A vengeful ghost seeking revenge on those who wronged them in life.

It was a dark and stormy night, the kind that makes you want to coil up under a mask and noway leave the safety of your home. But for the group of musketeers driving down the vacated country road, there was no turning back. They had all heard the rumors about the old abandoned manse on the outskirts of city, and they were determined to explore it.

As they approached the decrepit old house, their headlights illuminated the grown field and the rusted iron gate that guarded the entrance. They situated the auto and got out, shivering in the chilly night air. They could feel the weight of the house's history pressing down on them, as if the very walls were alive with the recollections of those who had lived and failed there.

The group made their way up the path to the frontal door, which creaked open with a loud moan. Outside, the air was thick with dust and the musty smell of neglect. The cabinetwork was covered in cobwebs, and the floorboards creaked underfoot. It was clear that no bone

had set bottom in the house for numerous times.

But as they began to explore the apartments, they started to feel a sense of apprehension. There were strange noises coming from the walls, and cold drafts of air sounded to follow them from room to room. The group tried to laugh it off, but the fear was palpable.

As they entered the master bedroom, they saw a faded portrayal on the wall. It was a woman in a white dress, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. There was commodity unsettling about her aspect

, as if she was watching them, indeed though the oil was old and faded.

Suddenly, the air in the room grew colder, and the sound of steps echoed through the hallway outdoors. The group set, harkening hardly. But it was too late. The revengeful ghost had set up them.

The apparition of the woman in the oil materialized before them, her eyes blazing with fury. She was the former doxy of the house, who had been wronged in life by her treacherous hubby and his cruel doxy . She had failed alone and broken- hearted, and now she sought vengeance on those who had crossed her.

The group tried to run, but the ghost was too important. She was grim in her pursuit, her ghostly form passing through walls and doors as if they were nothing. Her touch was cold as ice, and her moans filled the house with a haunting air.

One by one, the group fell victim to the revengeful ghost. The first to go was the woman who had suggested they explore the house in the first place. Her body was set up the coming morning, lying in the master bedroom, her face twisted in terror.

The others tried to escape, but the ghost was always one step ahead of them. They could hear her horselaugh echoing through the halls, riding them with their impending doom. It was only a matter of time before they too would fall victim to her wrath.

Days turned into weeks, and the city began to grow concerned. The group of musketeers had faded without a trace, and rumors began to circulate about the accursed manse on the outskirts of city. People avoided the area, hysterical of what might be staying for them outside.

But the revengeful ghost wasn't happy with just the group of musketeers who had dared to enter her home. She was empty for further victims, and she prowled the thoroughfares of the city at night, searching for those who had wronged her in life.

In the end, it was the ghost's own hubby who put an end to her reign of terror. He'd grown tired of her revengeful spirit hanging him, and he sought out a medium to help him communicate with her. He prayed for remission, promising to make amends for his once miscalculations. And later important prayer and guilt, the revengeful ghost eventually conceded, her spirit passing on to the coming world.

The city breathed a collaborative shriek of relief, the curse of the manse eventually lifted. But the memory of the revengeful ghost dallied on, a exemplary tale to those who dared to cross the boundaries of the living and the dead. And the abandoned manse remained a silent memorial of the price that must be paid for wronging those who can not rest in peace.

And so, the story of the revengeful ghost faded into legend, a haunting memorial of the troubles of trespassing on the sphere of the dead. The abandoned manse remained empty, a monument to the history, and the city sluggishly returned to normal. But the memory of the ghost dallied on, a nipping tale that would be passed down from generation to generation, a warning to all who dared to tempt fate. And as the times passed, the ghost came nothing further than a distant memory, a exemplary tale to be told around the bonfire on dark and stormy nights. But for those who had lived through the terror of the revengeful ghost, the memory would noway fade, a constant memorial of the price that must be paid for wronging those who can not rest in peace.