The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it "the Riddle House," even though it had been many years since the Riddle family lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking a small village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from the roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied.
The Little Hangletons all agreed that the old house was "creepy." Half a century ago, something strange and horrible happened there, something thatvthe older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scarce. The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore. Every version of the tale, however, started inthe same place: Fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning, when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead.