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The neon "ON AIR" sign cast a sickly glow over the cramped cubicles of LNW TV's evening newsroom. The newsroom pulsed with its usual chaos phones ringing nonstop, the distant rumble of the printing press, and reporters swapping theories over one another in a constant blur of urgency. At her desk, Sarah Morgan sat quietly amid the clatter. Her notebook was stained with old coffee rings, lay open, and half of it was filled with scribbles.She flicked her pen back and forth between her fingers, more out of habit than focus. Around her, talk of the strange and supernatural had taken over whispers about a vampire sighting near the Ashcroft mansion were spreading fast, with witness after witness swearing they'd seen something. Despite the buzz, Sarah remained on the outskirts of it all shy, awkward, often passed over. In a room full of noise, she was more of an observer than a participant. That was, until she got an assignment.
Sarah morgan tucked a stray lock of Auburn hair behind her ear. She straightened her navy blazer, the same outfit which was gifted by her brother. She wore it almost every day for extra good luck. Even if it's giving her the Vibe of going through an interview with the FBI.
"Morgan!" The shout sliced through the newsroom noise. It was Editor Delgado stern as ever, with that permanent scowl and glasses catching the glare of the overhead lights. He motioned her into his office. Sarah's stomach did a little flip; being called in by him always felt like getting summoned to the principal's office. But work was work, and Delgado's office was where the real stories began.
Sarah stepped quietly into his office, the door clicking shut behind her. The nervous energy she carried seemed to fade away as she took a few steps forward.Delgado's desk was cluttered with papers, folders, and old news clippings, plus a few coffee stains but he didn't seem to care. He watched her closely,eyes sharp as if sizing her up to see if she could handle what was coming.
"Take a look at this," he said, nudging a folder toward her."Do you ever heard of Vincent Ashcroft?"
She shook her head and opened the folder. Inside were blurry black-and-white photographs of a grand old mansion, brittle newspaper clippings chronicling a gangster's brutal legacy, and a hand-drawn map. Something in her chest tightened curiosity, maybe. Or something more.
"Vincent Ashcroft was one of the most feared crime lords in the city—until he died mysteriously twenty years ago. Left behind that mansion." Delgado pointed at the photos. "People say it's haunted. Lots of rumors. Strange lights, voices. Nobody's been able to make sense of it. The caretaker's the only one who'll even go near the place."
"You want me to investigate?" Sarah asked, her voice steady despite her racing pulse.
Delgado nodded. "We're running a Halloween special. Ghosts, haunted areas…you get the idea. But don't just make it fluff. I want real details. If there's anything to this, find it."
A spark lit in Sarah's eyes. She was meek and quiet in everyday life, but chasing a story made her bold and confident. She straightened with a small, determined nod.
"I'll get it done."
As Sarah exited Delgado's office, her colleague Lisa intercepted her, she glanced around the bustling newsroom, lowering her voice as she spoke.
"I heard Delgado gave you the haunted mansion story, You're really taking that story?"
Sarah looked up. "Why not? It's just an old house."
Lisa hesitated, worry spreading into her eyes. "You heard the stories, na? People don't just say it's haunted — they really believe in it. And that recent vampire ha...hauntings everyone's been talking about…" She broke off, giving Sarah a knowing look.
"I'll be fine, no worries" Sarah said, with a reassured smile.
Lisa let out a quiet sigh. "Just… jus... be careful, alright?" She paused, then softly asked, "Sho.... should, I.... come with you?" Her voice breaking in the middle of the sentence.
Sarah shook her head with a polite smile.
Holding her hands. "Thanks Lisa, but no need I've got this. It's just another assignment."
Lisa reached into her bag and pressed a small velvet pouch into Sarah's hand. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pale moonstone pendant.
"My grandmother, she always said this one keeps away bad energy… even those spirits that don't rest easy," Lisa murmured, her voice low and filled with worry.
Sarah clasped the chain around her neck, feeling the cool stone settle against her skin. When she looked up, Lisa was watching her closely, eyes full of concern.
"Thank you, Lisa," Sarah whispered, her fingers brushing the pendant.
Lisa gave a small nod and a half-smile. "Just in case, if the ghosts really come, na?" she said, her voice light but eyes serious, as Sarah stepped into the fading light.
Sarah smirked. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
As the newsroom door clicked shut behind Sarah, Lisa clasped her hands tightly and whispered a prayer. "God… keep her safe and bring her back with safety," she murmured, eyes flicking upward, heart weighed down with worry.
Sarah was shy, kind-hearted, and introverted .The type who preferred a quiet evening alone by herself over a party. She avoided conflict and blended into the background, but chasing a story transformed her. Her curiosity and quiet determination always overcame her awkwardness, and no haunted mansion could stop her. Mysteries, after all, were easier to navigate than small talk.
That evening, Sarah sat in the driver's seat, hands resting on the wheel. The mansion's address was already in the GPS. She hadn't needed to think twice just tapped it in and let the screen guide her. The story pressed on her mind, heavy and insistent, as she reached into her blazer pocket, fingers brushing against the familiar shape of a cigarette. She paused, debating whether to light one.
With a shaky hand , she lit the cigarette and took a slow breath. watching the smoke rise and disappear. She hated the habit — but it always came back when work got under her nerves. This wasn't just another story. Something about this place, this mystery, had its hooks in her. And she couldn't explain why.
The drive to the mansion took Sarah deep into the heart of Ashen Hills, a forgotten area far removed from the charm of lively towns and scenic riverfronts. Here, the place looked abandoned. Old, forgotten farmhouses slumped in fields overtaken by weeds. Their roofs had crumbled, and their walls leaned like tired drunks. The roads grew narrow and uneven, bordered by dense woods that stretched overhead like skeletal hands. Shadows slid over the broken pavement. Her engine was the only thing breaking the thick, uneasy quiet.
The moment sarah arrived, the last rays of the sun had slipped behind the hills. The sky was a deep, dusky purple, down by thick clouds. The mansion stood in the middle of the forest tall and strong. Towering relic of better times now consumed by decay. Its stood against a faint glow of twilight. The cracked windows glinted like forgotten memories.
She stopped the car at the uneven drive. She took a slow, steady breath, adjusting to the vivid atmosphere , before grabbing her gear and stepping into the biting cold. She hung the camera over her shoulder. Her boots touched the gravel as a cold breeze cut through her blazer.
The cobblestones were nearly lost beneath wild weeds. Rusted iron gates, wrapped in ivy, creaked open with the wind. Sarah paused, taking in the stillness, the cold, the weight of the place.
"Well,Well, isn't it cozy," she muttered, then made her way toward the decaying entrance.
"Great, it's... just what I needed," she muttered, eyeing the mansion. "A creepy old house. I'll be lucky if I don't trip over some ghost or something."
As she neared the mansion, a figure emerged from the shadows. An older man, dressed in a ragged coat and boots, stepped in front of her.
"You don't belong here. Leave, now. I suggest you turn around and return whence you came, before I have no choice but to take further action." he grunted. "This is a private property."
Sarah flashed him a smile, though her heart raced. "I'm a journalist," she explained. "I'm working on a story and came here for research purposes."
His face darkened. "There's nothing here for you. Best turn around and leave."
With an exasperated sigh "yeah, yeah, I get it," she muttered. "The creepy caretaker who doesn't want anyone poking around. I've seen this movie."
As the man vanished back into the shadows, Sarah scanned the perimeter of the mansion. Her sharp eyes caught sight of a broken section of the wall. She was really determined to get inside. She climbed over it, she stumbled on a loose stone. She teetered for a moment, windmilling her arms in a desperate attempt to stay balanced. But gravity won — Sarah tumbled, landing with a graceless thud on the other side.
"Oof. Really what a smooth landing," she muttered, brushing dirt off her jacket, praying no one had seen her impromptu acrobatics.
The air felt thick, heavy with an almost tangible energy. Sarah turned on her camera, recording everything as she made her way to the front door. It creaked open with a reluctant groan, revealing a grand, though decayed, interior. Dust motes floated in the dim light coming through shattered windows, and the musty smell of mildew hung in the air.
Each step she took echoed eerily through the silence. She spoke softly into her camera, describing the peeling wallpaper, crack ed chandeliers, and the oppressive quiet that seemed to press on her from all sides. But the deeper she went, the more the atmosphere shifted. It started subtle — a whisper, a shadow skimming the edge of her vision.
Suddenly, a loud thud came from upstairs. Sarah jumped so high, she nearly dropped her camera.
"Okay, definitely a ghost," she said, forcing a nervous laugh. "That or a very clumsy ghost with terrible timing."
Sarah moved forward, her heart thumping with a mix of fear and determination. The mansion had yielded nothing but dust and shadows so far. When she entered the cavernous ballroom, it struck her as different from the rest of the decayed interior. At its centre stood a massive grand piano, surprisingly clean compared to the dusty surroundings, as if someone had cared for it while the rest of the mansion withered away. The domed ceiling stretched high above her, the faint moonlight streaming in through cracked windows giving the room an almost ethereal glow.
Curiosity stirred, but as the minutes turned to hours, frustration began to gnaw at her. She moved to the second floor, determined to uncover the mansion's secrets. Room by room, she searched every creaking corner, every darkened hallway. But after nearly three hours, she had found nothing — not a single clue, not even a hint of thee mysteries she'd hoped for.
The weight of failure pressed down on her, and Sarah's patience finally snapped. Standing alone in one of the dusty halls, she screamed into the void, her voice raw with frustration.
"Comon show yourself! Come to me!"
The mansion responded with silence, its oppressive stillness mocking her. Defeated and exhausted, Sarah decided to leave. The hour had grown late, and the eerie emptiness of the place was beginning to unnerve her. As the clock struck ten, she descended the stairs, her steps heavy with disappointment.
And then she heard it — a sweet, haunting melody drifting through the air.
Her heart jumped as she turned toward the ballroom. Clutching her camera tightly, she rushed toward the source of the sound. Peering cautiously through the doorway, she froze.
Under the glow of the moonlight streaming through the tall, cracked windows, a man sat at the grand piano. His features were striking, almost ethereal, and his hands moved with effortless grace as he played. The melody was otherworldly, pure and hypnotic. The entire room seemed to shift; the heavy stillness gave way to something alive.
Rain began to fall outside, the soft droplets of the rain slipping through the old, broken ceiling and tapping against the floor. The music and the rain merged in perfect harmony, creating a symphony that seemed to enchant everything around it. Even the insects, drawn by the moonlight, danced in rhythm of melody.
The man at the piano didn't pause, his finger playing the haunting melody filling the air. Sarah froze, her camera forgotten. Who was he? And how had he appeared in the abandoned mansion? Middle of nowhere?