The Madness Begins

Prolouge

Leoni's hand rested on the wrought iron gate, his fingers running over the tarnished metal. Even after all these years, the house still stood empty. Dark windows that looked like empty eyes told tale of a family destroyed and a homestead abandoned. Nature had already started to take back the structure. The walls were crumbling and the roof was nearly completely overgrown with moss.
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The gate swung inwards with a pronounced squeal, as if it was reluctant to let a human hand disturb the quiet peace that had taken over the yard. His footsteps were muffled by the grass, which had grown wild in the absence of someone to take care of it. The gate clanged shut behind him, a noise that seemed to be swallowed up by the decades-old silence that covered the yard. Leoni gazed up at the house, and found himself listening. For what, he did not know. Perhaps the distant echo of a memory he had tried too desperately to forget.
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For a long time it had been hard to say what drew him back here. The dust and decay held nothing for him but empty tales of a family long forgotten. But while he had been travelling, he had finally put a word to the strange pull he felt from this old house.
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Hiraeth.
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It was a Welsh word. The longing and grief for places of your past. It fit well with the old house. A whisper of wind blew through the hills, and the sky began to weep down upon the countryside. Even so, the dark haired male didn't move from where he stood, letting the rain run down his shoulders in tiny streams.
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When you speak something's name, it loses its power. Isn't that what the stories said? But even though this feeling had a name, the ache in his chest that pulled at his heart every time he thought about this place didn't lessen. Sometimes he felt that it never would, no matter how many miles he put between himself and this place; no matter how hard he tried forget. The pain was always there.