An old building is what they're moving into; it's much larger than the old red meeting hall. The once pearly-white paint is peeling and the 'FOR SALE' sign is tardily decaying away. The glass on the windows are chipped, the drapes on the inside are shredded, and the wooden window covers creak as the wind dances by. The iron door is weak and the locks are rusted, making it easy for a robber to slip in if they felt like it. But then again, who the heck would be out in the middle of nowhere?
"And here she is! A real beauty she was!" The French landlord exclaims proudly. "If you fix her up, give her a new paint job, she'll be sparkling like she did a century ago!"
"Do you have anything on her—it's history?" England walks up next to the man, not bothering to look at him, rather the large mansion.
He takes his hat off, "Well... there is a long, notable past. I hope you're in the mood for a long story. You see, she has a dark history. Back in 1799, when she was built, there was a terrible scandal. People were kidnapped, raped, tortured and who knows what else in the basement as a ransom. If the families refused to pay the money or threatened to call the police, the victim was killed. Then the person running the whole thing, a man by the name of Jean, committed suicide on the third floor. By historical records, it was when the police finally closed in on him.
"Then in 1803, the vacant house was repurchased by Sheridan, who was driven insane, not sure why, and put into an insane asylum, which was what this place became twenty years later. Many people lived there and more died there. It was an insane asylum, after all, death visited more often than priests to give the patients their rights.
"Thirdly, in 1853, the asylum was shut down because of murders occurring there. Some people think it was the nurses, others think it was simply a string of suicides, the autopsies show neither in the limelight. Or maybe they did, and the public wasn't notified.
"The building remained vacant for another 3 years, and then it was purchased by an English doctor who bought it for his daughter as a wedding gift. Her name was Sarah. It took her and her husband a total of 3 weeks before they moved out in the dead of the night, selling the property to the government in December of 1856. Then they sold it to a rich man and his family, all of which committed suicide there. The rest of its history is as shady as the people who once took residence there." He concluded his tale.
Transylvania laughs quietly to herself. "I love places like this."
The landlord stares at her before England says, "She grew up in a haunted forest."
"Ah, I see," he smiles.
America steps up, a bit shaken by the history, but he doesn't want to show it. "How much, dude?"
He puts his hat back on, "I'm only asking for a couple thousand. I mean... she's gonna need a lot of repairs, and you need money to do that."
"Aw, seriously?! Awesome!" Alfred slips some money out of his wallet, "Is two thousand good?"
"That's fine. She's all yours!" He takes the currency. "And if there are any problems at all, don't be afraid to call me for a refund... it's happened before. A lot."
"Danke," Germany nods in respect.
"Anytime."
The landlord takes his leave.
