2 June 2024. Written by Fred, Kristin and ChatGPT.
The Monte Cristo Homestead, known as Australia’s most haunted house, stood like a sentinel in the dusk of Junee. A group of friends from Canberra had come to bid farewell to the notorious mansion before it closed its doors for good. It was a wintery weekend in June and the friends were celebrating Janis’ 50th birthday.
Tim, Julie, Nonnie, Emma, Fred, Janis, and Kristin unloaded their bags from the car. They exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the homestead’s dark history settling over them. Dressed in striking steampunk outfits, they looked like a group from another era, ready to face whatever the night held. The intricate details of their attire—goggles, gears, and corsets—gave them an air of adventure and curiosity.
Janis, beautiful, bright, and bubbly, stood out among them. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the eerie grandeur of the mansion. She’d be looking forward to this weekend for a long time and was so pleased her friends had made the effort to embrace the kookiness of her birthday wishes.
“I can’t believe we’re actually staying here,” Julie murmured, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Not usually one to dress up, Julie was feeling a bit sexy in her steampunk outfit and was glad for the opportunity to dress up. Her partner Tim was also looking rather fetching with his top hat and waist coat.
Nonnie, ever the sceptic but also a practical thinker, laughed. “It’s just an old house with a lot of history. What’s the worst that could happen? I think the ghosts will be scared of us looking so fine in our fancy steampunk get up.”
As night fell, the group was enjoying exploring the grounds of Monte Cristo, and spending time together and catching up.
The host beckoned Janis and her friends to dinner and they settled into the grand, albeit slightly decaying, parlour. A crackling TV fire cast flickering shadows across the room as the Master of the House gave the very long version of the dubious ghosts stories associated with the families of Monte Cristo. Fred, with his usual bravado, suggested they explore. “Come on, let’s see what all the fuss is about,” he urged, grabbing a torch.
Reluctantly, they agreed. Janis equal parts excited and nervous. They started with the main hall, its walls adorned with portraits of stern-faced ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow their every move. Kristin shivered. “I swear those eyes are moving,” she whispered, more fascinated than scared. She raised her phone and started taking selfies, capturing the essence of the homestead and hoping to catch a glimpse of any spirits.
They ventured upstairs, where the atmosphere grew thicker. Emma, the sceptic, felt a sudden chill. “Is it just me, or is it getting colder?” she asked, rubbing her arms.
“It’s an old house, drafts everywhere,” Tim replied, though his voice lacked conviction. He just wanted to get this over with and go home.
In one of the bedrooms, the air was so cold they could see their breath. Julie pointed to an old rocking chair that began to move slowly back and forth on its own. “Okay, that’s creepy,” she said, backing away.
Fred, still undaunted, approached the chair. “It’s probably just the wind,” he said, but when he touched it, a sudden force threw him backwards. He landed hard against the wall, knocking the breath out of him.
“Fred (or Frank)!” Janis screamed, rushing to his side. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he groaned, but his eyes were wide with fear. “Let’s get out of here.”
They hurried downstairs, only to find the parlour door shut. They tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic set in as they realised they were trapped. The flickering fire seemed to grow dimmer, and an oppressive darkness began to fill the room.
Suddenly, a low, guttural laugh echoed through the house. Nonnie’s curiosity turned into fear. “Who was that?” she asked, her voice trembling.
No one answered. The laugh grew louder, and the shadows on the walls seemed to writhe and twist. A cold wind swept through the room, extinguishing the fire.
In the pitch-black darkness, they heard footsteps approaching. “Who’s there?” Tim called out, his voice barely above a whisper.
A figure emerged from the shadows, a woman in a long, flowing dress. Her face was pale, her eyes empty. She raised a hand and pointed at Janis. “Leave this place,” she hissed, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “Or suffer the consequences.”
Kristin, snapping photos frantically, hoped to catch the spirit in her camera. “This is incredible,” she muttered, her fear mingling with fascination.
With that, the door swung open, and the oppressive darkness lifted. The friends didn’t need to be told twice. They fled the house, their hearts pounding in their chests.
Outside, they gasped for air, their breath visible in the cold night. “What the hell was that?” Emma asked, her voice shaking. “I wonder if the government could buy this place and preserve it. There’s so much history here.”
“Let’s not stick around to find out,” Tim said, glancing back at the house. The figure stood in the doorway, watching them with those empty eyes.
They drove away, the shadows of Monte Cristo fading into the night. The friends didn’t speak much on the drive back to Canberra, each lost in their own thoughts. The experience had shaken them to their core, and none of them would ever forget the chilling night they spent at Australia’s most haunted house.
As they reached the safety of home, Janis turned to her friends. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll stick to less haunted places for my birthday.”
The group chuckled nervously, grateful to be away from the haunted homestead. They knew one thing for sure: the legend of Monte Cristo was more than just a story.
Back at the homestead, Lawrence the Legend removed his white dress and ghost mask and turned to Mrs Lawrence and remarked “I really thought they were smarter than that”. To which she replied “they ain’t no Scooby gang, are they.”
