Hehehehe, Anton Is Dead

The villagers of Little Hangleton had once feared a family living on the hillside. In that old manor called Riddle Manor, there had once lived a group of nobles dressed in finery and riding tall white horses.

Now, vines covered the place and weeds ran rampant. The broken windows creaked in the howling, chilly wind, and the half-hanging window frames occasionally banged against pillars carved with grapevines and graceful maidens, adding to the desolation of its decay.

You had to know that something terrible had once happened here.

The entire Riddle family had died overnight, their cause of death unknown!

Of course, the place hadn't been completely deserted. Frank Bryce had been the Riddle family's gardener, and at one point, he had been suspected of murdering them.

Nobody knew whether he had nowhere else to go or simply missed his former masters, but the old man had stayed on at the manor.

Nobody really cared what became of Frank. Maybe he would die of illness one day in some corner of the great house. Maybe a terrifying demon would devour him. Nobody cared.

Frank had indeed died.

He hung upside down beneath an apple tree in the old manor. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, catching the light of a fire burning not far away before stretching into a thin stream and falling into a pool of blood on the ground.

That fire was burning in the Banquet Hall of Riddle Manor.

The flames blazed high, yet offered not a trace of warmth. Only waves of cold seemed to seep out from the very bones.

The cold spread, climbing toward a bathtub on the floor that looked like a cauldron. It gathered in the emerald-green potion inside, making the bubbles rising from the bottom burst.

As the bubbles