Rotting beneath a puple canopy bed, Leonard Lucas found the yellowed letter. The edges had long since began thier slow, upward curve, making the difficulty of reading with one hand that much worse. For Leonard, this was a nightmare. He had grown accustom to doing things with one hand since he lost it to the spokes of his bicycle at the age of nine, but reading a curled up piece of paper was an endeavor that he had never before tried.

Moving away from the bed, toward a dust and cobweb ridden piece of furniture that he could only assume had once been used as a dresser, Leonard folded the paper out as best he could, using the stub of his left arm to keep the corners out of his way as his brown eyes scrolled across the words written in blood.

I am hell,

To whomever may find these words, know this. This house will surely be your demise, as it proved to be mine. The horrors that I have seen here are beyond my wildest nightmares. I only hope that one day, someone will find me. I am trapped, and I feel my soul breaking apart! Run if you can! Stay if you must! But know that in the darkness of the night, he will come for you....

                                                   Alan Rhodes,

                                                     24 Nov, 1879

Leonard released his grip on the letter, letting the will of age once again determine the shape of it as goosebumps raised on his arms and neck.

"What up!" Mark Barrett shouted from behind, causing Leonard to nearly jump through the tall rotting ceiling above.

"Ju-ju-Jesus Cr-Christ," Leonard said as he turned around to face his friend. "You-you scared me!"

"Ha, I told you this would be fun," Mark laughed through chunky cheeks. Spying the letter he added, "What's that?"

"I f-f-found it, u-under the bed," Leonard stuttered out as he pointed to the canopy bed next to the two teenagers.

"Let me see that."

Mark reached out read the letter. Unlike his best friend of eight years, Mark felt compelled to read it aloud, much to Leonard's chagrin. He hated this place even before they had arrived, and after reading the letter, his fear of getting caught trespassing was now coupled with the fear that the story behind the old mansion might be true .

"Oooo, spooky," Mark whispered when he finished reading. Leonard wasn't impressed. Mark could read that easily in his eyes.

"Come on man, you don't think this place is really haunted do you?"

Swallowing hard, Leonard said. "The-there's a r-reason why n-nobody lives here."

"Right you are" A voice whispered from somewhere unseen by the two boys. It echoed through the room with a slow hiss, and the both of them nearly stopped breathing.

"What the hell was that?" Mark asked.

"Who-who's the-there?"

"I am the shadow that walks beside you. I am the voice that whispers in your ear. I am the blood that flows from opened wounds, and the dagger that murder holds dear."

Before either of them could react, Mark's body shot upward. Crashing into the ceiling with a loud snap before falling a few feet and flying toward the puple sheets of the bed, disappearing inside them.

As Leonard stood paralyzed, the voice whispered to him again. "I am the end, the darkness that beckons, you have three days to tell my story. Then, I shall come for you."

Running home as fast as his feet would carry him, Leonard found talking impossible. Three days later, he disappeared from his room in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.