It was a scene straight out of a horror movie. The dark and gloomy mansion stood at the edge of a cliff, on the other side of town. The trees and plants nearby were rotten, and when the wind blew, the rustling of the leaves that remained on the tree was like the voice of a zombie. ‘Death’. When the occasional visitor came, the trees shook, as if they had the power to get out of the ground and chase you until you fall to the ground, and then, they will root you to the ground and kill you slowly . . . torture.
People didn’t want the house anywhere closer—the place gives anyone nightmares. Some people have journeyed to the mansion, some reckless or drunk . . . others trying to prove their bravery. My point is, all those have gone there, including the ones who were sober, have come running back to town, screaming their heads off about a voice that sounded like Doraemon with a throat infection (horror movie. Told you.)
See, there are rumors about the place. Scary things.
Apparently, the mansion belonged to Richard Glenbury, a rich businessman. He had a wife and a child, and they had the mansion built by some of the best architects and builders in the world. It was all going well for him . . .
Until the day when everything went wrong.
He came back from a tiring day at work, only to see that the lights were switched off, and the door was locked. He tried calling his wife. No response. He knocked on the door hard, and rang the bell at least thirty times. Nothing. He called the police, who turned up and helped knock the door down.
The bodies of the child and the wife. Limp and lifeless, they were clearly tortured, and then, finally, killed. They were stabbed repeatedly in the stomach, and their skulls were cracked. The two had been dropped from a height . . . but that was impossible . . . the house wasn’t a duplex . . . then how?
“AAAARGHHHHHH!!!!” The half terrified, half angry cry of Richard could be heard by every person living in the town. Everyone shuddered as one, wondering what could’ve happened. Richard hugged his wife and child’s bodies, and sat there on the ground, crying . . . .
The detectives, trying to solve the murder, had no idea how the murder was orchestrated, for starters. They were completely clueless, and the murderer had left no traces.
One night, Richard was sleeping soundly in his bed, in the east side of the building, he heard a voice, repeatedly saying, ‘Richard Glenbury . . . you are next . . . I got your wife and your child . . . you are next. . .’
The next morning, he awoke, and decided that he was hallucinating, and forgot about it for the rest of the day.
The next night, he heard the voice, again, raspy, a hint of distaste in him, ‘Richard Glenbury . . . I exist . . . do not ignore me . . . I am here to kill you. Tonight, you will die. I will first take your heart—
Richard Glenbury awoke, sweating; face deathly pale, and an expression of pure terror on his face . . .
This was the first time that he was intimidated by the ghost. This went on for many days, until the one day, he just snapped. He went insane, and was forced into a prison cell. When he died, he was buried in the back of Glenbury Mansion.
It is said that, after the burial, in the night, many people heard the anguished cry of Richard Glenbury again. Nowadays, the ghost of Glenbury Mansion is actually Richard Glenbury. Those who dare to walk those halls have either never returned, or have returned, half-mad or completely insane.
This is the legend of Glenbury Mansion.
Now, I haven’t been completely honest with you.
I’ve been referring to Mr. Glenbury as “Richard Glenbury” or just the pronoun “he”.
The truth is that I should be referring to him as “me” or “I”.
My name is Richard Glenbury.
‘I exist . . . and I’m coming for YOU. . . . .’