As I stepped out of the car and onto the crumbling driveway, a chill ran down my spine. Before me stood the infamous Broken House, its towering spires and turrets reaching towards the moon like skeletal fingers. The once-grand mansion had been my great-aunt's pride and joy, but after her mysterious disappearance, it had fallen into disrepair.

I had inherited the Broken House, along with a cryptic letter warning me to never enter the attic. I dismissed the warning as mere superstition, but as I approached the front door, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.

As I pushed open the creaking door, a musty smell wafted out, and I stepped into the foyer. The air inside was heavy with the scent of decay, and I could feel the weight of history bearing down upon me.

I began to explore the mansion, my footsteps echoing off the walls. Each room was a testament to my great-aunt's eccentricity, filled with strange artifacts and relics. But as I delved deeper into the house, I started to notice something odd - every door I opened led to more questions, and every window I looked out seemed to reveal a new mystery.

And then, I stumbled upon the attic door.