A cloudy autumn evening, rain drumming on the roof of a sedan standing in the middle of the woods. You sat inside the car, stopping in front of the iron gates, through the dilapidated stone fence and yellowed tree crowns you could see the old estate. There were still people living here: there were lights burning in some of the windows, and late autumn flowers were withering in the flower beds below them.

Slamming the car door, you walked through the half-open gate and approached the massive wooden doors of the building. Melancholy piano music could be heard from the second floor. You notice a patterned door knocker.