I was born in the attic of Barkely Manor and it's where I continue to live today. I do live alone, well, actually Mouette, my pet skunks, lives with me, too, and now my new friend Bella - I found her hanging out in the attic rafters. Barkley Manor is the ancestral home of the Ghastly family; an ancient family whose roots date back to the early 1500's. Well, that's what the woman at the Ipswich library told me. She's one of the few people in town that speaks to me, so I'm taking her word for it. I have a wonderful collection of rocks, spiders, and dust...I'd love to show it off someday. If you're still interested in my story, I'll continue...
Living alone at Barkley Manor is rather interesting. The attic is filled with all kinds of furniture mostly dressers and armoires. It seems that all of the furniture was left here by one family member or another, although I have no idea who. When I was a child. I have a very foggy memory of someone feeding me, dressing me and generally taking care of me until I was about eight years old - after that I never saw them again. It was about that time I started finding food and other things on the staircase that leads into the attic where I live. This also stopped when I was about eighteen. I like to get outside occasionally - but I never seem to see anyone. I have my own entrance from the outside of the manor house that leads into the attic directly. Whenever I go out all of the windows are drawn and the doors are locked to the main part of the house. I do hear voices through the floorboards on occasion but have never seen anyone.
The dressers and armoires in the attic are filled with old clothes, hats and accessories. Some fit and look good on me, but most don’t. I found an old sewing machine under a sheet, which I taught myself to use. I now either alter or create new clothes from the pieces I find in the attic. I like to think of myself as a born designer. Sometimes walking through town I notice people staring at me. They must like the clothes I make. It’s funny but no one ever talks to me. I think it’s because they’re so in awe of my talents.
I'm not sure why no one speaks to me, but I do know that I have one good friend in town and that’s Mr. Mort. He’s the owner of Mort’s Mortuary. We met when I went in to apply for a position. I won’t get into that story now, but you can read my diary entry and find out the whole story. Let me put it this way, the position I ended up in is not what I had in mind. And it’s not what you’re thinking!As for the diary I spoke about, I found it in the drawer of one of the dressers when I was eight. There were only two entries in it. The first one was on the date of my birth, and the other on April 24, 1928. It read: “Happy Birthday Evangeline, We will never forget you! Love Mumsie and Dadums.” I still haven’t figured out who wrote them.