Dear Amelia,

As I sit here in the dim light of my study, I feel compelled to put pen to paper and recount the terrifying events that have transpired within these cursed walls. You, my dear sister, deserve to know the truth, for I fear my time is running short. The shadows grow longer with each passing day, and the air grows colder, as if the very house itself is aware of the impending doom.

It began shortly after I inherited the old Blackwood Manor. The villagers whispered of the house’s dark past, of the tragedies that had befallen those who dared to reside within its walls. Foolishly, I dismissed their warnings as mere superstition, eager to claim my inheritance and make a new life for myself.

From the moment I set foot inside the manor, I sensed an oppressive presence, as if the very air was heavy with the weight of unseen eyes. At first, it was nothing more than fleeting shadows and distant whispers, easily attributed to the creaks and groans of an old house. But as the days turned into weeks, the occurrences grew more frequent and malevolent.

It began with the dreams—nightmares so vivid and horrific that I would wake drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. In these dreams, I would find myself wandering the halls of the manor, pursued by a shadowy figure with glowing eyes. No matter how fast I ran, it was always just behind me, its icy breath chilling my very soul.

One night, as I lay in bed, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing through the halls. With trepidation, I rose and followed the sound, my heart in my throat. The footsteps led me to the attic, a place I had not yet dared to explore. As I ascended the creaking stairs, the air grew colder, and the shadows seemed to writhe and twist around me.

In the attic, I discovered an old trunk, its surface covered in dust and cobwebs. Inside, I found a collection of letters, yellowed with age and written in a trembling hand. The letters spoke of a curse, a dark force that had plagued the Blackwood family for generations. The writer, a distant ancestor named Evelyn, detailed her desperate attempts to rid the house of the malevolent entity, to no avail.

It was then that I realized the true extent of my predicament. The entity that haunted the manor was not a mere ghost, but something far more sinister and ancient. It fed on fear and despair, growing stronger with each soul it claimed.

As the days turned into weeks, the entity’s presence grew more pronounced. Objects would move on their own, and cold, ghostly hands would brush against my skin. I could hear its whispers, promising eternal torment if I did not leave. But leaving was not an option, for the entity had bound me to the house, ensnaring me in its web of darkness.

I write this letter to you, dear Amelia, in the hope that you will heed my warning. Do not come to Blackwood Manor. Do not attempt to save me. The entity is too powerful, and its grip on me is unyielding. I fear that I have become another victim of the curse, doomed to wander these halls for eternity.

Remember me as I was, not as the broken soul that now resides within these walls. And should you ever find yourself near the manor, heed the villagers’ warnings and stay far away. The shadows are watching, and they are hungry.

Yours in eternal despair, James