"I dare you to go in."

I peered silently at the old Phantomhive Manor, registering its already crumbling walls and thick brush of ivy covering the remaining stone. The windows were broken and littered with all sorts of graffiti, ranging from names and hearts to what people assumed to be clever warnings. 'Beware' and 'Do not enter' were among the poorly chosen phrases to keep the rumors of hauntings alive, so to speak. It looked ominous against the harsh rain coming down around the grounds.

The Phantomhive Manor was once grand, home to the last living descendent of the Phantomhive line. Young Ciel had mysteriously gone missing just after his 13th birthday, leaving behind the mansion, its servants, and a devastated fiancé in his wake. It was said that an enemy of the Earl had come into the Manor and slit his throat, dumping his body somewhere on the grounds. To this day, rumors spread like wildfire that people who entered would come back bloody and unable to speak, claiming to have had an encounter with the angry spirit of Ciel Phantomhive.

I didn't believe it for a second. You had to be a complete idiot to buy into the rumors and the horror stories. The Earl simply went missing, there was no report of his death inside the Manor, and trust me, I did my research. Back then, you couldn't hide a bloody scene if your life depended on it. If Ciel had been murdered in his sleep or anywhere else in his home, it definitely would have made headlines.

"Are you wussing out?"

Turning my head to my companions, I shrugged my shoulders. "I'll go in, I don't have a problem with it," I told Jake, pulling my hood over my hair to climb out of the car. "Hand me a flashlight."

"I can't believe you're actually going to do this," Becky exclaimed, facing me from her perch in the passenger seat. I rolled my eyes, accepting the flashlight from Greg. The three of them had bought into the stories they read online and heard from the locals, but I couldn't. Becky had the gall to legitimately look terrified at the aspect of me venturing into the manor alone. "Jake, don't make her do this."

I almost had to scoff. "Beck, the place isn't haunted, there's no such thing as ghosts," I responded before Jake could answer. I zipped up my hoodie, shoving the flashlight into the pocket. "I'll be back before you know it, alright?"

"Go with her, Greg," Jake said as I was about to get out of the car."

"What? No way!"

"Oh for the love of God," I muttered under my breath. I hauled open my door, getting out into the pouring rain with shouting protests from Becky behind me. "Look, if one of you is coming with me, do it now."

"Fucking seriously," Greg finally said, climbing out of the car to stand beside me. He popped his head back into the car. "If we're not back in twenty minutes, you come looking for us, deal?"

"You're being ridiculous," I told him, heading towards the rotting door of the manor. When he got a confirmation from the two in the car, he slammed the door and followed me. I was thankful I'd chosen to wear boots to this shindig. The mud was getting worse with the falling rain and my feet were sinking slowly with each step. I turned the flashlight on and shined it at the building, illuminating the numerous writings on the half boarded entrance.

Greg mumbled a couple curse words under his breath as I slid underneath the boards, but I ignored him. A smell of mothballs, mold, and other disastrous scents bombarded my nostrils and I gagged. "Holy hell, what the shit is that," Greg asked as I covered my mouth with my sleeve, his actions mirroring my own.

"It's an old building, what do you expect," I retorted being my makeshift mask. "Let's get this over with."

Inside was pitch black, save for the flashlight. The only sound in the building that I could make out was the intense rain falling on the broken down roof above us, splattering against the floor through the cracks in the ceiling. I flashed the light in front of me. The room we were in had once been what I assumed was the great hall. It was a vast room, and when I shone the light a little further up, I found myself looking at a pair of staircases on either side of crooked and fragmented double doors leading into another room.

"Up or straight?"

Greg gripped onto the back of my hoodie before I could take another step. "Riley, I think we should go," he whispered shakily, but I rolled my eyes, grabbing at his hand. He was trembling. Whether it was from the cold or from fear, I wasn't entirely sure. Maybe a hint of both. "I don't think we should be here."

"Up it is," I announced.

I pulled Greg along behind me, making sure to watch my step. All around our feet were shattered beer bottles, a few discarded needles, and other trash that people had left behind. Such disrespect to a piece of history. Surprisingly, the stairs hadn't acquired much damage, probably due to the mere fact that they were made of marble. There were a few chips here and there, and graffiti on practically every step, but other than that, safe to walk on.

A sudden clash from the second floor made us pause. Greg's grip on my hand tightened. "Riley, I'm serious, we need to go," he whispered frantically against my ear, but I elbowed him back.

"I'm sure it was just a raccoon," I whispered back, but even I wasn't confident about my reasoning. The sound had been loud, like something large had fallen against the stone floor. Raccoons can get into a lot of mischief, but I wasn't sure they could have caused something that forceful. "Come on."

"No, I'll wait down here," Greg replied quickly, and I turned the flashlight on him. His green eyes were wide with fear, pinned directly to the doors ahead of us on the second floor. "I'd rather stay down here and wait for you."

His logic didn't make sense. "Greg, you realize we have one flashlight, and if I leave you down here that means you'll be in the dark by yourself," I explained quietly. His eyes darted down to my face. "You really want to be alone in here?"

When he didn't answer, I knew he'd changed his mind at my words. That's what I thought. Without another word, I began my ascent up the stairs once more, my footsteps softer than before. If my animal theory didn't pan out, that meant something, or someone, was here and I was not about to get murdered over a stupid dare with a pussy trailing behind me.

The second floor didn't look as bad as the first, though the physical damage was worse due to weather conditions. The wooden panels and furniture had been chewed through probably by termites and the mold was extensive probably from the rainy season London seemed to be stuck in at this time of year. I moved the flashlight along the floor, mapping out my footsteps carefully until I reached the doors I wanted.

"There's something written on the door," Greg whispered to me. He was right. I lifted the light onto the door and read the wording aloud in a hushed voice.

"Beware all who enter for evil lies behind these doors," I read. Whoever wrote this desperately needed a life. I sighed, shaking my head as I reached to push the door open, but Greg grabbed my wrist. Greg was frozen in place, staring at the wording. "Greg, if we don't get a move on, we're not going to get out of here any faster."

"Riles, that's written in blood."

I cocked a brow at him before turning back to the door, shining the light against the harsh red words. What I'd thought was shitty graffiti was indeed to perfect of a shade to be paint, and when I looked closer, I could see the finger smears that had written the words. My heart jumped to my throat, and finally, I felt the anxiety start to creep into my veins. Licking my lip, I shook my head, turning back to Greg.

"It's just paint," I lied, but even I knew the difference between paint and blood. That was certainly not paint, spray or otherwise. I sidestepped to the other door, pressing it open slowly to reveal a hallway strangely illuminated in dark blue. It was lighter than downstairs, but I figured it was from the lack of roof covering part of the building. Greg clung to my hand as I continued into the hallway, moving the light slowly up and down the walls.

Old paintings of the Phantomhive family had been torn down from the walls, now a forgotten memory lying on the floor. Parts of the paintings were ripped, some even missing the heads, others covered in different colored spray paint. I felt a pang of guilt for being one of the miscreants walking the halls, but at least I didn't have a paint can in my hand to destroy any more of the history.

The furniture in the hall had been pushed over and smashed into little shards of wood, silver platters and shattered china strewn about the floor. I stepped over a silver pan, inching my way closer to the doors on either sides of the hallway. There had to be about 16 doors in total reaching all the way down to the other side of the manor. I had to admit, the Phantomhives really knew how to live, no matter how long they did.

Another, now louder, crash came from a few doors down and I froze, my heart racing uncomfortably. That didn't sound like a raccoon. I immediately turned the flashlight off, my grip on Greg's hand now a death grip. We stood frozen for what seemed like hours, waiting for something, anything, to emerge from the doorway.

"I knew this was a bad idea," I heard Greg mutter under his breath. I shushed him with my hand, listening for any further movement. When nothing came, I began walking towards the door, feeling my way through the hall. "Riley, what are you doing?!"

"I'm going to check it out."

"Riley, no," Greg hissed, grabbing onto my hand again. I turned to look at him in the dim natural light. Honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking, wanting to head towards the noise instead of away from it, but I needed to know. Surely the rumors of the place being haunted were just that; rumors from the townspeople. "What if that's an axe murderer or some shit? Or maybe a vengeful spirit. You saw the blood on the door and the warning. Evil lies behind these doors. That's evil in there."

"You can't possibly believe that," I whispered sarcastically, although I was beginning to believe it myself. I felt ridiculous buying into the crap locals warned us about, but the crashing in the room was too much of a coincidence. It had to be explained. "I'm going in whether you like it or not. Stay here if it makes you feel better."

Greg stared down at me then gave a curt nod. "But if you start screaming and running out of that room, I won't forgive you," he warned, though I knew that wouldn't happen. I sighed, turning back to the door. Watching my every step, I carefully maneuvered around the articles on the floor, leaving the light shining at my feet instead of ahead of me. If there was something in that room, I surely didn't want whatever, or whoever, it was to know of my presence before I knew of theirs.

When I reached the door, I took a deep silent breath, looking back down the hall to where Greg had been standing. Oddly, the light that had been there before was now gone, and the hall was pitch black like the floor below. I squared my shoulders, biting my lip hard as I slowly began to push the door open.

The room was in complete disarray, worse than any other part of the Manor I'd seen so far. Old parchment paper was thrown across the room, dark stains covered every inch of what I assumed had once been known as a very expensive rug. A four poster queen sized bed sat against the left wall, with two and a half pillars missing from corners. The sheets that covered it were stained and ripped apart, leaving whatever was left of the mattress to rot with bugs.

I looked to the right to see a fireplace dug into the wall, now with bottles and trash thrown into it instead of log and newspaper. The smell in the room left a horrid after taste in my mouth, almost causing me to gag from behind my sleeve. I flitted my eyes around the room in case of immediate danger, searching for the thing that had made the crashing sound only minutes before. When I noted everything looked as if nothing had happened, I moved my flashlight around the room.

The ceiling was high, and the windows that I stood in front of stretched from my waist all the way up the wall. Somehow, one had stayed mostly intact, with only a crack or two at the top. I could honestly say I was shocked someone had broken the window yet, but obviously there was still time for that. When I was satisfied with my assessment of the windows, I moved my light back to the fireplace.

I slid the light over the fireplace and gasped, coming face to face with a painting I hadn't noticed before. Moving swiftly, I stepped over to the fireplace, shining the light on an untouched painting of what I assumed to be the missing Earl Ciel Phantomhive himself. A boy of great confidence sat in a chair directly in front of the fireplace I was now in front of. He was dressed in a rather ridiculous looking two piece blue suit, complete with a black ribbon tied around his neck. A cane was wielded in his right hand, but that wasn't the accessory that intrigued me the most.

His eyes, or rather, his eye was a piercing blue, wide with a look of coyness, superiority, and malice. Covering his right eye was a black patch, tied around his head. In the writings I'd found on him, it never said anything about him having lost an eye at one point, but you couldn't always trust the things you read on the internet, obviously. Another odd accessory of his lit my curiosity.

Behind the Earl stood a rather tall figure, dressed in the attire of a butler. It was odd because in all of the historic paintings of royal blood, never was there a servant painted in with the royal status. This butler didn't look like the usual butler a household might have, however. He looked younger, maybe in his 20s, with sharp features, pale as his master, black hair falling into his face like he hadn't a care in the world where it landed.

What threw me off were the eyes. Piercing red eyes seemed to glow right out of the painting, staring at anyone, namely me at this point, who crossed his path. It was as if they followed wherever you went in the room, glaring directly into your soul. I cleared my now dry throat, my eyes trailing over the man's face. A smirk had been painted on his lips, sly and mischievous for all eternity. It was like he had a little secret that no one would ever know.

As I stared at the whole of the painting, I noticed the way the butler had his hand on the Phantomhive's shoulder. Unless a servant was dressing a royal, they weren't allowed to touch their master in any way, shape, or form. But this, this was a completely different kind of hold he had on the young master's shoulder. It was neither aloof nor intimate, but possessive, like he owned the 12 year old rather than being owned himself.

A small shuffle behind me lit a fire under my ass and I turned swiftly, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. I paused, turning the flashlight off in a fit of fear. My entire body began to shake and it took all I had not to run from the noise. Swallowing hard, I looked around in the darkness, trying to find the source of the shuffle. I took a short step, only to hear the sound again, this time by the bed.

Oh Jesus Lord, please don't let me die, I prayed to myself, inching towards the side of the bed near the windows. My heart thumped wildly against my ribcage, drops of sweat forming on my forehead under my bangs. I raised the flashlight in defense, nearing the side of the bed slowly. "Wh-whoever you are, show yourself," I said in a shaky, and rather pathetic, voice. I swallowed hard, my ears ringing with the sound of another shuffle. Why did I have to be so stupid and get myself into this?

Another step and I'd be face to face with whatever was making the sound. I had half a mind to run, to never look back, but I couldn't live with the regret of not knowing. With a deep breath, I took that last step and gasped, the flashlight falling from my grip. Instead of an animal or some evil spirit, I found myself staring at a body, hidden beneath a ripped sheet. The rise and fall of the sheet told me the person was alive, but what I couldn't tell was if they were sleeping or not.

"H-hello," I whispered, inching towards the body. I received no reply, but a movement caught my eye. It was obvious the body was that of a man, slight in build, but tall in height. Porcelain skin poked out from underneath the sheet, covered in lacerations and dirt. As I watched, the man's head began to peek out from the sheet, and I could see dark matted hair and his forehead covered in blood. "Oh my God."

Without thinking, I crouched next to the man, pulling the sheet from his torso quickly. Blood fell across his face and chest, dripping from his nose and his mouth. His breathing was labored, like he'd been severely beaten, and by the looks of it, that's exactly what happened. I grabbed the flashlight with shaking hands and turned it on, setting it on the floor to see the man better. He'd attempted a makeshift wrap around his head with part of the sheet, but had failed pretty miserably. His right eye was covered, blood drenching the sheet resting over it.

"Greg," I shouted, my hands frantically moving over the man's body. "Greg! Help me!"

I heard footsteps rushing down the hallway towards the room. "Riley, what's wrong," Greg asked, keeping his voice down. I looked up with wide eyes from my perch next to the man, Greg's eyes following behind me. "Oh shit, Riley, what the hell happened?"

"I don't know what happened, Greg, just help me, he's hurt," I told him, moving to wrap my arm around the man's torso. His skin was like ice, it almost burned to touch, but I ignored it. The man needed medical attention and badly. Greg moved to get on the other side of him, looking at me in confusion.

"We don't know if anything is broken," he commented, but at that point, I didn't care. I pulled the rest of the sheet off his body, noting that he had a pair of torn brown dress shorts covering his legs. Thank God. What I could see of his chest, stomach, and legs was coated in bruises and cuts, and I knew whatever happened to him was just short of torture.

"He needs a hospital, Greg, we need to get him out of here and to the car."

Greg paused, but when he realized I was about to lift the man from his position, he put his arm underneath the man's back and together, we began to lift him from the floor. A soft groan escaped the man's cracked and bleeding lips, but I ignored it, pulling the man to his feet. I pulled my hoodie off quickly, sliding it over the man's shoulders. "Hold him," I ordered, and when Greg maneuvered the man to lean against him, I bent down to grab the flashlight. "Alright, let's go."

We moved hastily through the hallway towards the stairwell, where we had to somewhat carry the man the rest of the way. The chill of the manor left my skin tingling as we left it behind us, almost running towards the car, which still sat just passed the fountain out front. Greg hauled the man against his side as I ran ahead, tapping on the window desperately.

"Jesus you guys took forever, what-"

"Riley, who the fuck is that," Jake called from the other side of the car.

"I have no time to explain that right now, Jake, just unlock the fucking car," I spat, and when I heard the click of the locks, I opened the back door, ushering Greg to slide the man into it. I went to the other side, gripping onto the man's shoulders to help him in.

"Oh my God, what happened to him," Becky asked in a frantic tone as I quickly slid under the man's head, resting it onto my lap. "He's bleeding everywhere!"

"Goddamn it, you guys, what the fuck did you do in there," Jake yelled, but I shoved at his shoulder, closing the door as Greg closed his.

"Just get to a fucking hospital, you asshole!"

Jake groaned loudly, kicking the car into gear and sped off, leaving the manor behind. I looked down at the man now lying across my lap. He couldn't have been much older than me, maybe 22 or 23. It was hard to tell under all the blood on his face. I swept his black hair from his wounds, causing his cheekbone to twitch slightly.

Whatever happened to him, I could tell someone seriously didn't think he'd be found, or at least found alive.