The groan of a floorboard reverberates throughout the mansion halls. It's acient wood splintered and cracked, it moans. Much like the poor soul who, at one time, lived beneath it in secluded misery. Caged, shackled, and left to wallow in his own excriment, he eventually passed on into an afterlife, which could only hold more promise, then the only life he ever knew existed. His death, much like his life, going undetected. Graduating into the netherworld, as confused and forlorn as he ever was in body and breath, his spirit becomes ensnared in the very place he loathed so much. This horrible place. This wretched place. Composed as much of suffering and torment, as it is brick and oak. A house that rests, not only on a foundation of concrete and stone, but upon decades of incalculable sorrow. To degrees which will forever remain shrouded in mystery, yet will continue to eminate within the confines of it's structure. Oozing from the walls, like spilt tears. Much like the tears he wept on many a night, while staring out the one, solitary window he had, in the confines of the damp, decrepit basement. A basement not fit for beast, let alone man. Forever staring between the bars of the window, as the fullness of the moon shone down upon his pale skin. Lighting a path.
To places he could not escape to. And things he would never see.
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