The old mansion loomed before me, its turrets and gargoyles reaching towards the moon like skeletal fingers I shivered, despite the warmth of the summer evening, as I stepped out of my car and onto the crumbling driveway Ravenswood Manor, the ancestral home of the reclusive and enigmatic Mr. Edward Blackstone, was not a place I had ever wanted to visit but, as a journalist specializing in true crime stories, I couldn't resist the opportunity to explore its secrets. As I approached the entrance, a chill ran down my spine The massive wooden door creaked ominously as it swung open, revealing a dimly lit hallway lined with cobweb-shrouded portraits I was greeted by the soft voice of Mrs. White, the housekeeper, who had been expecting me "Welcome, Miss?"

"James," I replied, extending my hand "Lena James " Mrs. White's eyes, though warm, seemed to hold a hint of wariness "Please, follow me Mr. Blackstone is waiting for you in the study " As we walked, the silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the creaking of the old wooden floorboards beneath our feet