The Tattered Parlour of Vellmire House

The House That Refused to Empty

Vellmire House, sealed since 1934, stands untouched—not through preservation but neglect. Every room is weighted with what was left behind, too intimate for thieves and too specific for auction. Nothing here was discarded.

Everything simply stopped.

The atmosphere inside is not of destruction, but abandonment in motion. Open books, a dropped handkerchief, a teacup on a sill — all hint at a sudden silence that never lifted. Light filters through brittle lace, catching on dust motes that drift like ash.

The Music Room That Held Her Voice

Juliana Vellmire, daughter of industrialist Colin Vellmire, was born in 1885 and became a respected, if private, piano instructor. She never performed publicly after a rumored engagement was broken off in 1911. Instead, she remained at Vellmire House, teaching children of local merchants in the music room, where sunlight once warmed oak floors and young fingers learned to mimic her melancholy sonatas.

Her journals—still stacked neatly on her escritoire—speak in meticulous cursive of “restless nights,” “diminished letters from Father,” and “a deepening quiet in the corridors.” The final entry, dated March 14, 1934: “The keys have grown stiff. Perhaps it’s time to let them be.”

After Juliana’s death—cause undocumented—the house was locked. No relatives came to claim it. The silence became permanent.

The Ledger Desk in the Morning Room

In the morning room, Juliana’s father kept a ledger desk—still locked when found in the 1970s. The key, eventually discovered behind a false drawer panel, revealed stacks of unpaid debts, termination letters, and correspondence with factories long shuttered. It is believed Colin Vellmire lost most of the family fortune in the 1920s, and withdrew inward, maintaining the house’s appearance while hollowing out its core.

By the time of his death in 1930, the only remaining staff was one housekeeper, who disappeared shortly after Juliana’s funeral. Her coat still hangs in the hallway closet, its sleeves filled with moth holes, the pockets empty.

Vellmire House remains closed. The pianos silent. The ledgers unpaid.

It remains abandoned.