The Haunted House of The Damsel

The night was quiet, too quiet for comfort- a thin fog crept across the lonely road as the moon hid behind the restless clouds. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying voices that didn't belong to a living.

  Seraphina- a 28 years old woman pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and quickened her steps. She had always feared the silence of the country side, but tonight it felt different- alive almost breathing. The mist curled around her ankles like invisible hands, and every crunch of gravel under her feet sounded like someone following her behind.

  For weeks, the same dream had haunted her sleep- a mansion standing on a hill its windows glowing red, and a faint scream echoing from within. And everytime she tried to run the voice in the dream would call her name:

          " Seraphina........ Come home ".

  She never told anyone. Who would believe her? A poor tailor's daughter from Raven Hill Street dreaming of ghosts and houses she had never seen. But the dream refused to end. They became sharper more real- until she could no longer ignore them.      That night, as she reached the small bridge near her street, she saw it again- a figure in white standing on the other side, shrouded in fog. Her heart froze. The figure did not move, did not breathe. Then slowly raised its hand and pointed down the road.

  Seraphina blinked- and the figure was gone. Only the mist remained.

  She turned to run home, but her eyes caught something glimmering on the ground- a folded letter sealed with a dark red wax. The seal bore a symbol, a house with a single eye above its roof.

  Her hands trembled as she picked it up. And though the night was cold, the letter felt warm- almost pulsing.

          " The house awaits you " it read.

  The mist thickened around her swallowing the bridge, the road and her courage. But even then something deep inside whispered:

          " This is only the beginning ".