Before this journal is read, it should be noted that the author of this journal, Dr. Rolly Atencio has been since declared clinically insane, and therefore any thoughts or discoveries voiced in this journal should be taken with this lens of a madman's ramblings in mind. Thank you.

October 1st, 1969

Something happened today. Something that is not to be taken lightly. This finding could change the very course of science as we know it.

I should take a moment to introduce myself, as I doubt my previous pages will be well documented. My name is Doctor Rolly Atencio, and I am a parapsychologist. I study the paranormal. However, while most study things such as hypnosis, or telekinesis, I study ghosts. I know they're real. They have to be. Because I just hit the jackpot

I was wandering through the forests near New Orleans, and I had found I path I could have sworn wasn't there before. I followed it deeper and deeper into the forest, eventually finding a large, ornate, wrought iron gate. Through it, a Victorian-style mansion loomed in the back. The whole thing was ominous. It felt like it was waiting for me.

Pushing open the gates, I was greeted by a gust of cold wind, which then slammed shut behind me. I advanced up the cobble path, placing my hand on the door, which swung open, revealing a large chamber with a door sitting beneath a portrait of a stately man. Right before the door shut, lightning crashed across the sky, and a storm started to pour down. I turned back to find a man standing there, dressed to the nines. However, I could have sworn his face morphed into a twisted, gaunt face for a split second.

"Welcome foolish mor- traveler, to the Gracey Mansion. I am your host. Please step all the way into this room. Attempt to leave as little dead space as possible," the man said, smiling.

I didn't trust him. I don't know what it was, but something just seemed off.

"Since we currently have a storm raging outside, there's no turning back now. Our tour will begin in this gallery," he said, stepping forward into the door below the painting, which, come to think of it, had changed since I last saw it. The man looked... older. Somehow.

"You'll see portraits of some of our guests as they appeared in their more, shall we say, corruptible state," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "now, please drag your body away from the wall and into the dead center of the room."

Something in the room began to shift. I looked around and the paintings, the roof, the entire room, it was... stretching. But I wasn't moving. It wasn't an elevator. The roof wasn't going up. In this room, something was off about it.

"Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis."

I turned towards the voice, but it was gone, but then, almost directly behind me, he whispered, "Is this room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination? Hmm?"

That was it. This confirmed it. I had stumbled into a real-life haunted house. No. Not just a haunted house. This was a Haunted Mansion.

"And consider this dismaying observation," he said, now back to the center of the room in front of me, "this chamber has no windows and no doors. Which offers you this chilling challenge."

The man transformed into the thing I had glanced at earlier. A tall, gaunt man with a pale face, and one eye larger than the other. A crooked simile was on his face, and he held a hatchet.

"TO FIND A WAY OUT!" he boomed, laughing maniacally.

"Of course," he said, vanishing. "There's always my way."

The room was plunged into darkness, before lightning clapped across, revealing a man hanging from the ceiling. I screamed. He couldn't possibly mean that? Could he?

The light flickered back on, and when they did, the man stood there again, back to his stately self, but this time ever so slightly transparent. A wall had also vanished, revealing a hallway.

"Oh, I didn't mean to frighten you prematurely," he said, laughing, "the real chills come later. Now, as they say, 'look alive,' and we'll continue our little tour. And let's all stay together, please."

I quickly followed after the man, who seemed to get more incorporeal as we progressed.

"There are several prominent ghosts who have retired here from creepy old crypts all over the world. Actually, we have 999 happy haunts here — but there's room for 1,000. Any volunteers?" he said, laughing again.

I stopped dead in my tracks. 999? Here? I had hit the jackpot. If I got out that is.

"If you insist on lagging behind," he said, venom filling his voice, "you may not need to volunteer."

I quickly caught up with him, and as we crossed under a large archway, he fully vanished. However, he kept guiding me along, a wind pushing me, and narrating over the tour. We passed portraits that flickered in the light, including one of himself, a floating candelabra in an endless hallway, a clock-striking 13, a coffin, and someone inside begging to get out.

We continued until we found ourselves in a large room, a crystal ball in the center. The smoke cleared to reveal a lady's head, and it started to float.

"Say hello to Madame Leota," he said, "our resident clairvoyant."

I tentatively waved.

She didn't seem to be paying attention, as she started chanting, causing things to start floating around in the room. Bells, trumpets, and other noises started filling the room before all of them ceased, and her crystal ball floated down.

"It seems the spirits have received your sympathetic vibrations, and have begun to materialize. They're assembling for a swinging wake, and they'll be expecting me... I'll see you all a little later. Oh, and as you look around, be wary of the attic. Constance gets awfully sensitive around new visitors, especially males. Alistair might be there, but I can't guarantee anything."

With that, I could feel the presence leave. I tentatively continued forward. I didn't like that warning. Who was Constance? Who was Alistair? I would have thought further but found myself stopped again by a beautiful scene in front of me.

I stood on a balcony overlooking a ballroom. In the middle was a table, housing a cake, and several ghosts trying to blow out the candles. An organ stood to the side, a ghost with long tailcoats playing a waltz, which the main attraction of the room, the hundreds of ghosts, were dancing to. It was a sight to see, all of them just waltzing around, almost as if they didn't know they were dead.

There were paintings on the wall of two dueling men who kept turning toward each other and shooting, returning to their portrait, and repeating

I wandered further, taking a flight of stairs. I appeared to be in some sort of storage space. Something like an...

Attic.

I had ended up in the attic.

I immediately turned around, but the passageway was gone. I had to push forward. So I did. I passed by numerous portraits of a bride with her husband, but as I looked, their heads disappeared. A harpsicord started to play a demented, sickening version of 'Here Comes the Bride.'

I turned a corner and came face to face with her.

She was tall, with flowing hair and a veil over her face. This must be Constance.

"What have we here?" she asked in a scarily sweet voice. "A visitor to the Mansion. A man too."

"Sorry to disturb you Ms. er- Constance? Ill just be on my way."

"Leaving so soon," she asked, voice getting sharper.

"Yes," I responded, "I really didn't mean to intrude."

A new spirit materialized. This one was a hunched over man in a cape and tall hat. His face was skeletal, and he had a wide grin, with one golden tooth. He held a cane in one hand and a hatbox in the other.

"They never mean to intrude," the spector said. His head then vanished off his shoulders, and reappeared in the hatbox he held, grin wider.

"But she kills 'em just the same!"

A hatchet materialized in Constance's hand, and she swung it down at me. I managed to jump out of the way, but found myself against a window.

Constance lifted the hatchet again, but before it had the chance to come down, the Hatbox Ghost laughed, saying "Down you go!" and shoved me back with his cane.

I heard the shattering of glass and I fell backwards, out of the mansion window. Looking up, I saw Constance grinning down at me, and the Hatbox Ghost had returned to his original grin. But there was something off about it. I don't know what, and before I had a chance to think, it returned back to malicious.

I landed with a thud on the grass. Everything hurt. But I wasn't dead. Somehow, someway, I wasn't dead.

Then I turned around.

If I wasn't dead yet, I would be soon.

I was in a graveyard, surrounded by hundreds of ghosts.

Happy Halloween! I love the haunted mansion, so figured I should write about it. Updates at least once every week. 

Xoxoxo - Darky