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A book to hold all writings from Game of Thrones. |
| For decades, the sprawling Victorian mansion at 13 Elm Street stood as a silent sentinel in our town- a monument to unanswered questions and uneasy whispers. Locals dubbed it the 'House of Shadows,' tales of its haunting past passed down through generations. Some spoke of a vanished family, others of strange lights flickering within its dusty windows. I always chalked it up to small-town folklore... until yesterday. My assignment was simple: secure an interview with the mansion's enigmatic new owner, the reclusive Mr. Alistair Blackwood. I approached the wrought iron gates with a mix of journalistic curiosity and a lingering shiver. The once-manicured garden was a tangle of overgrown vines, their thorns like skeletal fingers reaching out from the gloom. The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing not a grand entrance hall, but a dim, claustrophobic corridor. Mr. Blackwood, pale and gaunt, his eyes sunken deep in their sockets, led me to a parlor that time seemed to have forgotten. Sunlight struggled through cobweb-laced windows, illuminating faded portraits and taxidermy specimens that stared with lifeless eyes. "They say this house is haunted," I ventured, desperate to break the unsettling silence. Blackwood's smile was a thin, humorless thing. "Do they now? Then perhaps they are not entirely wrong." His voice was a whisper, barely audible over the rhythmic ticking of an antique grandfather clock. The interview began. "Mr. Blackwood, the local community has been abuzz with rumors since your arrival. Why, after so many years of vacancy, did you choose to purchase this particular house?" Blackwood: A pause, the silence stretching thin. "Intriguing, isn't it? How certain places...draw us in. This house, Miss Morgan, it has a history. A heartbeat, one might say, that echoes through the ages. I am merely a student of such things." "Student? Of what, exactly? The townsfolk claim this house is cursed, haunted..." Blackwood: His thin lips curled into a semblance of a smile. "Ah, curses. Such melodramatic labels. I prefer the term...'unfinished business'. There are energies that linger, echoes of events that crave...resolution." "You speak of ghosts, Mr. Blackwood?" Blackwood: "Ghosts? Perhaps that is a simplification. Think of them more as...impressions upon the very fabric of a place. This house, it holds memories within its walls, whispers of joy, anguish...they call to me." "But to live here, among this..." I gestured vaguely at the oppressive atmosphere, the unsettling taxidermy. "Why subject yourself to such a place?" Blackwood: A flicker of something akin to passion lit his eyes. "Why does a moth dance with flame, Miss Morgan? Some are drawn to darkness, to the secrets it holds. It is my belief that this grand old house is a puzzle, and I yearn to be the one who unlocks its final secret." "There's one story in particular that's persisted for years- the tale of the Vanishing Bride. Supposedly a young woman, set to be married in this very house, simply disappeared the night before her wedding..." Blackwood: "Indeed. Amelia Townsend, wasn't it?" He leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "A tragic tale, and one that paints this house in an unkind light. Of course, the locals prefer the scandalous tales to the mundane ones." "Mundane? You think there's a simple explanation for her disappearance?" Blackwood: "Let's just say, Miss Morgan, that runaway brides were not entirely uncommon in those days. Fear, doubt...or perhaps a secret lover waiting out beyond the town limits." His eyes glittered with amusement. "Though, the image of a woman in white, forever roaming these halls, certainly makes for a better ghost story, doesn't it?" "But you believe there's more to this house than simply stories? You spoke of energies..." Blackwood: His gaze shifts to a portrait hanging above the fireplace, a stern-faced woman in an elaborate gown. "Amelia," he murmured, almost to himself. "There's a...weight to her disappearance. An echo louder than the rest. It is possible she never truly left these walls." "If she is a ghost, wouldn't she be angry? Seeking vengeance?" Blackwood: A cryptic smile. "Perhaps she's simply seeking closure. Or perhaps..." He trails off, leaving the rest of the chilling thought unspoken. Leaving the House of Shadows, I cast a backward glance. The sun seemed to cower behind storm clouds, casting the mansion in an even more sinister light. I couldn't shake the feeling that I hadn't simply conducted an interview; I had stepped into a story far from over, its chilling pages only just beginning to turn. Count: 767 |
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