I.  The Old Haunted Inn

Written and Illustrated by Benjamin Fouché

September 29th, 1832
Since my arrival, here at this sorrowful Inn, I find the caretaker, Mr. Mansfield, to be a notably quaint character. He acts in a rather unusual manner, and his appearance is extraordinarily hideous. One could merely gaze at him and instantly receive a surge of chills through their nerves. Though it is quite evident that Mr. Mansfield is incredibly abnormal, he seems to be up to something extremely worrying. I do not know what exactly, but I can indeed feel fear itself unrelentingly pervade my soul. While I write this entry, the wind is whisking forcefully outside my window, and I can hear the leaves crackling about the surrounding thickets. A sense of darkness is in the crisp, Autumn air.

October 30th, 1846
I am unmistakably certain that no one other than I is staying here for the evening. But, of course, Mr. Mansfield resides here, yet he does not feel like an actual present, living-soul. I could not help but stare into his sunken eyes while he greeted me at the front desk; it is rather discomforting being around the peculiarly cadaverous man. After I was led to my bedchamber, I checked my door's lock twice, and shut the curtains too. The flame is flickering rapidly on my candle’s wick while I write this log––an ill-omen perhaps? I will indeed not rest well tonight. Hopefully dawn shall break soon.

November 13th, 1864
This Inn is vastly reminiscent of a nightmare that I once had. I felt as if I was being stared upon by fixed-eyes when I arrived––and thus, my perception was unerring. Upon entering the parlor, I made my acquaintance with Mr. Mansfield, the caretaker. He grinned towards me with such an unnerving expression upon his face. I pretended that I did not notice, and proceeded forward to the check-in desk. He greeted me courteously, yet acute anxiety lingers within my distraught spirit. After Mr. Mansfield led me to my room, I watched him leave––just to know for certain that the odd man was gone. My sleeping quarters are exactly the same as the antechamber, parlor, stairwell and hallway; dim and dusty.

December 26th, 1873
A dreary sensation, which is deeply embedded in my bones, urges me to leave this inn tomorrow. I am indeed certain that there is a dark secret hidden within the walls of this gloomy structure. Why do I feel so strongly, that the caretaker, Mansfield, has an agenda? The uneasiness has not diminished since my arrival, and I greatly fear that I have accidently put myself in grave danger. Whoever may be reading this entry, you too must do the same, for you do not know that your visit here could indeed be fateful. Goodbye.

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