Murder at Gracey estate. A teenager, Tyler Cummings, had been found dead by his best friend. But there was a problem: nobody was living in this house.

The kid had been raving on about a corpse in the rafters but when investigators went to examine the house, they only found a tiled ceiling, no rafters at all. Police figured the kids had been playing around, Tyler had fallen into this long room, and was killed by the fall.

But nobody could explain the huge wooden beam through his chest. Or the paintings.

Gracey Manor was, and still is, one of New Orleans' biggest mysteries. The house was once owned by a rich entrepreneur named William Gracey. He loved money. And wanted as much as he could get.

One story starts in the year 1865, shortly after the Civil War ended. Gracey, who had made a huge profit on cotton and other supplies during the war, didn't want to lose his fortune. He hastily married a woman named Meadow, a rich southern belle who had secure cash funds. But when she suddenly disappeared one day shortly before their marriage, William was accused of killing her. Meadow was beloved by many of the town residents, and in a rash act, they formed a lynch mob and murdered him somewhere in his house. He haunts the mansion still, along with his bride, vowing revenge on the descendants of those who killed him.

Another story, and a less controversial one, is that William had hired a gypsy named Madame Leota so he could contact the dead. But when he started summoning evil ghosts and spirits, Leota refused to work for him. Overpowered by the dark forces, he killed Leota, and became an evil and feared man. His wife refused to marry him because of this dark transformation. Enraged, he locked her in a trunk to suffocate, and threw her wedding ring out the window. But as soon as he did, the darkness seemed to lift. He realized the horrors he had performed, and disgusted by his actions, he hung himself.

No living soul really knows what happened.

Perhaps it's time to start asking outside of that limited group.

Rick sat at his office, his desk light illuminating the many papers on his desk. He was focusing on one right now: that mysterious murder at the Gracey house.

He had always thought that house was trouble.

Rick was in his mid thirties, a man with a good build and features. He was in good shape; lots of muscle, firmly built. He ran a hand through his spiky brown hair, and focused his hazel eyes intently on the mystery in front of him.

He absentmindedly rubbed his clean shaven face and square jaw as he looked over the report. The detective – yes, he was a detective, and not one of those trench coat wearing private eye types – was working late, in confusion.

"Geez…I hate this job," Rick would often grumble over mysterious cases like this.

What had happened here? Did the other boy kill his best friend? Did Tyler just trip and fall? And where the hell did that beam come from?

All of the paintings' frames were intact.

Ah yes, the paintings.

Rick had known about the Gracey manor for a while, and was pretty keen on its history. But never in his life had he known about this bizarre and morbid sense of humor that William had.

There were four paintings in this strange room.

A painting of a girl holding a parasol walking a tightrope, inches away from the jaws of a hungry alligator. A man in a suit wearing no pants, and standing on a lit keg of dynamite. An old woman sitting on a grave, holding an axe – and the grave had a bust of a man with an axe through his head on it. A man, looking quite calm, sitting on the shoulders of another man, who looked a little nervous, who in turn was sitting on the shoulders of a very worried man, sinking in quicksand.

Nobody had ever discovered this room of the mansion. Because nobody knew it was there.

But this strange room had piqued Rick's interest. He had always thought that the mansion was boarded up. But if there was a way into this secret room…perhaps there was another way out.

Of course, there was always William's way, Rick thought to himself with a grimace.

His thoughts were interrupted by the telephone. He picked it up and answered "Rick Summers, Detective for NOPD." It was one of the investigators at the house.

"Summers, we've just made a discovery at that mansion. You better come down here."

Rick arrived in the mansion, parking his Mercury Sable at the gate and getting out as soon as he could. He rushed up the brick porch steps and entered the house. Paranormal investigators, police men, and even a psychic were down in the portrait room. Rick climbed down the ladder that had been placed in the room so that there wouldn't be any more "accidents" like Tyler's.

"What is it?" Rick asked in the cramped space.

"We found the other path you were talking about," said one of the cops. He knocked on the wall, and it slowly slid away, revealing a pitch black hallway.

"Has anyone gone in?" Rick asked, squinting to try and see down the hall.

"No. We were waiting for your orders," he replied obediently.

All of a sudden, the Psychic, a woman named Maria, gasped loudly.

The woman was dressed like a psychic would be expected to – Rick thought she was a complete fake. She had dark skin, a deep purple dress on, covered in lots of gold chains and jewelry, and a headband holding down frizzy and curly brown hair.

The psychic approached the door, and spoke in a mystical and eerie voice.

"This house is not safe…there is much evil lurking here. Too much. I do not suggest going in farther-"

"Maria," Rick interrupted, "We have to! This house could not only hold the answer to who murdered Tyler Cummings, but also the history of just what happened to William Gracey!"

"Please, I beg of you, do not disturb the spirits in this house!" Maria pleaded earnestly.

"Spirits?" One cop questioned. Maria turned to him quickly, her eyes glittering.

"Yes! This house is possessed! It is not safe!"

"Please. There's no such thing as ghosts, and possession, and-" Another cop started.

"Oh?" Maria said, practically shouting, "Look at the paintings!"

All of the cops and Rick stared up.

Had their eyes always been looking down like that?

"They are upset at your intrusion! We have to leave! Or the master of this house will-"

But Maria never finished her sentence.

A/N: Rick, Maria, and all of the miscellaneous cops were created by me.