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I volunteered to clear out the estate of a wealthy dead man. What I found was... pretty odd (Part 1) (by Sparky)
I volunteered to clear out the estate of a wealthy dead man. What I found was... pretty odd (Part 1).
John Milton Belle died on February 10th, 2019.
Everybody knew it was coming. The guy was 97 years old, for god's sake. He couldn't even get out of bed in the morning without the assistance of three- count 'em, three, caretakers.
He had an undeniably good life, though. Go ahead and close out of this post to read up on Belle's life story on Wikipedia, or something. If you don't have the time or patience for that, I can give you the basic rundown.
Belle was born on February 2nd, 1922 (2/2/22, heh) to a poor family of French immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island in New York City, the land of dreams for so many back then. His mom and dad came into town with a combined bank account amounting to 37 dollars and 4 cents. And with just that, Belle grew into a fabulously rich man by developing some rather ingenious business schemes that would take an entire novel to explain. But they were good.
All of that, plus a wealthy lifestyle, plus the fact that he never married, leaving zero descendants to carry on the Belle legacy and fortune.
So, why do I tell you all of this?
Well, a close friend of mine, Vince, worked as a caretaker for John Belle in his last days.
That didn't mean much up until the recent past, though. Most of the time he'd just use me as his complaint machine to talk about how hard it was to feed Belle his breakfast, or what a pain it was to give Belle a shower when he could barely stand up to save his life.
Vince is a good guy, though, I swear. It's just that taking care of a guy well into his late nineties took quite the emotional toll on him.
That emotional toll running out often led to long phone calls or rants about how weird Belle was, as well. I remember a particular string of text messages that Vince blasted at me in a barrage of angry words and rather colorful terms. I'll copy+paste what Vince told me that night.
Sun, Dec 23, 11:14 PM
Vince: That ****ing old man is getting on my last nerve. Apparently he decided to **** his goddamn pants first thing in the morning, so Mike and I got dispatched to the Belle estate to wipe the literal **** from his pants and the floors. My hands still smell even after a million layers of soap and cold water
Me: I think you should get some rest man. If it's really getting to you that badly then talk to your boss
Vince: I have like a thousand ****ing times. And he just says to keep getting through it until it's all over. Not many people get to the point of 90, much less 90-****ing-6. I guarantee you that Belle's gonna kick the bucket one of these days
Me: Don't say that. Also, I agree with your boss. At least you get money out of it
Vince: Money that smells like actual ****ing ****
Me: Har har har. Look, I've gotta go to bed man. I'm really tired and have work in the morning
Vince: Did I tell you about what Belle said to me today?
Me: No why?
Vince: Idk it's probably just some weird ramblings from a bat**** old man but it's been on my mind all day
Me: Lay it on me dude
Vince: After I got done with all of the cleanup work from earlier that morning, Belle started going off to me and Mike about something he referred to as the "Red Man" whatever the **** that means.
Me: What did he say about the Red Man?
Vince: He just repeated "Red Man comes at night" like five goddamn times before drifting off to sleep or whatever. Creepy ****
The texts from this point don't really mean much. I said my good nights to Vince, and him to me.
I will admit that the "Red Man" did bother me a bit that night, but the subject was quickly forgotten about the next day when my supervisor dropped a truckload of workplace harassment 'suits on my desk the next day for me to file and refer to higher powers (human resources at a corporate office is fun, kids).
Anyways, when Vince's prediction of Belle knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door came true two months after that text conversation, I was pretty surprised to learn that the company who was employed to take care of Belle in his last days was looking to hire freelance volunteers to come over to Belle's expansive, upstate NY estate and help clean out all of the weird stuff he kept around his residence.
A public auction was even in consideration, according to the website where I planned to submit my application for coming over to assist in this task.
Vince, however, as an employee of Lansing Medical Care, contacted his boss and allowed me to come in survey-free due to my relationship with Vince. Perks of the job, I suppose.
I pulled up to the Belle estate on the evening of Valentine's Day. Clouds filled the sky and blocked out the sun, creating a dreary atmosphere around the Belle estate and its surrounding forestry. Thankfully, I hadn't arrived too soon or too late in this endeavor; a few pickup trucks and old sedans sat idle in the concrete lot expanding out in front of the manor.
A creaky black gate opened to allow my less-than-stellar '98 Civic onto the property, where I joined several cars much nicer than my own. Vince's vehicle wasn't too far from where I parked.
Stepping out of my car, cold air hit my face, and a few leaves fluttered down from the trees above, rolling across the pavement and past my shoes. Time to go see what John Belle had in store for us.
To my immediate surprise, the mansion was bustling with a good number of people. A small group of men who looked like they probably owned the Silverados and F-150s back outside passed by me almost as soon as I walked in. A few were even carrying cardboard boxes with lots of expensive-looking, shiny stuff in it. I then took my first real step into the mansion.
A portrait of Belle hung above the grand staircase in the center of the manor's primary room. The old Gothic stereotypes were just building up by the minute with this place. To be honest, the oversized structure of it all intimidated me. I was a stranger in a strange land.
That was until I saw Vince approaching me with a large cardboard box marked "GLASSWARE" in black Sharpie. A few spare items mindlessly clinked around as he set the box down and grabbed my hand to act out the strange little handshake we've been perfecting since middle school.
"Welcome to the Belle estate," Vince said to me dryly. I could tell he wasn't all too thrilled to be here after spending weeks wiping the floors clean of numerous human bodily fluids, among other things.
I panned my eyes around the place. Some peoples' voices echoed out from other rooms. That's how big this place was, and it was just the first floor. I couldn't imagine the other two.
"Doesn't feel too welcoming," I replied to Vince as he picked up the glassware box again, and we began walking towards what appeared to be a vacant dining room.
Vince placed the box down on the ornate wooden table that was decorated with plenty of medieval-era adornments. I'm talking royal blue sheets running across from end-to-end like a king's feasting room.
"I'll tell you one thing," Vince continued to me as he slammed the glassware box on the table with much heavier force this time. "I do not want to be here. Not now, or ever again." Turns out that my suspicions were confirmed. "Let's just get this over with. Get a box, pack whatever **** you want in it, and the U-Haul boys'll be here in about a week to get it all sorted out."
"Then what?" I asked, wondering what would happen to all of Belle's abandoned belongings.
"Storage center in Rochester. That's what." Vince chuckled as he lifted the box up, heaving from the effort.
Then, I was left to my own devices. I couldn't be too mad at Vince, honestly. He had a job to do here.
And so did I.
I copped a medium-sized cardboard box from a pile stacked near the front doors and began inspecting the bottom floor of the Belle estate from top to bottom, picking out whatever seemed most valuable to put in storage. An unopened set of forks, spoons, and knives given to Belle as a half-hearted birthday gift? Nope. A small African tribal statue that was incredibly authentic and worth a ton on the collectibles market? Hell yes.
By 7:00 PM, only a few of us were left to gather up our items and come back in the next few days to repeat this process. My personal box of objects was already stacked to the brim with miscellaneous stuff like fancy candles, a framed, autographed photo of Sean Connery on the set of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and a book I've never heard of called Lessons on the Cryptid: A Guide by Marcus Richards from 1981.
The last most interesting find of the day, however, came when I finally ascended to the second floor of the Belle estate. I was the only one up there, while Vince and whatever stragglers remained here were downstairs, so it was pretty lonesome.
And creepy.
The first room I entered on floor two was one of (presumably) many bedrooms in the mansion. This one was some kind of guest bedroom. Nothing too special was to be found in here. The bedsheets and wallpaper were, however, a badly-aged product of the early 1970s, so I got a mild kick out of that.
The bedstand is where things got interesting. Aside from a lamp and a King James Holy Bible resting on the short wooden structure, a statuette not dissimilar to the African tribal figurine (although clearly quite a bit larger) I found earlier was present.
I can't really describe this thing in words, honestly.
The effigy was a dark shade of maroon, and the closest thing I can liken its bodily structure to is a Russian nesting doll. Its face was also rather unpleasant to look at, teeth gritted and yellow eyes wide open to attack. Darth Maul on crack is what my mind conjured up the moment I looked at it closely.
I picked Crackhead Darth Maul up, and held the thing in my hand for a few moments. It was light, and felt hollow at first inspection.
Putting the object back down on the bedstand is when I heard a small noise coming from within it. It sounded like sand or ashes seeping through someone's fingertips. There was something inside of this statue.
I picked it back up and placed it in my box, right at the very bottom. I knew I wouldn't be able to just waltz out of the place with this weird little guy in my hands, so I had to hide it with no other options available.
I headed back downstairs and placed my box with the others that everybody else had gathered up to take back a few days from now and continue their endeavors. Vince, who held the keys to the estate, was just beginning to lock up.
"Jay!" he exclaimed as he fumbled for the keyring in his pocket. "You're just in the nick of time. I was about to close up shop."
I laughed and patted him on the back. "Glad you didn't. This place is..." I took another look around. "Creepy," I finalized. Vince nodded his head carelessly and threw some keys over the ring until coming across the right one.
"Well, time to go," he said.
"Yeah," I replied. We both exited out of the front doors as the last pickup truck pulled out of the parking lot and sped off towards the main roads. All that was left now was my Civic and Vince's shiny new WRX.
Having our brief goodbyes, Vince drove off first. I wanted to take in what this place was really like when one was alone, even if I was outside and not actually in the estate.
I couldn't really take that feeling anymore, though. It was just too eerie. So I left without trouble and headed back home.
Work has me swamped for the next few days, (Mark Forrester, an a-hole salesman at the office I work at, made some rather uncalled-for comments during a meeting) so, lucky me. I plan on returning to the Belle estate when I can to inspect the maroon statue and see what exactly resides within it. Probably within the next couple of days.
Expect updates on this soon.
Source.
John Milton Belle died on February 10th, 2019.
Everybody knew it was coming. The guy was 97 years old, for god's sake. He couldn't even get out of bed in the morning without the assistance of three- count 'em, three, caretakers.
He had an undeniably good life, though. Go ahead and close out of this post to read up on Belle's life story on Wikipedia, or something. If you don't have the time or patience for that, I can give you the basic rundown.
Belle was born on February 2nd, 1922 (2/2/22, heh) to a poor family of French immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island in New York City, the land of dreams for so many back then. His mom and dad came into town with a combined bank account amounting to 37 dollars and 4 cents. And with just that, Belle grew into a fabulously rich man by developing some rather ingenious business schemes that would take an entire novel to explain. But they were good.
All of that, plus a wealthy lifestyle, plus the fact that he never married, leaving zero descendants to carry on the Belle legacy and fortune.
So, why do I tell you all of this?
Well, a close friend of mine, Vince, worked as a caretaker for John Belle in his last days.
That didn't mean much up until the recent past, though. Most of the time he'd just use me as his complaint machine to talk about how hard it was to feed Belle his breakfast, or what a pain it was to give Belle a shower when he could barely stand up to save his life.
Vince is a good guy, though, I swear. It's just that taking care of a guy well into his late nineties took quite the emotional toll on him.
That emotional toll running out often led to long phone calls or rants about how weird Belle was, as well. I remember a particular string of text messages that Vince blasted at me in a barrage of angry words and rather colorful terms. I'll copy+paste what Vince told me that night.
Sun, Dec 23, 11:14 PM
Vince: That ****ing old man is getting on my last nerve. Apparently he decided to **** his goddamn pants first thing in the morning, so Mike and I got dispatched to the Belle estate to wipe the literal **** from his pants and the floors. My hands still smell even after a million layers of soap and cold water
Me: I think you should get some rest man. If it's really getting to you that badly then talk to your boss
Vince: I have like a thousand ****ing times. And he just says to keep getting through it until it's all over. Not many people get to the point of 90, much less 90-****ing-6. I guarantee you that Belle's gonna kick the bucket one of these days
Me: Don't say that. Also, I agree with your boss. At least you get money out of it
Vince: Money that smells like actual ****ing ****
Me: Har har har. Look, I've gotta go to bed man. I'm really tired and have work in the morning
Vince: Did I tell you about what Belle said to me today?
Me: No why?
Vince: Idk it's probably just some weird ramblings from a bat**** old man but it's been on my mind all day
Me: Lay it on me dude
Vince: After I got done with all of the cleanup work from earlier that morning, Belle started going off to me and Mike about something he referred to as the "Red Man" whatever the **** that means.
Me: What did he say about the Red Man?
Vince: He just repeated "Red Man comes at night" like five goddamn times before drifting off to sleep or whatever. Creepy ****
The texts from this point don't really mean much. I said my good nights to Vince, and him to me.
I will admit that the "Red Man" did bother me a bit that night, but the subject was quickly forgotten about the next day when my supervisor dropped a truckload of workplace harassment 'suits on my desk the next day for me to file and refer to higher powers (human resources at a corporate office is fun, kids).
Anyways, when Vince's prediction of Belle knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door came true two months after that text conversation, I was pretty surprised to learn that the company who was employed to take care of Belle in his last days was looking to hire freelance volunteers to come over to Belle's expansive, upstate NY estate and help clean out all of the weird stuff he kept around his residence.
A public auction was even in consideration, according to the website where I planned to submit my application for coming over to assist in this task.
Vince, however, as an employee of Lansing Medical Care, contacted his boss and allowed me to come in survey-free due to my relationship with Vince. Perks of the job, I suppose.
I pulled up to the Belle estate on the evening of Valentine's Day. Clouds filled the sky and blocked out the sun, creating a dreary atmosphere around the Belle estate and its surrounding forestry. Thankfully, I hadn't arrived too soon or too late in this endeavor; a few pickup trucks and old sedans sat idle in the concrete lot expanding out in front of the manor.
A creaky black gate opened to allow my less-than-stellar '98 Civic onto the property, where I joined several cars much nicer than my own. Vince's vehicle wasn't too far from where I parked.
Stepping out of my car, cold air hit my face, and a few leaves fluttered down from the trees above, rolling across the pavement and past my shoes. Time to go see what John Belle had in store for us.
To my immediate surprise, the mansion was bustling with a good number of people. A small group of men who looked like they probably owned the Silverados and F-150s back outside passed by me almost as soon as I walked in. A few were even carrying cardboard boxes with lots of expensive-looking, shiny stuff in it. I then took my first real step into the mansion.
A portrait of Belle hung above the grand staircase in the center of the manor's primary room. The old Gothic stereotypes were just building up by the minute with this place. To be honest, the oversized structure of it all intimidated me. I was a stranger in a strange land.
That was until I saw Vince approaching me with a large cardboard box marked "GLASSWARE" in black Sharpie. A few spare items mindlessly clinked around as he set the box down and grabbed my hand to act out the strange little handshake we've been perfecting since middle school.
"Welcome to the Belle estate," Vince said to me dryly. I could tell he wasn't all too thrilled to be here after spending weeks wiping the floors clean of numerous human bodily fluids, among other things.
I panned my eyes around the place. Some peoples' voices echoed out from other rooms. That's how big this place was, and it was just the first floor. I couldn't imagine the other two.
"Doesn't feel too welcoming," I replied to Vince as he picked up the glassware box again, and we began walking towards what appeared to be a vacant dining room.
Vince placed the box down on the ornate wooden table that was decorated with plenty of medieval-era adornments. I'm talking royal blue sheets running across from end-to-end like a king's feasting room.
"I'll tell you one thing," Vince continued to me as he slammed the glassware box on the table with much heavier force this time. "I do not want to be here. Not now, or ever again." Turns out that my suspicions were confirmed. "Let's just get this over with. Get a box, pack whatever **** you want in it, and the U-Haul boys'll be here in about a week to get it all sorted out."
"Then what?" I asked, wondering what would happen to all of Belle's abandoned belongings.
"Storage center in Rochester. That's what." Vince chuckled as he lifted the box up, heaving from the effort.
Then, I was left to my own devices. I couldn't be too mad at Vince, honestly. He had a job to do here.
And so did I.
I copped a medium-sized cardboard box from a pile stacked near the front doors and began inspecting the bottom floor of the Belle estate from top to bottom, picking out whatever seemed most valuable to put in storage. An unopened set of forks, spoons, and knives given to Belle as a half-hearted birthday gift? Nope. A small African tribal statue that was incredibly authentic and worth a ton on the collectibles market? Hell yes.
By 7:00 PM, only a few of us were left to gather up our items and come back in the next few days to repeat this process. My personal box of objects was already stacked to the brim with miscellaneous stuff like fancy candles, a framed, autographed photo of Sean Connery on the set of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and a book I've never heard of called Lessons on the Cryptid: A Guide by Marcus Richards from 1981.
The last most interesting find of the day, however, came when I finally ascended to the second floor of the Belle estate. I was the only one up there, while Vince and whatever stragglers remained here were downstairs, so it was pretty lonesome.
And creepy.
The first room I entered on floor two was one of (presumably) many bedrooms in the mansion. This one was some kind of guest bedroom. Nothing too special was to be found in here. The bedsheets and wallpaper were, however, a badly-aged product of the early 1970s, so I got a mild kick out of that.
The bedstand is where things got interesting. Aside from a lamp and a King James Holy Bible resting on the short wooden structure, a statuette not dissimilar to the African tribal figurine (although clearly quite a bit larger) I found earlier was present.
I can't really describe this thing in words, honestly.
The effigy was a dark shade of maroon, and the closest thing I can liken its bodily structure to is a Russian nesting doll. Its face was also rather unpleasant to look at, teeth gritted and yellow eyes wide open to attack. Darth Maul on crack is what my mind conjured up the moment I looked at it closely.
I picked Crackhead Darth Maul up, and held the thing in my hand for a few moments. It was light, and felt hollow at first inspection.
Putting the object back down on the bedstand is when I heard a small noise coming from within it. It sounded like sand or ashes seeping through someone's fingertips. There was something inside of this statue.
I picked it back up and placed it in my box, right at the very bottom. I knew I wouldn't be able to just waltz out of the place with this weird little guy in my hands, so I had to hide it with no other options available.
I headed back downstairs and placed my box with the others that everybody else had gathered up to take back a few days from now and continue their endeavors. Vince, who held the keys to the estate, was just beginning to lock up.
"Jay!" he exclaimed as he fumbled for the keyring in his pocket. "You're just in the nick of time. I was about to close up shop."
I laughed and patted him on the back. "Glad you didn't. This place is..." I took another look around. "Creepy," I finalized. Vince nodded his head carelessly and threw some keys over the ring until coming across the right one.
"Well, time to go," he said.
"Yeah," I replied. We both exited out of the front doors as the last pickup truck pulled out of the parking lot and sped off towards the main roads. All that was left now was my Civic and Vince's shiny new WRX.
Having our brief goodbyes, Vince drove off first. I wanted to take in what this place was really like when one was alone, even if I was outside and not actually in the estate.
I couldn't really take that feeling anymore, though. It was just too eerie. So I left without trouble and headed back home.
Work has me swamped for the next few days, (Mark Forrester, an a-hole salesman at the office I work at, made some rather uncalled-for comments during a meeting) so, lucky me. I plan on returning to the Belle estate when I can to inspect the maroon statue and see what exactly resides within it. Probably within the next couple of days.
Expect updates on this soon.
Source.
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