Fresh Rotten Flesh

By IAMprodigi

Welcome… to Rotten Manor. I am the caretaker of this house—and of what remains of the family that built it. They came north after the fire. After the townsfolk decided Mr. and Mrs. Rotten were witches and burned the old place around them. The children who survived were… not right. They raised more of the same under this roof. Practiced their arts. Voodoo. Rituals. It is said they learned to draw a soul free of its body and sew it into wood and porcelain. One Halloween the children vanished. The house did not. You are about to walk the same halls they left behind. The operating room. The puppet chambers. The places where the work was done. Stay together. Touch nothing that still moves. And if something smiles at you from the dark… it is not asking for company. The door is open. The Manor is waiting.