Collinwood

Three years had passed since Barnabas Collins had passed away. Things were happier in the great house of Collinwood.

David and Hallie were actually getting along pretty well. Roger Collins decided to retire again, but not before he had sent his son and daughter-in-law on a cruise for a few weeks. Both had protested, but Roger wouldn’t be denied. He had decided that after they returned, it was time for some travel of his own and he flew off to Hawaii for a couple of months.

Hallie had tried to get the Old House for David, but David finally told her to stop. Instead, they decided it would go to Carolyn and Willie. If they wanted, after Willie’s and Hiro’s renovations were done, they could move in. Hiro was still there. Willie wanted to pay him for his work, but Hiro refused. Said he had his own funds and didn’t need the pay. The two of them worked on the old mansion together and continued to be the best of friends.

Night had fallen as Carolyn sat in the drawing room with her aching feet up. Mrs. Johnson had been through the room, dusting and cleaning. Carolyn was relieved when the woman left her alone and closed the door. She shut her eyes, not sleeping, but resting them and meditating deeply.

It was lonely in the old mansion. Mrs. Johnson and the other staff members weren’t much company. It was cold outside and though the fireplace was full of blazing wood, it was cold inside too. With her eyes closed, she shivered. An afghan lay to her left and she put her feet up on the sofa and covered herself. Soon, she drifted off into slumber.

Harry Johnson’s wife made her way out into the foyer to dust. She paused, as she always did, when she came to the old portrait of the original Barnabas Collins. It seemed to stare at her. It always made her feel uneasy. That old Barnabas, she had long-ago surmised, was not nearly the kind gentleman his descendant had been. The portrait showed such a dour man, whereas the Barnabas she had met was kind and happy.

She continued around the room, dusting the table and the old grandfather clock. It was getting late, ten o’clock about. She could stop anytime with her cleaning, but once she got going, it was hard to get her to stop. Harry would already be in bed, waiting for her, but she just couldn’t bring herself to quit until she had completed dusting–that much less to do the next day, she figured.

She was just about to enter the study to dust in there when someone lifted the large knocker on the front door and knocked four times.

“Who could be calling at this hour?” she thought to herself.

Putting her feather duster down on the table, she went over to the front door and opened it.

There, out in the dark, stood a large man, his features obscured by the shadows. Behind him stood a blonde-haired woman. The woman’s head was lowered.

“Is Mrs. Loomis at home?” came a question in an elegant, deep voice.

“Whom may I say is calling?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

“Tell her it is her Cousin Barnabas, from England, and his wife, Angelique. I would like to talk to her about my father’s estate.”

Here, the man stepped forward. Mrs. Johnson’s mouth dropped in surprise. The man that stood before her was just like the man in the portrait.