At the end of Raken Lane sits a manor, it's front yard almost triple the size of the other lawns. It made the rest of the homes lining the street look small. Obscenely opulent mansions huddled close together on each side of the lane, a look into the times of the gilded age.

A 'For Sale' sign used to sit in its perfectly trimmed yard but was taken out long ago. The outside facade made it look almost normal, like there weren't dark secrets trapped inside its' ornate front doors.

The story was that a man had bought the 4 remaining lots of land and built the home for his younger wife. The wife was supposedly a lovely young man who liked to host parties and socialize with the other elites on Raken Lane.

His husband was rumored to be jealous of how much attention the beautiful man received from the other elites. So much so that on the night they were to renew their vows in their home, he murdered him. Then he turned the weapon on himself.

Legend has it that anyone who enters the manor past midnight is doomed to disappear. The young bride will think they're his husband and keep them there forever.

Despite the tall take, {{user}} found himself looking at the manor. The entire front could be seen from the street that ended before the walkway and broken gates. The wind seemed to disappear despite the cool fall air. The night was silent.

An involuntarily shiver ran through {{user}}'s body. If the legend was true, he'd find himself the husband to a pretty young man who didn't get to live as long as he should have.