

Looking out the bank of windows from within the boardroom, I could look down into the driveway and see the yellow pick-up truck, U1693. It didn’t take much imagination to envision dozens of black horse-drawn buggies lining both sides of the driveway during some party or function held at the house. Later within the century, the buggies would have been replaced by Duesenbergs, Pierce-Arrows, and Rolls-Royce automobiles.

As opulent as the house was, it also had a sterile and impersonal feeling to it, much like a large office building. There were no personalized novelties or photographs anywhere except for the girl’s portraiture above the mantle, downstairs. There was nothing, anywhere within the house, to indicate the actual touch of an individual person. – A grandchild’s drawing would never adorne these sterile walls.

“Nothing grows here” suddenly seemed to run through my mind.

Even the wastebaskets were empty…

…Glancing down again at the hearth, it almost appeared as if the girl within the tintype portraiture had followed us up the staircase with her eyes and was now intently staring at us, demanding to know what we were doing inside her house. I could almost feel her angry eyes upon me, it seemed…

“…Holy fuck, this place is spooky,” I suddenly said, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

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