On the top of Pendle Hill in Lancashire, England, stood a grand, lonely house under the name of Wardenton Manor. The brown brick walls faded to a dull gray that matched the everlasting dreary sky. Thick vines grew around the exterior of the whole house, as if to lock in whatever was dwelling inside.Years of northern England’s torrential rain and frigid winds had punished the whole estate. It had been abandoned for almost four decades and the townspeople of Pendle Hill remained distant in fear of the mansion’s notoriety. Many years ago, the house was vibrant and lively, until the death of the Wardenton family.   
Daniel Shepherd arrived at Pendle Pub & Inn early on a crisp October morning. As he stepped down from the horse drawn carriage, a gust of wind bit at his nose, swirling around the dead leaves on the street. The floorboards creaked and wailed as Daniel entered the pub and walked towards the bar. Standing at the bar Daniel looked around the room and realized he was alone, surrounded by an eerie silence when suddenly, the voice of a man bellowed behind him. Daniel quickly turned around to see an old man with gray hair wearing a suit staring at him from behind the bar. “You must be lost lad, what brings you to this side of Lancashire?”, the man asked with a gruff voice. Daniel stuttered when responding about a certain house he was interested in visiting, Wardenton Manor. The bartender’s eyes widened and he began to look around nervously. “I’ve come from London, I’m a journalist and that house at the top of the hill has stirred up some stories that I would like to get to the bottom of.”, exclaimed Daniel. “Very well then sir, let me show you to your room”, he responded amiably.
Once in his room, Daniel set his bags down and sat on the squeaky bed. He had a clear view of the mansion atop the hill from the window of his room, and he gazed in curiosity pondering the mysteries he planned to uncover. After he settled in, Daniel decided to walk around and see what he could discover. Returning downstairs to the bar, Daniel began another conversation with the bartender, who soon introduced himself as Mr. Corning. “Why is this town so quiet?”, asked Daniel. Mr. Corning proceeded to tell Daniel about the history of Pendle Hill and the story of the Wardenton family.
“About fifty or so years ago, there was a family of three that lived in that house upon the highest point of Pendle Hill. They were not seen very often and kept to themselves. The son, Alfred, was a very mysterious boy, a spitting image of his father”, the bartender said, as he then explained the family’s discreet yet creepy manner.
“One day, news spread the parents were found in their home, laying in their bed together, blood soaking through their undergarments… breathless, pulseless, dead.” The bartender looked spooked, almost as if he regretted telling the story. He continued, “the boy was never seen again and I haven’t heard of anyone else coming out of that house since before they lived there”, the Bartender said.
A feeling of curiosity mixed with fear coursed through Daniel’s veins. He was determined to find out the truth behind the Wardenton family and their enigmatic mansion. Daniel perambulated the streets of Pendle Hill, which were empty except for a few men walking and carrying wood. Daniel continued down the main street scrutinizing the barren community until he stopped at the bottom of the hill to look up at the sinister home towering above him. 
After his trek up the hill, he stood there staring at the splintered wood that kept him separated from the mysteries inside. A high pitched creak sounded as he nudged the door open, dust bursting into the cold air. The foyer was immaculate and a double wooden staircase curled up around and met in the middle to form a balcony that looked over the main entrance. Daniel took a breath slowly and started walking towards the staircase, and as he slowly made his way up the creaky staircase he felt less alone. There was something off about the feeling he had. He made his way to the master bedroom and the stench of death began to tickle his nose. It grew stronger and pungent and Daniel decided this was not the room to start in. He found his way to a quaint room with a small bed and a wooden desk. Above the desk hung a fogged mirror with a crack going across the corner. Daniel paused in front of the mirror and a cold breeze slipped under his sleeve and down his pant leg. He was not alone here and he knew it. He sat at the desk and looked into the mirror.
Suddenly, he felt a child’s hand grip his shoulder. Startled and scared he wondered what was holding his shoulder, because the only thing in the mirror was his own self staring back at him.
“What is going on?”, he asked.
The words “father” echoed quietly through the house. Daniels trepidation was overbearing and he felt the need to escape the house. He sprang up from the boy’s desk and ran down the stairs, skipping every other one he finally made it to the door. He grabbed the cold doorknob and pulled, but the door did not move. His full force was pulling the door open and yet it would not budge. Daniel panicked and yelled for help but nobody was coming to rescue him.
“Father?”, echoed through the house again, ricocheting off the walls like stray bullets.
“Father? Mother?”, the voice echoed throughout the house again.
Daniel, frightened and trembling, yelled for help again. The smell of death hovered closer to him and beads of sweat began rolling down his spine.
“Who is there?”, Daniel exclaimed. 
The windows began frosting over, slowly starting with the ones farthest and making their way towards him. Panel by panel, the windows cracked with ice forming over the glass and at that moment Daniel knew whatever was in the house was approaching him. The coldness neared foot by foot. Daniel’s trembling grew into shaking and the cowardly inched himself into a corner, covering his face with his hands. The voice came from closer now and Daniel could hear that it was a child’s voice now.
“Did you kill my parents?”, the voice boomed throughout the frozen room.
“No! No! Please! It wasn’t me! Please tell me who you are”, Daniel shrieked.
“I am Alfred Wardenton, do you know where my parents are?
Daniel repeated that he did not know and that he was merely a journalist who was looking for a story on the Wardenton manor.
The boy’s voice reflected anger and his demonic scream curdled the air as the words “get out” vibrated the air. Again and again the words “get out” resonated from the boy’s angry voice.
Daniel, with no thoughts, sprang up, shouldered the lock and bombarded through the doors and down the hill. He ran as fast as he could until he reached the gravel road that led to the pub. Daniel’s mind was racing, his thoughts jumbled into a knot of questions. He entered the pub as his breath caught up from him. The Pendle pub lights flickered on and off and this seemed like the most normal thing that had happened all day. Sinking down into the seat at the bar, he lay his sweaty forehead down onto his forearm. He sat there, silent and still, pondering the last few moments that occurred. Who is this boy? Who killed his parents? What can I do with myself now? Daniel’s thoughts were screaming in his unconscious, filling his head with the unknown .
Mr. Corning approached the bar with a glass of beer and placed it in front of Daniel. With a look of confusion, Daniel asked “What is this I have not ordered anything”.
“It is free, given to you from the booth in the corner”, responded Mr. Corning pointing to the corner with his eyes. Daniel quickly turned and a cold shiver ran down his spine as he saw who was there. Across the room a small boy with pitch black eyes glared at Daniel and a demonic smile widened across his face.