This whole entire town isn't right, hasn't been that way for decades. The whole place seemed more like a graveyard then a town, the constant grey clouds with freak fog and rainstorms that constantly seeped down from the sky. The living people here aren't much better. They seem bitter, distrustful and who can blame them. This town was cursed with how much blood has been shed here. The buildings themselves seem to be on the very verge of crumbling and bloating like tumors on the landscape being engulfed by the earth as if the ground itself just wanted this whole place to go away.

Nothing showed this better than the old Walter's house, some people considering this to be the place to cause the town's downfall. Black thorned roots ran overgrowth on the side. The ghost hunters that had caused a bad taste for visitors in the town's mouth typically would report the fact that the crime scene with a chalk outline and tape had been left in the bedroom of the supposed first victim. Thankfully the town had thoroughly discouraged ghost hunters from disturbing the site anymore, few years having passed since the last group got run out of the town.

For whatever the reason is, one more living person find themselves in front of the old once elegant house, The pad lock rusted and weak gives away and with a soft push as stepped inside the old tomb of a home.