ʟɨɛֆ: ǟ ɦօʀʀօʀ ֆȶօʀʏ

Prologue

The sirens echoed outside the terrifying mansion. The police were attempting to investigate to no avail; after all, there was no one left that could tell us anything. The last person had died mere hours ago. Their death was not a kind one. It was one of pain and torture. All we could gather from them was that it was horrible. Terrifying. They were hysterical. Saying that they were coming for her. That it was their fault. It was their fault that this happened. She was crazy. Couldn't even say her own name. She was nothing to me.

"So boss, what happened here?" Charlie, one of the police officers asked me.

"I am afraid that is private information," I said smoothly. The things that had happened in this mansion had to remain a tight-lipped secret. No one could know the monstrosities that were committed here.

"But why sir?"

"Because it is far too horrifying to speak of," Charlie blanched as I thought he would. He couldn't handle it. None of them would be able to handle it.

"L-like what?" He stuttered. If he really wanted to know, then I would tell him.

"There were several bodies found, all clearly were tortured in terrible ways. One person was decapitated and we are still looking for their head. Another had a dozen spikes stuck in their body. Now, does that sound like something you want to investigate?" My eyes pierced his brown ones. His brown hair had clearly fallen, as though his hair is the same as his emotions. What an odd curiosity.

"N-no s-sir," Charlie whispered, wide-eyed. He ran out of the room. Frankly, I am not surprised.

"Winston, sir," Zia. My second in command.

"Yes?"

"We found a journal, sir. It appears that someone kept a recollection of what happened here."

I furrowed my eyebrows. Why would anyone do that? It was twisted. But at least, it would provide answers to things that happened here.

"Hand it over," She gave it to me. I turned the journal around. It wasn't that big but at the same time wasn't that small. Like it was a perfect size. It was made of leather that much was obvious. It was clearly worn down, which made it seem like it had been here a long time.

I looked at the front.

This Journal is of property to Anastasia Black.

Beware to those that read it. My story is not a kind one. Make sure you are

physically and mentally prepared for what you are about to see.

The second half was etched into the journal; her name was not.

How odd. It almost seems as though she foresaw us coming. I furrowed my eyebrows; the plot thickens. I open the next page.

Have you decided that you are prepared to see the horrors?

Don't say I didn't warn you.

As you know, you are in a mansion that was owned by Fiona Carlief.

Actually, we didn't know that. No one in town would tell us. There wasn't an office here.

As I am sure by now you noticed that there is something terribly wrong.

Yeah no shit.

I am sure you noticed the bodies by now. And let me tell you. It is our fault that some of them died.

What the hell did she mean by that?

At first, we didn't realize anything was wrong. We just thought it was a dinner party. A normal one. Not one like this. Not at all.

I see. It makes sense. I understand. They came here to have fun. But that ended up being their destruction.

Then everything changed.

There was a sort of space from that and then there were blood splatters. I could barely make out the next part of it.

I have to go. They're here. I have to escape. I have to try. Please.

ⱧɆⱠ₱ ₥Ɇ

So she required help. Interesting. But from who? They could mean anyone.

I know you don't understand. I do not expect you to. All you need to know is-

The rest was covered in bloodstains. There was a small bit at the bottom that I could read.

You can't turn back now. I beg of you. Find out the truth. Avenge them. Avenge them all.

Avenge me.

~Anastasia

I am the best of my kind but even I cannot deny the fear that took hold of my body. It was urging me to not find out. To not discover what happened to Anastasia. To not find out what happened in this mansion that had belonged to Fiona Carlief. I looked up from the journal to look around a quick second.

And that was when I realized.

The walls weren't covered with red paint.

It was covered with blood.