Where Shadows Dance and Secrets Refuse to Sleep
Where Shadows Dance and Secrets Refuse to Sleep
Oh, but The Enslin House—an estate unlike any other, where even time quivers in reverence—has borne witness to secrets you can scarcely imagine. Since the early 20th century, this towering edifice has stood sentinel over a lineage woven through shadow and mystery, rituals whispered behind closed doors, and secrets best kept buried beneath the creaking floorboards.
Here, Fred Sr. & Jr, with hearts beating in rhythm to hidden truths, conducted their clandestine gatherings, whispering into existence a society concealed from prying eyes. But far older forces reside here—energies more ancient than secrets shared among men.
It is Anna Enslin, that old soul infused with potent Bavarian blood, whose spirit truly commands this domain. Alongside her beloved Frederick Anthony Feyl Sr., she raised their family beneath a shroud of enchantments, hidden rites, and murmured incantations. Even now, Anna’s presence lingers—a power quietly smoldering, patient yet vigilant, ever watchful for the next unwelcome visitor daring to cross the threshold without pure intent.
Be warned: The Enslin House suffers no fool. It tolerates no trespasser harboring darkness. Shirley discovered this truth all too late—pushed unceremoniously down to the basement depths, an outsider rejected by forces beyond explanation. For those who arrive bearing malice or even mild disrespect, the house knows. It always knows.
Within its walls lie hidden treasures and unsettling tales. Beneath the kitchen floorboards rests a secret chamber, concealing a chest that held the uniform of W.M. Garvin, dispatcher aboard the USS Oklahoma (BB-37)—the storied battleship whose legacy vanished beneath the waves. His family remains elusive, his memory held captive by The Enslin House, waiting patiently to return home.
Then there was the letter, faded ink on brittle parchment, pulled gently from the attic's ancient floorboards. Dated 1926, it spoke in riddles, hinting at love lost and forgotten grievances—its secrets tantalizing yet forever incomplete, fueling endless questions whispered into the darkness.
This house has always been alive, always watchful. Its mood shifting with unseen currents, playful yet capricious. Guests have felt hands pushing them gently but firmly from chairs, heard whispers drift from empty rooms, and felt eyes watching from unseen corners.
For MiMi herself, childhood memories are marked by the cruelty of peers who sensed her difference, chasing her home through the shadowed streets. They found her strange—she was. Not unlike scenes from "Carrie," they sensed an energy they couldn’t understand. The house protected her, as it always has, embracing her strangeness, shaping her gifts, nurturing the sight passed down through her lineage.
Visitors are rare—few dare to venture beyond the iron gates, knowing too well its storied reputation. The spirits offer sanctuary, wisdom, and perhaps even a whispered secret for those who carry sincerity and reverence in their hearts. But for others—the unworthy, the skeptical, the disrespectful—the message is clear: You are not welcome here.
The Enslin House is not merely a place to stay—it is a sanctuary for the strange, the gifted, and the forsaken. Step inside, knowing The Enslin House has been waiting patiently...waiting, perhaps, for you.
But be aware: It might not easily let you leave.
Where Shadows Speak and Spirits Roam
Beware, dear visitor—the house holds more than history; it cradles souls. Nine distinct entities call The Enslin House their eternal sanctuary, each guarding their own secrets. From the enigmatic Shadow Man who drifts through attic shadows to whispers echoing softly from corners unseen, your experience is shaped entirely by the intentions you carry within.
Each spirit yearns to share its tale, and if your energy resonates, you may find yourself privy to their whispers. But tread carefully: though these souls wander freely through realms seen and unseen, their true home is always here—and should they choose, they might make you part of their timeless narrative.
Ask yourself carefully, before stepping inside: What energy do you carry? They watch, they wait, and ultimately, it is they who will decide whether you leave untouched or changed forever.
“The Enslin House whispers of those who came before, where shadows linger, and secrets wait patiently to be found. Step inside, and you will not leave as you came, for this home holds more than just walls—it holds the past, present, and the echoes of what’s yet to come.”
In 2014, after decades away, the great-granddaughter of Frederick and Anna Enslin returned to her family home, uncovering relics of her past and rediscovering her roots. While settling back into the house, where she had once cared for her ailing mother until her passing in 2021, she unearthed a locked suitcase from 1920 a secret room underneath the kitchen floor. Hidden within it were two photographs—frozen in time, untouched for nearly a century—believed to be tied to her great-grandparents, who had immigrated from Germany.
This discovery, made during her personal journey of grief, was guided by the presence of her late son, who had passed away from cancer. With the photographs in hand, she embraced her family’s long-buried history and the secrets of her lineage, now intertwined with the spirits of those who came before her. Once forgotten, these photographs became the doorway to her past and the future that awaited her beyond the ancestral home.
But the call this time was different, more profound. It arrived on the wings of her mother’s words, fierce and unwavering: “If you put me in a nursing home, I'll haunt you.” In that instant, MiMi recognized her path—not chosen but destined. Fate held out a hand, not softly, but with the urgency of love. And MiMi accepted.
For eight luminous yet arduous years, MiMi watched over Barbara, sheltering her mother from the world’s sharp edges, nurturing her until Barbara's spirit slipped quietly from this life on April 13, 2020—safe within the walls that had always embraced her.
In the hush that followed, MiMi sensed another presence guiding her—a tender force intertwined with grief, the unmistakable warmth of her late son urging her toward something waiting beneath the floorboards in the attic. Hidden by decades and guarded by silence, she unearthed a handwritten letter. Her fingertips brushed against a dusted parchment from 1926, a scripted relic patiently holding its secrets.
Inside, two aged photographs gazed upward, faces softened by the delicate weight of years—ancestors whose dreams had crossed oceans from Germany, whose blood hummed quietly now in MiMi’s veins. As she held these fragile artifacts, she felt the boundaries of time dissolve; past and present merged in gentle communion. Her ancestors spoke through quiet breaths, harmonizing with the lingering presence of her son, reminding her that grief and love danced eternally hand in hand.
The Enslin House was never simply a residence—it was MiMi’s spiritual anchor, her eternal companion. Its secrets were hers, its guardianship hers. She stood resolute, neither visitor nor occupant, but the house’s chosen keeper, the protector of a lineage still whispering fiercely through every creak of the floor, every sigh of the wind.
MiMi had not returned.
She had answered the timeless summons—her spirit inseparable from the spirit of the house itself.