It wasn't 'till late last year that I moved too the Maybrick Vineyard. It had been in my possession since 2006 after discovering that my biological Father had left it to me in his will. I guess you could say that I was more thrilled that my "Real Dad" knew I existed rather than being excited about being left this run down, abandoned piece of shit. I really had no Idea what good it would do me, in fact I was sure that It was worth more stress and headaches ( not to mention money ) to fix than what I cared to think about.

But alas a bitter divorce ( yes she took EVERYTHING ) sent me here. To live. I had no choice really. It was here or living out of my car.

Where to start really?

So the taxi I arrived in dropped me to the rusted old gates of this reasonably large looking property. It was deathly quiet all around, there were no real roads or neighbours for miles around. I was completely alone. I'm not sure if it was the silence or the feeling like the whole Estate was under a dark cloud, but there was certainly a melancholy feeling about the place.

I followed the dirt path up to the front door of the house thinking to myself "well, I guess this is home" and as depressing as the exterior of the house looked, despite all its boarded up windows and overgrown plant life it actually had a bit of charm still left in it. I had faith that I could fix this place up with what little money I had and either sell it at a profit or even stay here and get the Winery up and running again. What else did I have left to loose? Either way there was no reason why I couldn't make this house a home.

As I reached the large, solid looking front door I noticed a small tarnished plaque half hanging from its framework that read : Property of Charles M Maybrick . I had no idea who Charles Maybrick was - From not really knowing my father he could have been a relation, but rather knowing what little I knew of my Father it was more than likely that this property was something he won in a poker game.

The door handle took some turning and the warped wooden door frame needed a well placed shoulder, but with a textbook groan from a B-grade horror the door opened. Leaving the plaque to work its way loose and fall freely on to the front porch with a metallic clatter.

It smelt like cat piss. And there was wall to wall litter and unidentifiable stains on every surface, most likely the result of years of visiting street kids and drifters ( who would drift out this far though ) and the flaking mildewed walls were a guestbook for those who'd been here in the past from the traditional "Make love - not war" to " Debbie Adams has great tits ". But most notably were various symbols carved into the walls and woodwork of the interior of the house along with an exceptionally large upturned crucifix that rested against the staircase with the words "The Devil lusts in the company of sin and sacrifice" carved vertically down its spine . The sheer weight of the cross placing a strain on the weak and weathered floorboards of the foyer, as if by any moment the floor would give in and swallow the cross into whatever abyss lay below.
I can honestly say that I really didn't feel that Welcome anymore. I didn't expect to have unlocked the doors to the Ritz hotel but I knew that I definitely had my work cut out for me and I kind of felt invaded to a certain degree. I felt quite possessive over what I now considered "mine" this was all that I had at that moment, so how dare the undesirables invade my home in this way and what was up with the Devil worshiping Mambo-Jumbo?

My disappointment was quickly interrupted by the reality that it was getting late and that I should probably at least find a wind and water tight room to sleep in, at least until I had the place fixed up.