Whitby was a quiet town, which most people ignored. The cobblestones and the buildings were rather elderly and showed signs of fading civility, as it were. Most of the inhabitants carried on with their routine and paid no notice to it. However, there was one place that every single one of them steered clear of - the old Greystone House that stood at the edge of the town.

It was a huge, crumbling old house full of every clutter imaginable for as long as anyone could remember. That old, elegant surface now lay in tatters covered with flaking paint and creeping vines, while the glassless windows-turned blinds made of boards which had long been dismayed, appeared to be even to closed eyes watching people who walked down the street. Nobody could recall who was there and the reason it has remained dormant all this time. There were only dark memories - unfavorable tales about strange occurrences, and indeed an event which no one ever seemed to want to talk about.

It was one bright fall evening when a young reporter called Emily who loved chasing the story wherever it fits, felt the need to investigate the house. Most of her peers wrote it off as a mere ghost story however Emily was quite the opposite, such stories did not scare her, rather, she was always on the lookout for one of those versatile tales.

And so, with a flash light and a notepad in hand, this aspiring investigator went towards the house a little past sunset. The invincible stench of wet soil mixed with rotting foliage was overpowering. When her foot landed on the decaying floor of the porch, she saw the glass door which was unlocked and partly opened as if someone wanted her to walk in. After taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and walked into the hallway.

Within, the house was a pigeonhole of dusty ochre furniture and spider draughts. Every room she went into appeared to be a story about abandonment who endured. Ragged fine rugs which were once there. And portrait paintings with eyes that were following the character possessing them. Old family keepsakes smeared over decades of dust. Her foot grazed the highly polished floor and it struck back with a sound that resonated against all the quiet.

As it happened in a room which seemed like the library, Emily came across a diary lying on a table in the room. Its cover was worn and crumbled. When she attempted to turn its leaves, it was filled with neatly written script. The entries chronicled parents, a son and a daughter who once occupied the house and formed one unit of a family blissfully. However as she went on, the mood took a turn towards more sinister directions - strange sounds at night, strange sights and something sinister looming.