Chapter 7

The House of Secrets

I am an old man living in a very old house surrounded by a large garden full of tall, wild grass and overgrown rosebushes. The people in the nearby village think I am crazy because I never talk to them or visit the village. I share this house with my older sister, who cooks our meals and keeps the house clean. She is quiet like me, and we understand each other without many words. I don’t want any other helpers in my home—I value my privacy too much. 

My only true friend is my dog, Pepper. I care for him more than anything else in the world. He seems to understand my moods and knows when to sit quietly by my side and when to leave me alone with my thoughts. 

I have decided to begin writing a diary for two reasons. First, I need a place to express the thoughts and feelings that I cannot share with anyone. Second, I want to record the strange events that happen in this house—like the footsteps I sometimes hear at night when everyone is asleep, or the doors that close by themselves. 

This house has a bad reputation in the area. Before I bought it, no one had lived here for more than eighty years. Because of this, I was able to buy it for very little money. While I don’t usually believe in ghosts or magic, I must admit that things happen here that I cannot explain with simple logic. If someone reads this diary after I die, they will probably think I was as crazy as the villagers believe. But I know what I have seen and heard. 

The house itself looks unusual—it has three small towers with pointed tops that look like flames reaching toward the sky. The main part of the house is built in a circle, not a square like normal houses. The villagers have a story that the devil himself built this house many centuries ago. I don’t know if this is true, and honestly, I don’t care. This story probably helped me get the house for such a low price, so perhaps I should be grateful for it.