Welcome to The Manor

My hands were tied down.

That was the first thing I noticed when I finally came to, blinking against the dim lighting of the decrepit, rotting room I was in. I was sitting in a wooden chair with my hands tied to its arms, the cord slicing into the flesh of my wrist with each movement I made. Terror flooded through my veins, and I bit my lip against the whimper that threatened to escape from the back of my throat.

"My legs," I thought. "Maybe I can move my legs."

So I tried. I tried to kick my legs out from under me, but the immediate strain and pain I felt told me they were just as restrained as my hands,

"No," I whispered

I was their next participant, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

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It's been two weeks since Sienna's best friend and co-worker, Amy Goode, left to investigate the world's most twisted extreme haunt. Two weeks, and there's been no phone calls, no letters, nothing to trace where she disappeared to. The Manor was her last known location.