Have you ever heard the tales of the haunted mansion on Westminster Street, the stories mothers use to keep their children from sneaking out to play after dark? Rumors about it often echo in the local pubs or are told by the warm fireplace on cold winter evenings. If not, allow me to begin.
It is the story of a mansion not far north of Hyde Park and right next to Westminster City Hall. A colossal and magnificent piece of Gothic Revival architecture that forces anyone who passes by to look up, its name is Blackwood. Situated on prime real estate whose mere price is enough to stun most people, the mansion hides itself in the mist with ancient maple trees standing silently before the gate, where an inexplicable stillness seems to thicken the air.
But when night falls, especially on moonless nights, Blackwood sheds its aristocratic veneer to reveal its dark, gloomy, and chilling nature. The faint moonlight is swallowed by the black stone walls, transforming the mansion into a massive block of shadow, like a monstrous entity awakened from a long slumber.
The sharply pointed gables, majestic by day, now become gruesome claws, reaching up to tear the night sky. The stained-glass windows, sparkling in the daylight, now turn into dark, empty, and cold eye sockets, reflecting no light, but instead seemingly staring at lost souls.
The elegant floral bas-reliefs, under the cover of night, twist into grotesque, bizarre shapes like faces silently wailing. Ivy vines creep like giant snakes, crawling over the walls, forming grayish-green veins that tightly wrap around long-locked pathways, like a colossal spiderweb.
The main entrance with the family crest now appears dark and menacing, haunted by mysterious tales of sin and curses. Behind the mansion, the vast garden is entirely shrouded in darkness, turning into a wild labyrinth where withered trees twist like skeletal fingers, and the wind whistling through the window crevices sounds like the incessant weeping of ghosts. A smell of dampness and decay, mixed with the chill from the surrounding forest, makes the air heavy and suffocating.
And inside, all sounds vanish, ruled only by a terrifying silence. Blackwood Mansion, when night descends, is no longer a house, but a stone tomb, a dwelling of terrible secrets waiting to be awakened.
Common folk rumored that behind Blackwood's desolate garden, there is a small well. Where, at night, at an opportune moment each month, if you stand by the well's edge and drop in three silver coins, while voicing your deepest wish, a witch spirit will appear and grant your desire, but at a horrifying price.
Or people whisper about the ghosts of children often running and playing in the garden, beckoning anyone to join them. Outsiders murmur that they are the souls of the Aberdeen family, a noble family who committed suicide years ago due to their failure to compete in the coal business with Blackwood.
"Utter nonsense, stories used to frighten children. My master's family has no shortage of enemies, and those who are jealous often spread baseless rumors. I guarantee not a single word of them is true about Blackwood." Elias Thorne, the family butler, would reply whenever asked.
There is no room for doubt, indeed. The Blackwood family is an ancient and powerful lineage in London, wealthy from coal, trade, and even secrets no one dares to mention. Heading the family is Lord Alistair Blackwood, a man who makes anyone bow their head when his name is mentioned. He possesses a tall stature, broad shoulders, and a back always straight like the trident he proudly adopted as the family crest. His face is severe with rugged features, a square jaw, a straight nose, and pale gray eyes as cold as granite, never showing emotion, save for disappointment.
Alistair is a successful businessman, but the way he governs his family is even stricter than his work. In his eyes, everything must adhere to absolute order. He was the one who established the "post-midnight rule." An unwritten law that no one is allowed to break. For him, mercy is a sign of weakness, and lax discipline is the seed of chaos. The servants in the house always tiptoe as if living in a holy temple, while his wife and children, Eleanor, Julian, Ariana, and Thomas, are only permitted to exist within strict boundaries, with no room for excessive affection or personal deviation.
"The rare times I saw him smile were when a highly profitable deal was completed, or a competitor had to surrender and kneel," shared Count Ashworth, a long-time friend of Alistair.
However, despite all of Alistair's efforts to control, the darkness is another force at Blackwood. The mansion's darkness always finds a way to pierce through all barriers of discipline, exposing hidden secrets no one ever knew.
And on that fateful night, it chose a victim: Ariana Blackwood, who was completely unaware that the real nightmare was beginning right outside her bedroom door.
It was a moonless night, when thick black clouds obscured even the stars in the sky, when cold winds howled through the window crevices, bringing the humid chill and the mournful sound of the surrounding forest.
"Ancient Epics", "Magic Engravings"... find them, put them in the right place."
At midnight, Ariana Blackwood woke up with a start, her nightgown soaked in sweat clinging to her skin, each breath heavy as if she had just completed a mile-long sprint. The cold from outside the window rushed in, making her shiver.
She wondered how long she had been asleep, then looked toward the window.
"I closed the window before I went to bed," Ariana thought to herself.
The room was plunged into darkness; the bedside candle had long since extinguished, leaving a lingering, acrid smell of smoke, like burnt hair, swirling in the silent air.
Ariana bolted upright, her amber eyes wide. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, the only sound breaking the silence in the room. Though she saw nothing, she felt a heavy, uneasy presence, as if an invisible gaze was following her every move.
Then a very soft sound, like fingertips scratching wood, echoed from the direction of the door.
The fine hairs on her arms stood up. Frightened, Ariana reached for the bell next to the bed, intending to press it to call a servant, but then she abruptly froze, her father's warning echoing. "No matter who is outside... you must not open the door."
She looked at her palm. A sudden stinging and burning cold sensation made her open it. And right on the heel of her palm, a strange mark appeared. It was a deep, crescent-shaped bite mark. The wound was no longer bleeding, but the flesh in the center had dried up, forming a hard, raised scab of deep reddish-brown, like baked clay. Around the bite, her skin was slightly swollen and bruised.
When did she get it, and what bit her? Ariana frowned, trying to recall what had happened, but she couldn't. Everything seemed to be a blank space, a blackboard wiped clean in her mind.
The sound came again, forcing Ariana to hold her breath and listen. The space was so quiet that the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall seemed to come from another world. She clutched the edge of the blanket, silently praying for the sound to quickly disappear.
A voice came from outside her bedroom door, urgent and pleading.
"Sister Ariana... Are you there? Please... please open the door." It was Thomas's voice. Her younger brother.
Thomas, thirteen years old, the youngest son of the Blackwood family, a mischievous child who often played troublesome pranks—like the time he caused their mother to have a heart flutter with a fake snake hidden on the bed. For Ariana, he was the only family member she truly loved.
But even Thomas knew how terrible their father's anger would be if anyone dared to violate the midnight rule, so he had never broken the law. So why was he outside now? Ariana didn't have much time to think, as she now heard her brother's trembling, panicked voice.
"Thomas? What are you doing out there?" Ariana tried to keep her voice calm, but fear choked her throat. The rule—that rule—was like an invisible chain binding her to the bed.
"Sister, I... I have no other way. Julian... he's..." Thomas choked up, mixed with sobs. "Tonight he was sleeping in my room to prepare for the fox hunt with Father tomorrow morning. But in the middle of the night, I woke up and... he was clutching his chest, gasping for air, his lips turning blue..."
Julian having a heart attack? That was horrifying. She remembered her brother, Julian, strong, arrogant, a younger version of her father, Alistair. Ariana and he did not have a truly close relationship, due to his coldness and differing views on life with his sister. Julian believed that charity for the poor was a wasteful and meaningless act, unless it was an event organized to promote the Blackwood family's reputation.
"Money doesn't grow on trees to fall down, little sister," Julian would scoffingly mock her.
Ariana disagreed with him on this matter, but she didn't want to argue back. Julian was the future pillar of the family, the son her parents most loved and were proud of, an aristocratic student attending Christ Church, Oxford. And if something bad happened to him tonight...
"I'm so scared, Sister. I ran to Mother and Father's room, knocked... they heard, but no one opened. I ran to the butler's room, to the maids'... no one. Everyone is silent... as if no one heard me," Thomas wailed, his voice full of despair.
"I only have you left, Sister Ariana. You are the only one I can trust now!"
Thomas's despair cut into Ariana's compassionate heart like a knife. She, who frequently attended charity events to help the poor, had never been indifferent to the pain or misfortune of others. But the rule... It had been etched into her by the stories her father told. Lord Alistair, the sharp, rigid, and unforgiving head of the family.
Ariana remembered the story of Widow Agnes, the family's long-time servant, who was caught stealing. She pleaded desperately, saying it was to save her young, sick son. But her father, unmoved, handed her over to the police, and then told his children.
"You must always be firm when dealing with thieves. This is not the first time they have stolen, but the first time they've been caught." That's right, her father, in this house, he was the law.
And she, Ariana, and her mother were always seen as porcelain ornaments placed next to the fireplace, beautiful, still, doing nothing significant and having no say. Every important decision was made by her father or Julian.
Growing up in that atmosphere, Ariana gradually learned to be silent, shrug, and hide her own thoughts. But deep in her heart, a burning desire always smoldered, a silent but fierce need to be recognized, to prove her worth, to be treated fairly.
And now, on this terrifying dark night, Ariana faced a choice. For the first time, this was her own decision. Not her father's, not her brother's, not her mother's.
"Thomas... are you... are you sure that's Julian?" Ariana asked, her voice trembling with fear. "Why is there no other way? You could call a doctor."
"I tried, Sister. I tried to run to the phone, but it... it's dead. I knocked on everyone's doors, Sister. I pleaded. But no one opened. I only have you left, Sister Ariana. There's not much time left. Otherwise, it will be too late."
"If it really is you, Thomas, prove it," Ariana insisted, even though Thomas's desperation was melting her heart.
"Do you remember the time we snuck out of the house to go to the town carnival? You were tricked out of all your pocket money playing some game in that crowded market, and Julian showed up, exposed the scam, and brought both of us home?"
Outside the door, there was a moment of silence. Then Thomas's voice broke, full of pain. "Sister... what are you asking? Don't you trust me? I'm trying to save Julian. He's dying."
"Answer me, Thomas," Ariana almost screamed.
A heavy sigh. "I remember... it was the 'thimble-rig' game, Sister Ariana. I did everything I could so you wouldn't cry about losing money, and Father punished me by making me kneel for three days for daring to take you to the carnival without permission." Thomas's voice was hoarse, as if trying to restrain himself from crying louder.
That's right, Ariana remembered it. The detail about the scam and Julian exposing it, along with the subsequent punishment, was known only to the three siblings. Gathering all her courage, she sat up and approached the door, only to smell a strange odor, sweet and acrid like rotting lilies, wafting in the air—a scent Ariana remembered smelling recently, but the memory of its origin sank deep into an unreachable dark corner of her mind.
"Please, Sister Ariana, this is not the time for questioning. I'm afraid... I'm afraid Julian won't make it. His heart is beating so faintly. I have to press my ear to his chest just to hear a faint pulse. Please, Sister."
The scratching on the door became increasingly frantic, louder, as if Thomas were hitting it with both hands. Ariana could not bear it any longer. The fear of losing her brother, and above all, losing Thomas, the only sibling she genuinely loved, defeated her reason. Trembling, she slowly reached for the latch.
The latch slowly clicked. And at that moment, in the sky, the faint moonlight pierced through the black clouds, illuminating the corridor.
Standing outside the door was not Thomas.
It was a monstrous creature.
It was terrifyingly tall, its body gaunt, naked, and stained red with sticky fluid, as if its skin had been flayed or it was drenched in fresh blood. But the most disgusting thing was its head: a giant goat's head with curved horns, its murky yellow eyes staring at Ariana with cruelty and pleasure. The putrid smell suddenly became so strong that Ariana felt her stomach clench, as if she wanted to vomit her entire soul.
And in its rough, clawed hand was Thomas's head, still retaining strands of golden hair, his pale blue eyes wide open, staring into the void with horror.
With Thomas's head in its hand, it slowly bent down, a sickly sweet, repulsive, and distorted smile slowly appearing on its hideous face, revealing a set of sharp teeth.
And then, in a familiar child's voice, it spoke: "My dear sister, thank you for opening the door."
Fear surged, freezing every muscle in Ariana's body. Her body turned to stone, unable to move, unable to scream. She could only stand there, her eyes wide, staring at the nightmare unfolding before her.
The creature stepped into the room, each step dragging with it the sickening sound of sticky fluid on the wooden floor. It carelessly dropped Thomas's head, like a discarded toy. Then, with a lightning-fast motion, it grabbed Ariana. Its rough and icy fingers clenched her arm, pressing so hard that Ariana could feel her bones grinding together.
The smile on the goat-like face widened as it lowered its head, its murky yellow eyes fixed on Ariana. A kiss. A repulsive, cold kiss, carrying the scent of mud and blood, was placed upon her lips, and then something soft, cold, and slimy began to try to wiggle its way into Ariana's oral cavity—its tongue.
And Ariana felt it. The metallic taste of blood, mixed with the bitter sting of ultimate fear, filled her mouth. It was the flavor of the end, of inescapable horror. Her eyes were wide open, staring into the indefinite darkness, where fear was no longer a concept, but an entity, consuming her from within.