The Spanish moss blew softly in the breeze as it danced along the sprawling limbs attached to the century old oaks that outlined the yard. The lawn had been home to five generations of Whitley descendants. The forsaken home is all that is left to remind the passersby that it was once home to the Whitley family. The pink rose vines that shroud the front porch is a reminder of Mollie Blackbern’s love of the rose as well as the many thorns. The thorns only offered a small hint of the torrential lives of the Whitley family. Most of the memories were not of peace and solace but of torment, grief and sadness. For years, the community gossiped of the aura that surrounded the lives of the Whitley family. Many years have passed, but the density still surrounds the house. The travesty began over a century ago when John Whitley purchased the property from the town doctor. His intentions were all good. He thought that it would offer a suitable home and refuge for his family. It would be a fine place to raise his children and hopefully one day pass on to his grandchildren. Just as he had wished, the property was divided among his children after his demise. Throughout the years, the Whitley property had remained in the family. It was passed from generation to generation along with the haunting stigma known as the legacy of Whitley place.