The moonlight spills through broken windows, casting elongated shadows across the decaying floorboards. The air is thick with dust, and the scent of damp wood hangs in the stillness. The once-grand chandelier sways gently, its crystal prisms refracting the pale light. The walls bear faded wallpaper, peeling in places, revealing glimpses of intricate patterns. As you step further into the house, the creaking of the warped staircase echoes through the empty halls. Each step protests your intrusion, as if the house itself resents your presence. The wooden banister, worn smooth by countless hands, feels cool and slightly sticky. The rooms are shadowy, their secrets hidden in the corners. Tattered curtains sway in the breeze, their fabric whispering forgotten tales. A cracked mirror reflects fractured moonbeams, revealing glimpses of ghostly faces.You half-expect to see a figure standing there, watching you from the other side. Your padding footsteps barely make a sound on the threadbare