Chapter 1: THE BEGINNING
As the sun introduces its new glittering light upon the Nightshade Hallows of Windsor, it’s the birth of the New Year, the first sunrise of 1971 evokes new life in the small neighborhood. The birds could be seen taking new flights, Blackbirds with their shining black coats, chirping and tearing through the clear blue sky. The small woodland, even in the winters, is as lively as springs, through the branches of the skeleton trees, which have shaded their entire green in autumn blow cold, rough wind whistling around the ancient houses by the woodland. One could hear the gushing sound of the blue waters of the small creek, which is tearing through the heart of Nightshade Hallows. Its lush green grass-covered banks are shining with the golden sunlight. On the banks of the creek a small New Year's feast is taking place, organized by the people of the neighborhood. People threw various foods stalls, with various homemade delicacies. Various rides like a small ferry's wheel, merry-go-round, and many more are put up. Young hearts and children dash through the area, laughing and waving between stalls. Their infectious enthusiasm fills the air as revel enjoys the discovery. Families could also be seen throwing personal New Year's reunions by the creek.
Beside the woodland, there lies the crooked ‘Grimstone’s Manor’, the doorsteps covered in ancient dust with few prominent footprints. Century-old paints peels off from its body, revealing its corroded and crumbling brownish bricks. A century old rotting wooden plate hangs over the black dusty door reading “The Grimstones Manor, 1856”. The wooden fence, which once used to protect the house from all corners, seems to lose its might as few many wood planks, seems to vanish from it over time. The empty backward, on the woodland side, is covered by the leaves of the wise old Oak, which may be standing there before the first brick was laid at Nightshade. At a corner of the yard, there stands a rusted swing that has lost one of its chains. The swing is now dangling with the other as its seat grinding against the earth. The swing it makes due to winds makes screeching sounds which will let anyone's heart skip a bit. The eyes of the house, its windows! Seems to be blinded by the generations of dust which has settled on them, but one of them is different from the others and may be the smallest among them too. It is a small window facing the backyard and the woodlands. The east-facing dusty window, once opaque, now revealed a glimpse of clarity, courtesy of a careful hand that had wiped away the grime; leaving a small sparkling patch admit the dull, grimy expense, where a hasty touch had briskly cleared a view. The patch was the only opening through which the rays of the sunlight could touch the heart and inside of the manor but whose hand it was? Who did this little favor to the old house?
