The house on the hill had been undisturbed for ages. It’s menacing frame cast a dark shadow over the town. It was an unspoken rule among the people of the town that the house was not to be talked about. Visitors of the town often asked questions, but the townspeople just shook their heads solemnly and turned away.

The house on the hill had a dark past. It was a place of death and misery. Whispered tales, passed down among the generations of townspeople, told of horrible disappearances and mysterious deaths. It was rumored that every family that had lived in the house had lost at least one of its members in some terrible way.

The house on the hill had become a place of legends and fairytales. The children of the town dared each other to touch its front door, but each and every time the would-be hero ran out of courage before he even reaches the front gate. They feared the ghosts of the dead that were said to roam the decaying halls and rotten staircases of the house.

The house on the hill watched over the town like a hawk stalking its prey. One day a young boy decided that he would be the one to unravel its mystery. On a dark, foreboding night, the boy marched bravely up the hill with  pack of other children in tow. He paused at the gate and looked back at his followers before continuing his journey. He reached the front door and slowly entered the crumbling building. Mere minutes had passed before a blood-curdling scream echoed on the dark hillside, sending the children scrambling back to the safety of the town.

The house on the hill had been undisturbed for ages.