Welcome to Mrs. Abigail’s Arbuckle Boarding House!
Travellers beware, if your journey takes you down darkened Ashford Lane at the edge of town, pay no heed to the worn sign that hangs above the wrought iron gate – “Mrs. Abigail’s Arbuckle Boarding House – Rooms Available”. No good can come from crossing its ominous threshold.
Local legends speak of strange happenings within those rotting walls for decades. Tales of scratching sounds in the night and ghostly wails that pierce the soul keep all but the bravest from venturing near. The old boarding house stands silent and foreboding, as if awaiting its next unsuspecting victim.
My curiosity got the better of me last night. Armed only with a flickering lantern, I crept through the overgrown garden towards the looming silhouette in the moonlight. The heavy oaken door creaked open without a touch. An unearthly chill swept over me as I crossed the threshold.
Up the twisting staircase I climbed, drawn by an eldritch force to the second floor. The wallpaper peeled away in tatters, exposing crumbling lath and plaster beneath. Strange symbols had been scrawled across the hallway in what appeared to be dried blood. At the end of the passage, a single door stood ajar, an unholy orange glow emanating from within.
Peering through the cracked wood, a scene of depravity unlike any other came into view. Robed figures chanted horrors in long forgotten tongues, surrounding a bubbling cauldron suspended over an inferno. Their incantations reached a crescendo as a flash of blinding light rent the room. The ancient floorboards splintered and split as eldritch forces were unleashed. Chaos reigned as the occult ritual went horribly wrong.
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