THE INVESTIGATION

POV- MIA CARTER

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Before going for the ghost hunt, me and my friends

Decided to investigate the urban legend about HANGING GAME. Then i went to the investigation alone.

Black Hollow, Pennsylvania. Population: 6,214.

But you wouldn’t know it from how empty the streets looked this morning. The fog hadn’t lifted, and the houses stared back at me like haunted eyes—curtains drawn, windows dusted over, mail piling on porches.

Even the dogs didn’t bark here.

I knocked on ten doors before someone finally answered. An older woman, wrapped in a knitted shawl, peeked out.

“Blackwood Manor?” she echoed. Her eyes narrowed instantly. “Why?”

“I’m filming a piece,” I said carefully, forcing a smile. “Urban legends, ghost stories. That kind of thing.”

She flinched. “That place ain’t no story. It’s a curse.”

Before I could ask more, she slammed the door shut.

The local diner was barely alive—just two people sitting at opposite ends of the room, and a waitress who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. I took the corner booth and waited for my coffee.

“Blackwood,” I said casually when she finally came over. “You know much about it?”

Her expression didn’t change, but her hand trembled slightly as she poured the coffee.

“I know enough to never go there.”

“What happened to Lillian Graves?” I pressed. “Was she real?”

She looked around—then leaned down just a little.

“Some say she was a schoolteacher. Others say a midwife. But all agree she was hanged. Right there. In that attic. Wrongfully accused of killing three children who disappeared after a storm.” She swallowed. “Thing is… they never found the kids. Just their shoes. And Lillian’s hair wrapped around the laces.”

I stared at her. “So she did kill them?”

“No one knows. But after they hanged her, kids kept disappearing. One every decade. Always teens. Always around midnight.”

“People still live here. Why?”

She straightened. “Because most of us learned to ignore it. Not talk about it. People who talk about the game… don’t last.”

Then she walked off.

Later, I tried the Black Hollow Historical Society—a dusty little building buried in town center. The clerk barely looked up when I walked in, until I said the name.

“Blackwood Manor,” I repeated. “I’m looking for town records. Anything about its construction. Owners. Deaths.”

She hesitated, then pulled out a manila folder that looked older than her.

“Keep it. But if you’re smart, you’ll stop digging.”

I flipped through the yellowed pages. Photos of the manor—black-and-white, warped by time. One had four figures on the porch. Three kids. One woman.

Lillian Graves.

The back read: 1904. Last known photo. None survived the fire that came weeks later.

But Blackwood Manor was still standing.

So whose bones did they bury?

Back in my car, I whispered into the camera.

“I’ve walked through a silent town. I’ve knocked on doors people won’t open. I’ve heard stories that twist your stomach. But it all leads back to one place. One name. One game.

They say Lillian still waits in the attic.

But I don’t think she’s waiting.

I think she’s already playing.”

After the investigation details leads my friends into terror. Anyway we decided to play the game. It's our golden chance. But in reality its leads the door to death.

#To be continued

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