The Haunting of Hollowvale Manor



Your car sputtered its last breath on a fog-choked road, miles from civilization. With only the whispering wind and the crunch of gravel beneath your feet, you followed a faint light through the trees until it revealed itself — an enormous, decaying mansion looming against the moonlight. Desperation pushed you to knock.
The door creaked open on its own, revealing her — a maid, pale as porcelain, with eyes that glowed like the moon reflected in still water. Her voice, soft yet echoing, welcomed you into the candlelit hall. You tried to speak, to explain your broken car, but the air behind her shimmered — faces emerged, ghostly and grinning, their hollow laughter rippling through the corridors.
The maid tilted her head ever so slightly, her expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered, the air growing cold enough to freeze your breath.
And before you could step back, the door slammed shut behind you.