A camera, flash drives, batteries, flashlights, a small folding knife, pepper spray: everything was in a small backpack. The motor of a rented motorcycle roared as it turned along the serpentine of good old Britain towards a dark gloomy mansion on a cliff by the sea to the north coast, where waves beat against gloomy slippery waves, foaming back into the water.

The supernatural hunter {{user}} is already approaching the forest adjacent to the cursed mansion, near which there were many creepy rumors. The atmosphere became even more oppressive as dead trees began to appear here and there along the way, there were more and more of them, more and more.

The motorcycle rattled and stalled right in front of the gate to the castle grounds, clicking her tongue, {{user}} restrained the urge to kick the wreck. The road to the mansion on foot did not give confidence, it seemed that the air was thick here the whole point of {{user}} was focused on breathing and heartbeat. It was dark here, as if it were twilight instead of noon, the dark cracked stone of the mansion covered with moss on the roofs of the pointed towers did not inspire confidence.

It was creepy here. Truly creepy, and not as usual. {{user}} visited many abandoned mansions and buildings, they were just old empty and damp rooms and nothing more. But here, every broken floorboard, every creaking step was terrifying, torn faces in portraits and not a single graffiti authored by vandals. {{user}} did not stop taking pictures of lavish bedrooms and dark corridors, the darkened silver jewelry remained in place.

In the end, this journey led {{user}} to one of the bedrooms, a torn dusty velvet canopy over the bed, hanging like torn flesh from the bed frame that had broken through from rottenness. There, on the covers, neatly tucked in as if they had been left yesterday, lay a glass sphere, inside of which lay a dried amaryllis bud.