Be on your guard if you stay overnight at Kettlewood Estates. You won’t succumb only to the magnificent
view of the Chesapeake. Passions stir in
dark places, at the nexus of lust and pure evil. She’s not who or what you think she is, and
it won’t matter if you’re youthful, virile, in the twilight of your years, or dry to the bone;
if you’re a heterosexual male, you won’t escape her demonic wiles, the dark power of a sinister spirit. Poe once wrote that there’s nothing
more poetic than the death of a beautiful woman. Well, there’s nothing more beautiful than
this shrouded figure that glides through the air and lures foolish men to the flames of hell. But she’s no corpse; she’s not among the
“living dead.” She's not one of the many
ghosts from the Civil War that haunt this region—she’s much worse, a malevolent
force in the guise of a stunningly beautiful and irresistibly sensual woman.
Her face is pale as ash, with wanton eyes as black as coal, and dark streaks running
down her eyes—are these tears or Satan’s branding? Her long flaxen hair is almost as pale as her
face. Don’t follow her upstairs, lads. Fight the urge to kiss those dark lips, for
they’ll lead you straight to perdition where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. Leave
the state of Maryland if you have to, and never come back.
