The wind howled like a banshee, clawing at Blackwood Manor's peeling paint, as Ethan, heart a frantic drum solo, pushed open the creaking door. He craved a real scare, a taste of the macabre, and tonight, this decaying behemoth would be his haunted playground. Inside, dust motes danced in the moonlight, illuminating cobwebbed portraits that seemed to follow his every move. The air tasted metallic, thick with an oppressive silence that sent shivers down his spine. "Boo!" he challenged, his voice a pathetic squeak in the echoing vastness.

But the reply wasn't laughter. It was a child's whimper, cold and raw, that...