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Welcome to the Gloomy Hollows
of Spookinite Valley

Est. Sept. 2012

Journal Entry 9 - October 23rd, 1895

Since inheriting my father’s old farmstead, my spirit has felt unsettled. I can never sleep. Sometimes at night, I hear the windmill screak as it turns in the wind. I confess that its silhouette within the moon bestows upon me premonitions. Doors open by themselves, and sometimes I hear knocking at the windows. The shadows from the trees also look as though they are alive and ravenous. I know that this land is within less than a mile of the dreaded Spookinite Valley, of which I have not heard anything pleasant. Perhaps that is why George howls into the darkness at dusk. What does he fear? Something is wrong.

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