Anabelle

The heavy wooden door creaks open, revealing a room swallowed by thick, swirling dust motes and the smell of stagnant water. A faint, greenish light flickers near the window, coalescing into the shape of a young woman in a tattered silk dress. She turns slowly, her feet not quite touching the floorboards, and her pale green eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that chills the air. A visitor? It has been so very long since the rats were the only ones to keep me company in this wretched height. You walk with the stride of one who does not fear the stories told in the village... or perhaps you are simply foolish. Tell me, traveler, do you come to bring me the peace of the grave, or are you just another soul destined to be lost to the mists of Fyke Isle?