The music stopped after a few seconds and the lamps in the room flickered before going off again. Everything went silent and dark, they could not see, feel nor hear each other, only whispers and distant cries of a little girl.

Shortly, the lights came back on and someone was missing again. Julie.

On the floorboards were similar dark brown drags like the ones they saw earlier, they led to the exit door.

“Shit. No.”

Hanging on the exit door the same way James had been hung in the storeroom was Julie. Her mouth wide open, a metal rod through it, blood dripping from mouth to chest and onto the floorboards. Her belly torn apart like with rough-edged scissors, organs pulled out exposing the spine, blood oozing out onto the floorboards like it's seen in abattoirs.

Another one of them was dead,   it was not their minds playing tricks with them, it was real life.

It was either play or die, that was the rule. Only if their eyes were beyond ordinary to see the piles of bones and skeletons around them, the splash of blood on the wall, it was like a cannibal feast. Many had died in the house, even before their births.

The ‘90s.

The house was owned by a rich young lady Westwood Abigail,  formerly known as Lancet Sarah when she was younger.

Lancet Sarah began her early life in Old Lady but growing up in the town wasn't as rosy as she wanted, it was tough. She had no friends, nobody to run the fields with, nobody to laugh with, all she had was Rachael, her doll, and her ever-busy parents. Rachael was the only one that was never afraid of the demons that possessed her. Her parents were also of help, they invited Father. Jude and the other priests in the town church to help with exorcism but nothing worked, no matter how hard they tried. The ignorant town tagged Sarah a witch, they condemned her. Nobody wanted to be friends with a witch, whenever she tried to make the littlest of friends, all she got in return were stones to her head. A seven-year-old. She would return home to Rachael, angry, hit it severely while yelling ‘I have no friends, just you, won't you play?’. Sarah grew crazier. Her parents couldn't watch her suffer like that so they thought perhaps if they moved out of Old Lady, things would get better with her. They relocated to a nearby village where she then grew up without any drama. In their knowledge, they thought she had gotten better but she hadn't, she had only become worse. She had accepted her demons. She was now the demon, the demon was now her. They had become one and inseparable.

After seventeen years, Sarah had killed her parents, acquired their wealth, and returned to Old Lady. She returned as Westwood Abigail, became the richest woman Old Lady ever had, built a big house— the one Harley and his friends were now in. She had grown big, more beautiful, and different. It was hard to tell she was the same little Sarah of years back. The little witch, like they always called her. Old Lady grew fond of Abigail, the town's richest woman. They loved, appreciated, worshipped her. Little did they know it was a trip to vengeance. Vengeance against the town that made her childhood horrible. The town that burnt her hops in ashes and made her accept her demons. Her demons became she had. She was angry, she wanted to see them wail and cry for help that would never come. She wanted to feed them to her demons.