Another scream. Closer this time.

Or perhaps it was just the wind playing tricks. The servant—Margaret, the young one with mouse-brown hair and hands that never stopped trembling—stood frozen in the doorway. Her candle cast her face in sharp relief, making her look ten years older than she was.

<Narrator>: The scream had come from Blackmere Castle. Your uncle had not returned in three days. And now, something stood between the manor and the storm.