Blake Bowman just purchased his first home. An old gothic Victorian with the original interior still intact. While cleaning out the attic, he came across a few boxes of items left behind by the previous owners. While moving them out, a box he was carrying dropped something from the bottom, fluttering to the floor. Almost slipping on the item, Blake put aside what he held to bend down and pick it up.
Examining the photo in his hand, he furrowed his brow, trying to understand what he saw. It was a photo of a man and a woman. Both sat beside each other, upright in their chairs, posing for the camera. The snapshot was old and a bit faded, but what stuck out the most was the man’s blurred face.
Something going wrong during development could explain this, but it wasn’t true—at least, that’s what he thought. Shrugging, he tossed it back inside and continued. When he was done, he secured the door and settled for the night.
Blake closed his eyes, trying to let himself drift off to sleep, when all he could see was the faceless man. Why did it bother him so much? Yet, there was something unnatural about it.
Sitting up, he took a folder off his bedside table containing papers about the house. Cutting on the table lamp, he flipped through the pages, looking for anything about the couple.
There was no information about them or a single name. Deciding it was not worth losing beauty rest, he cut off the light and cast it onto the table, settling back into bed.
Tomorrow, he will go to the reference center and see if there is any documentation about them.
The following morning, Blake dug through each box he had brought to place it in the storage shed outside the house. For his life, he couldn’t find the photo he knew that he had seen and held in his hand. Did he imagine it?
The stress from the move made him believe he came across this.
In the morning, he arrived at the archives looking for the address of his home. Blake searched through generations of families who had lived in the house before him until he found what he had been searching for.
This time, their names were attached. Ophelia and Vesper Craven.
According to the article below, they said the married couple had disappeared one night along with a few guests. The lovely couple was throwing a party to celebrate a new addition to their now-growing family. One of their visitors had invited someone the Cravens didn’t know, which may have had something to do with the disappearances.
This individual belonged to a cult bringing in their fellow members to perform some ritual. While no bodies were found, there were copious amounts of blood that had splattered across the walls and the floor.
While unsuccessful in recovering the missing people, they did find that the basement door was sealed shut, and its handle had been removed. No matter what they did, the door could not be opened.
What was inside?
Blake felt he knew that the guests and Ophelia were beyond the door but not her husband. So, what did the so-called religious sect do with him? Did they use him in their rite? He began to think that had to be the answer. Vesper had been an offering to whatever god they worshipped.
It would explain why his face was obscured in the picture he found. Logging off the computer, he stood up to leave when he accidentally bumped into someone. He apologized but had to do a double-take as to who he had almost run into. There, walking past him, looking as if he had yet to age a day, was Vesper Craven.
Vesper caught Blake’s gaze and tipped his hat to him. “I hope that Craven Manor is treating you well.” he smiled and continued.
Ophelia’s husband had traded her and their guests for immortality. The media would be fed lies, saying that Vesper and she didn’t know who those extra people were. He did know them and had been a part of them for many years.
After the sect had finished the sacrifice, whatever they summoned made its gate there. It is sealed off, and there is no way to open it. In a way, I suppose Blake was lucky that the creature or the undead couldn’t make their way out of that sealed door.
Recently, though, as the anniversary approached, he could hear faint screams from the basement followed by a warped chuckle.