a quiet invitation into the dark...
where outlines blur and certainty dissolves
A footprint in the dust at the threshold -- yet none in the snow beyond. The figure entered, but none witnessed their passage. Notation: footwear narrow, heel uneven, perhaps once polished by a person of habit.
-- from the Casebook of Inspector V., entry 47
An envelope sealed with grey wax, opened in 1923, sealed again at midnight -- the ink fresh, the date perpetually that very day. Read aloud, the words rearrange themselves before reaching the ear.
-- annotated by the Archivist, marginalia
where small lights keep the long dark at bay
In a chamber without window or draft, three candles have burned without diminishing for ninety-one years. They are made of nothing the chandler can name. They flicker only when spoken to.
-- testimony of the night-watch, recorded
Each candle, when extinguished, will relight itself by the next sunrise. The Archivist permits this only in the second week of October, when the veil is said to be thinner -- though the candles have not consulted the calendar.
-- from the Compendium of Small Hauntings
where every silhouette has its own life
A shadow cast by no known object passes the long hallway each evening at 9:42. It pauses at the third doorframe, considers, and proceeds. The figure it belongs to has not, to anyone's knowledge, ever arrived.
-- the Housekeeper's Diary, page sixteen
In the southeast parlor, your own shadow may briefly turn its head while you stand still. This is not unusual. It is recommended one offer a small nod in return.
-- House Etiquette, revised edition, 1908
where the casebook closes -- for now
The casebook ends here -- though a small ghost has been seen turning the pages when no one is in the room. We do not lock the cabinet. There is little point.
— the Archivist