Long before it became known as Frightmare, the manor stood forgotten by time, its rotting walls and cursed foundation soaked in fear. No records tell when it was built. No deeds name its true owner. Some believe the land itself was cursed long before the house ever rose from the soil.

For as long as anyone can remember, Mr. Fright has been here. He does not age. He does not leave. Decades pass, generations fade, yet the lights still flicker within the manor, and the sound of chains, machinery, and whispered voices echo from deep below its floors.

Those who lived nearby learned not to ask questions. Those who wandered too close either vanished or returned broken, muttering of living shadows and a man who watches from the darkness, waiting.