*** Note to the Reader: * TW (Trigger Warning)// or CW (Content Warning)//: Blood/ Murder/ Gore/ Nudity/ Horror/ Sexual Violence. * Scenes graphics are mentioned. If you are not into such stuff and feel uncomfortable, please just do not read it, I highly request you to please don't read any further. * ***
_________________________________________________________________
"Four Lives Taken in Ravenwood Manor"
The victims—Kaylee Goncalves, Madison "Maddie" Mogen, Ethan Chapin, and Xana Kernodle—were international students at the nearby Ravenwood University. Their shared home, an old manor on the outskirts of town, now stood as a chilling crime scene. The killer had left behind a haunting unsettling trail— bouquet of withered roses stuffed in each one of theirs's mouth and eyes, roses stained with their crimson blood, disfigured bodies resting on Maddie's bed.
But the most unsettling detail emerged from a surviving roommate's account who's name and gender undisclosed. It claimed to have heard chilling crying that fateful night—a mournful sound echoing through the corridors. And then, it saw it: a figure clad in black, masked and silent, gliding past room. Frozen in shock, it locked itself away, praying for dawn to break and banish the darkness. Later, it was escorted out safely from the manor and given a dorm room near the university. On asking the foreign survivor it said that two masked men allowed them to live inside and had been provided with the given spare keys.
The town buzzed with speculation. Who was these mysterious killers? What drove them to commit such heinous acts? The investigators worked tirelessly; unraveling secrets hidden within Ravenwood's history. Yet, the motive remained elusive, and the townspeople cast wary glances at their neighbors.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Ravenwood's cobbled streets, the beautiful —a reclusive artist named Evelyn Parker—stood by her studio window. Her haunting eyes, the color of midnight, reflected the moon's silver glow. She had seen the headlines, felt the weight of tragedy settle upon her shoulders.
The manor stood as a sentinel of darkness; its stone walls etched with memories. The townsfolk spoke in hushed tones of the family that once dwelled there—the Witherstones. A family of wealth and privilege, they gruesomely got slithered in the same way 25 years ago that fateful night, leaving behind bloodstains and unanswered questions. The manor became a haunted house, its corridors echoing with phantom footsteps and anguished cries.
Evelyn's mother, Clara, whispered stories by the hearth. She spoke of the masked figure that roamed the halls, seeking vengeance for sins long buried. The Witherstone children—Mary, Thomas, and little Eliza—were found lifeless in their beds, their eyes wide hollowed a hauntingly terror sight to see. The townspeople blamed the curse—the same curse that had plagued the Witherstones for generations.
As Evelyn grew, so did the rumors. The manor wasn't merely haunted; it was a haven for something far more sinister. Serial killers, drawn to the darkness, found refuge there. They wore the town's fear like a cloak, slipping in and out of shadows, leaving no trace. The townspeople dared not investigate, for the manor's curse had seeped into their bones—a primal dread that silenced even the bravest hearts.
Evelyn's brush hovered over her canvas, capturing the darkness that enveloped Ravenwood. She painted the manor, its windows like empty eyes, and the twisted oaks clawing at the sky. Her art whispered secrets—the cries of the victims, the masked figure haunting the halls. She wondered if her own eyes held answers, if they glimpsed into realms beyond.
As Evelyn dipped her brush into crimson paint, she delves into the shadows, risking her sanity and her very soul. For in Ravenwood, where love and horror danced their macabre waltz, she sensed a connection—an inexplicable tie to the victims, to the killer, and to the ancient manor itself through her art.
And so, the artist with haunting eyes stepped into the abyss, seeking justice and redemption. Little did she know that her canvas would become a mirror—one reflecting not only the town's secrets but her own darkest desires.
Evelyn's studio was a sanctuary of shadows, where her haunting eyes found solace in art. The canvas whispered secrets, but reality beckoned—a phone call.
"Evelyn,"