Tales of Greybriar House

June 21, 1854 – Charleston, South Carolina  

I am deeply disturbed by the case of the Greybriar family. I must write this quick before something awful, too, happens to me.

After Commissioner Peterson’s abrupt retirement last week, I have since assumed the role of head of Charleston Police. It is a difficult but rewarding job I have been wanting for a long time; however, I have also inherited the troubling case of Miriam Greybriars’ death and have begun to rethink my life in Charleston.

It was thought Miriam Greybriar perished due to an infection, but numerous rumors in the year since her death have led my officers to believe otherwise.

Yesterday, I began questioning members of the Greybriar staff if they had seen anything strange or knew of anything peculiar regarding Mrs. Greybriars’ death. Like expected, most mentioned the strained relationship we had heard about between Hiram and Miriam due to their son Isaac.

I was almost ready to charge Mr. Greybriar with murder until I questioned Mrs. Greybriars’ former personal maid this morning.

Margaret Morris was the first and only staff I questioned today. Since her lady’s death, Ms. Morris has been working for the Wilmington’s across town, and becuase our discussion, I now know the truth behind Miriam Greybriars’ death and have reason to believe the family themselves are more than meets the eye.

Everything started off normal. Ms. Morris answered my questions about the family and their relationships, but the moment I brought up Mrs. Greybriars’ death, she fell apart.

Tears ran down her face as she confessed to poisoning her with arsenic. I was surprised by the sudden confession and asked why she was admitting her crime.

Ms. Morris replied that Miriam Greybriar has been haunting her ever since and felt her confession might end her suffering. “They’re demons!” she cried. “Demons! The entire house is filled with dark secrets. I couldn’t take it! It was my only way out!”

The emotion and news stunned me.  A lot of strange incidents had been reported on the property, but this was Charleston. Everyone joked about it being haunted.

Before I could ask her to elaborate, Ms. Morris paled and froze.

“She’s here,” I heard her whisper.

I looked to Lieutenant Johnson who was watching behind me, hoping to see he was understanding what was going on, when my heart stopped.

For a moment I thought I had imagined it. There was no way this could be, but I knew what I saw. Behind him stood the unmistakable, ghostly figure of Miriam Greybriar.

I could not move or think, and in the split second of my hesitation, the candles illuminating the room instantly blew out.  I could hear footsteps walking towards me, and every hair on my body raised after a sudden gust of cold air. There were five seconds of dark panic before the candles relit themselves and the room became bright again.

Heart racing, I looked back to where I saw Mrs. Greybriar, but she was gone. I turned back to Ms. Morris only to find her limp in the chair, a red slit across her throat.

Johnson and I did not know what happened. We could only look at each other and the dead body of Margaret Morris in silence.

I am so traumatized by today’s events that I have begun to consider retiring and moving out of town.  If what I saw today was real and if the Greybriars are demonic and cursed like I believe, I have no intention of seeing them or staying in Charleston any longer. I can only wonder what horrific secrets Commissioner Peterson uncovered before me and cannot help but think this is why he reigned in the first place.

I must leave before something happens to me as well. If this is the last thing I ever write, heed my advice:

If you value your life, stay away from the Greybriar house. It will only bring you pain and suffering.

                                                                                                                 Wilhelm Hays

Police Commissioner of Charleston