Author Notes: This is my first long story, I don’t know how long it will be, and I hope you all enjoy it.

1: The Gloved Hands

August 31st, 1957

The flames in the fireplace danced gracefully in a gentle motion and partially illuminated the pitch black room. A small radio was sat next to a drinks cabinet and was quietly playing a soft, mellow tune. In front of the fireplace was a chair, a large, leather chair. Rising above the chair were thin strands of smoke which slowly disappeared into the darkness. Sat in the chair was an old man, a cigar in his hand and a large book sat upon his lap. The orange light from the fireplace was cast across the pages and allowed the man to read. His hawk-like eyes scanning across the pages and taking in every word as the story unfolded in front of him. The old man, known as Mr Raven, lifted a small glass of Whiskey from the small table beside the chair and raised it to his lips. He downed it all in one and placed it back upon the table. He licked the leftover Whiskey from his lips and proceeded to read the book.

Eventually, his eyes began to hang heavy and his body began to cry out for sleep. He let out a quiet yawn and closed the book. After another big yawn, Mr Raven dragged himself from his chair and placed the book back on the shelf. He approached the fireplace and took a candle from the mantelpiece above. He crouched down and lit the candle before ultimately putting the fire out.

With the dim candlelight he made his way across the room, out of the door and into the vast hall. The hall had streaks of glowing moonlight cutting across it from the windows. During the day, it was a mass of bright colours that all worked together to form a Technicolor dream, but at night, it was a lonely place, the entire colour was drained out and it seemed a totally different place all together. Mr Raven made his way across the hall and to the bottom of the staircase. As he set foot upon the first step, he could hear a faint voice,

La, la, la…La, la, la...

He didn’t know where it was coming from, he couldn’t tell. He raised the candle out in front of him and continued up the stairs. With every step, the voice would become louder and louder. Every time he took a step, the boards beneath his feet would creak and combine with the voice to make an unsettling presence fall over the manor. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he realised that the voice was coming from The Red Room. The thought was impossible for Mr Raven to comprehend, when he had brought the house, the previous owner had never given him the key to that room, ever since he had lived there, neither him nor his family had set foot in that room.

Mr Raven approached the large oak door and pressed his ear against it,

La, la, la…La, la, la...

Mr Raven listened for a while, and finally it stopped, he sighed with relief and removed his ear from the door. He continued down the upper hallway and onto his bedroom. As he moved away from the oak door, a sudden cold breeze caressed his old skin. He shivered uncomfortably and the breeze came again, but this time it wasn’t like a slight breeze, it was more like an icy breath from above. As the breeze past, a gloved hand clasped itself around his mouth and a sharp blade penetrated his back and poked his spin. He tried to scream but the hand had a tight grip over his mouth. The blade was then plunged into his back again, and again, and again. He was barely alive, but the person who had just attacked himself, quickly dragged him into the Red Room. Silence fell over the manor as one by one, every person inside was brutally slain by an unknown assailant, dwelling from the Red Room.