It was in the woods. Not the type of woods where wolves pretend to be little girls’ grandmas or where evil witches live in houses made of sweets. No. These woods are the places of murders. Around every corner and around every tree, a criminal could be lurking. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a wealthy lord or lady to come trundling down the narrow, overgrown path in their expensive coach or carriage.
In the depth of the forest sat an acceptable looking manor house only used for when those lords, ladies, Kings and Queens feel like celebrating. With roofs as high as they were wide, some said it was haunted. Surrounded by shadow casting statues, its mile long gravel driveway led up to a dimly lit doorway. The oak panelled door made a bloodcurdling screech when it was opened.
The inside was very grand with the classic red and gold velvet furniture. An old grand piano sat covered in dust in the corner of the room. Untouched. Lonely almost. Its ivory keys yellow with age. There was a great staircase covered with a red carpet. The master bedroom withered with age and lack of attention. To think, this mansion was once a thing of beauty. A thing of power, devotion and life. But now, isolated from the outside world, it lay there to rot. In the middle of a wasteland.