When we were kids, there was, what we considered, an archeological ruin less than a mile from our street. We called it Stanley Mansion.

We would walk along the main road from our house to the public elementary school. Behind the school was a large wooded area consisting of several trails. The tree-lined paths connected two distinct ruins built of stones. The forest had laid claim to each of the buildings in varying degrees.

One of the old structures was so overgrown with brush and small trees we usually had trouble finding it at all. But if you looked in the right places, you could see a stone foundation complete with window wells rising a foot or two above the foliage. The second building was more intact. Portions of its stone walls were well above my head, although I was only about seven years old at the time! Even a few wooden joists were still in place. The structure boasted a large central chimney with a big open hearth. Not far from the first building was a ginkgo tree. Originally from China, it was not native to the northeast United States. The original owner of the property, wealthy business tycoon - Alix Welch Stanley, probably had it imported as an embellishment to the gardens and overall landscape design.

As adventurous kids, we found the place to be an enchanting escape from the realities of school and home. Although the ruins may not have been nearly as old as we might have imagined - we often envisioned the inhabitants to be early settlers, fending off Indians, it was a great place to hang out and bum around. After all, we were not only adventurous but mischievous as well.

One sunny spring Saturday, my older brother and I and a couple of the neighborhood kids decided to go to Stanley Mansion. We had a great time exploring the ruins and searching for artifacts. Our inquisitive side wondered just how big the first house of the two ruins was. Although mostly covered by trees and bushes, we determined it was much larger than expected upon close examination. We decided it must have been the principal residence. As for finding artifacts, all we ever discovered were a few rusty old beer cans.

Later, we were poking around the smaller house - scaling the walls and chimney. One of us was balancing on one of the few remaining floor joists. The floor itself was gone. I had just climbed from what once was the basement to the fireplace hearth when suddenly I felt something strike me in the back of my head – a rusty old beer can! I quickly turned in the direction it came, only to see my friend with a conniving grin on his face. I only felt a slight sting. But moments later, I touched the back of my head, checking for any swelling. My hand was soaking wet. When I saw it covered with blood, I let out a horrid scream.

Story and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2021 by Michael DeFrancesco