This was a mistake.

This was the last thing Colton Jacobs would even think of doing. He knew he was smarter than this. He should be smarter than this. After surviving sixteen years of life, he's choosing to do probably the most insane, absurd, stupid (or any other synonym of those words) thing he ever did. Or will do.

If he survived that is.

There he stood before the Bentley Manor or what people like to call it, The Butcher's Manor. Whoever came up with this name sure made his parents proud. They say the legend is as old as the peaceful town of Baskerville Heights. No one has lived here without knowing the legend of the Bentley Massacre.

There are many versions of the legend. Including Colton's version, which is pretty much just the short version. The manor was owned by some lord or duke by the name of Bentley. But he was known to be psychotic, delusional, and in short, crazy. He had always been eccentric, never wanting anyone to touch him, did everything in a weird way. And he would have these random fits as if someone or something was attacking him. Then he'd get the nearest weapon, and swing at anything that moves, heck, even breathes. And everyone of the manor would race the hell out of there. If they were lucky enough to not get killed by him as they tried to escape.

But then those fits just suddenly... stopped. He'd go on for days not having a single fit, delusion. Maybe even pass off as any other normal person. Then rumors spread he sold his soul to some demon, to make the hallucinations go away, the demon might even be the cause of his hallucinations in the first place.

So Bentley hosted this grand ball and invited everyone to come, too bad it was already too late to figure out it was a trap. Bentley suddenly had the worst delusion he ever had in his entire life. He grabbed the nearest sword and started to behead people, left and right. People tried to run, but the doors were bolted shut. He took out people one by one, victim after victim. Soon the walls were stained red; the floor was covered with dead, rotting bodies. And Bentley, covered in blood, took his own life to end the nightmares. They say the demon he sold his soul to, won that day. The demon had planned this all from the very start. And it now haunts the manor, maybe even everyone who lives in Baskerville Heights.

No one knows if the legends true or not. The only evidence is the manor itself.

There are still rumors that help prove the legend is true. Curtains moving, a faint light in windows, and a creepy moan carried by the wind from the manor. But now the manor is some kind of daredevil challenge, a courage test here in Baskerville Heights. Kids would dare each other to go into the manor and write their names on Bentley's portrait that's hung in the ball room where the massacre took place.

And that's exactly what Colton's going to do.

He needed to do this, he had to remind himself. Then he wouldn't have to be the outcast of the school anymore. He need to prove to them that's he can join their gang. But mostly he needed this to prove to himself.

"The geek's not going to do it," One of the guys, Louie, muttered to another.

"Ten bucks he runs away screaming wetting himself." Another of them snickered.

"Double if he craps his pants," The guy next to him said.

"Shut up," Ricky, who was munching on some popcorn, growled. "Might scare the guy and it would be a waste of popcorn and time, mostly popcorn."

"Hey, hey," Nestor scolded. "Have a little faith in Colon here."

"It's Colton," Colton corrected.

"Whatever."

Nestor scowled at being corrected by the geek, but decided to let it slide. He himself was having second thoughts of letting this low-life join his crew. Sure he would have him for laughs, but how would that hurt his reputation? Just being this close to him is dropping his reputation by the second.

But Colton knew he's as geeky as they come. With his tall but skinny frame, was nothing but geek material. His messy brown hair that hung over his bright green eyes and freckles across his nose wasn't at all girl magnet material. All you need is to slap a pair of glasses and braces and he'll be a complete package.

"So you know what to do, Colin?" Nestor questioned.

"It's Colton, and yeah." Colton said. "Go into the ball room. Write my name on Bentley's forehead. And get the heck out of there."

"Don't forget to take a picture for proof," this guy, Reese, said in sing-song as he tossed Colton a camera. "Wouldn't want you to lie to us, now do we?"

"Of course I wouldn't," Colton muttered.

So much as hanging out near the door until it's enough time to write the name and bail. Colton would have to come up with a new plan.

"Well good luck."

"Nice knowing you."

"Bon voyage."

"Can I have your skateboard? I mean it's not like you're going to need it once you're-" The guy grunted when someone elbowed his stomach.

Colton sighed and faced the manor.

The building could easily be mistaken as a palace, a really old palace. It's amazing that it's still standing after all of these years or storms and blizzards. With weathered bricks that could fall off any second on your head. Broken windows were boarded up by wooded planks. And the windows that are fine looked pitch black inside. He wondered why real estate agents hadn't tried to sell this place or at least sell the land. But he figured it was because everyone was probably too scared of the legend, maybe even the agents.

The unpaved path he stood on was a winding road with turned up and eroded stones. Gnarled trees surrounded the whole estate, with curved branches that looked like hands reach out to you. It was the dead of night, a perfect time to go into a creepy estate and never come out. Just add some booms of thunder and lightning strikes and this would be the perfect setting for a horror movie. He heard some crows crowing in the night, their black silhouettes danced in the sky. But there was one crow, twice as big as any of the others. Its bright yellow beady eyes seemed to glare down at him, but before Colton blinked it was gone.

"Are you done enjoying the scenery?" Nestor demanded, impatiently.

"Sorry, sorry," Colton apologized.

Nestor rolled his eyes. "Put me down for craps his pants, will you?" He told one of the guys, who wrote it down on a notepad.

Colton sighed and walked towards the estate. Each step he took made him want to take two steps back. Colton's stomach churned, maybe one of those guys would win the bet and he would run with his tail behind his legs. He looked back and saw the guys were watching his every move. All wore the same wide eye, open mouth expressions. Some of them looked like they were ready to take off running. Nestor motioned him to keep on walking. Obediently, Colton went forward and continued on walking. He arrived to the base of the steps of the building. The manor seemed to tower over him, its shadow loomed across the front.

He took a deep breath and climbed a step. He was half expecting some booms of thunder and strikes of lighting, but nothing. Gathering up more courage he pressed on and climber the stairs to reach the front doors. Large wooden planks were scattered on the floor, probably taken off from the door to let kids in. Colton half hoped that they were bolted shut so he couldn't go in. He prayed that it was locked or something.

Colton grabbed both of the rusted handles with his shaking hands, and with a grunt yanked them open. The doors made a loud groaning sound as they eerily opened out to him. A strong wind blew past him from the house, with bits of dust carrying from it. Colton had to cover his face with jacket sleeve so he wouldn't have dust get into his eyes. As the wind died down, he coughed as he waved away any remaining dust.

Once again, he looked back at the guys to find himself alone. A discarded bag of popcorn rolled on the ground with the breeze and the huge metal gate swinging back and forth. Then he heard a short scream in the distance, like one of the guys screaming their lungs out just running from the place or Ricky whining about his popcorn.

"Jerks," he muttered to himself.

He looked back at the manor. Should he still do it? Those guys took off when he already went this far as to open the gates without pissing himself. He actually took pride at that accomplishment. But he could just ditch the place. Say he lost the camera in the manor. It would be his word against theirs. No one would know he was lying.

No one but himself.

He cursed to himself, damn him and his stupid conscience. He's going to do it. He'll prove those guys wrong. He'll prove all of them wrong. He's not just any geek that's invisible to everyone. He'll be the geek that survived the Butcher's Manor.

So before he was able to change his mind, Colton charged into the building. But just as he stepped under the manor's roof, a sudden shiver came down his spine.

Something's wrong here.

For some reason, he knew that he has to leave. Besides the fact a massacre took place here, something about this place was really wrong. Not creepy wrong, evil wrong. And he needed to leave.

Now.

But that was when Colton heard an eerie slow creak followed by something slamming shut behind him. Wind hit at his back, and he knew.

No.

Colton turned around and banged his fists against the massive, wooden doors. He grabbed the rusty handles and tried to open the doors like he did just moments before. And in desperation, he even kicked it, not expecting results anyway. But they didn't budge, as if they were bolted shut. Just like in the legend...

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, but even he knew that wouldn't do him any good. This was way too cliché for his taste. A stupid kid going into a haunted house, doors lock behind him. What next? A ghost jumps in front of him and when he yanks off the mask, it'll be some random person he knows?

And I would've gotten away with it if it weren't for you meddling geek.

He found himself chuckling at that. And besides, there was probably a good explanation for this. Probably the wind closed the doors, and the locks looked pretty old anyway. Or those jerks came back and locked the door from the outside. But even that logical explanation didn't seem to comfort him as much as he wanted.

"Don't panic, Colton," he told himself. "There's always a way out of here, always."

That gave him a little hope. So this is the plan. Find the painting. Write the name. Take a selfie. And bail out of this place. But if number four happens to come first, forget the other things. Escaping this creepy place is his main priority.

It was then Colton realized that it was practically pitch black in here. Only cracks in the wood planks that covered the windows let in patches of moonlight. Colton searched himself and found the flashlight he brought with him. With a small click, light came to life in the room. He waved the flashlight around the room.

The first thing he noticed that the whole place was dusty. He needed to take a mental note not to sneeze or he'll accidentally make some sort of dust tornado in here. He also noticed that the whole placed looked untouched. Handsome old furniture that was left unused for centuries and dusty paintings hung on the faded color of the peeling walls. He sort of expected everything packed in boxes. But then again, people were probably too scared to touch any possessions that belonged to Bentley.

For some reason, he was tempted to touch something, maybe even take something like a souvenir. His hands lingered over what looked like a small jewelry box. But he hesitated when it was only inches from it. He wasn't sure, but it seemed like there was this dark aura on it, on all of it. So Colton decided to leave everything at it is.

The place itself was giving him the creeps. So not wanting to waste any more time, he left the room to wander around the house. He winced when the floorboard under his foot creaked. He paused, as if waiting for something to jump him. But there was nothing, so with a sigh of relief he continued walking.

His eyes scanned the walls, looking for the portrait of Bentley. He didn't know what to expect, a small painting or a somthing as big as his life size poster of Darth Vader. Colton would look into any door he passed. But they were mostly bedrooms that were left at the same state as the others, untouched. He accidentally stumbled into something that looked like the dining room. A huge table was filled with silver platters and unlighted candles. Curious, Colton lifted one of the lids of the plates and suddenly recoiled, dropping the lid and backing away from it. The smell was disgusting. Like a mixture of fish and month old gym socks. Of course what would he had expect in a centuries old building? Steaming hot dinner? The thought made his stomach grumble. Making gagging noises, he quickly walked away from the room.

That was when he heard a sound. Colton froze, his body becoming stiff in fear. What was that? It sounded something like a snicker or a giggle. And it felt something was breathing down his neck, but when he turned nothing was there. He should be alone here. Either that or he isn't. No, he shouldn't get paranoid. That's the last thing he needed. It was just his imagination.

He hoped.

Colton continued to wander around the manor, looking for the portrait, an exit, or both. He'd made sure to keep his back against the wall at all times, to see both his front and back at the same time. A good idea when you're in a haunted maze at Halloween or in this case a haunted manor. He tried to think of something else, but all he could think of worst possible scenarios. You know, like staying here forever, a ghost haunting him, or his face in the front page of the newspaper. Kid found beheaded like the legend of the Butcher's Manor. Even Colton knew he was the worst person to go for comfort.

He felt like he's been here for hours, maybe it has. Even worse, he's going in circles. Colton knew for a fact that he passed that painting three times already. He just wanted to give up. He could be stuck here forever. Colton leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to think, tried to get himself together. Maybe he should make a map, it'll be better than wandering aimlessly in this place. But where would he get a pen, much less paper in this dump? Guess it's time to test out his memory.

Colton opened his eyes and held back a gasp. There was corridor right in front of him. He blinked, he swore he didn't see that corridor or ever went through with it. He pointed his flashlight into it, the light only showed complete darkness. Great, his mind is screwing with him now. Colton willed himself to get off the floor and followed to where the corridor would lead him. Before he knew it, he was standing in a huge room. But to his disappointment, there was nothing much in here like the previous rooms. Empty, dark, and really creepy. Colton was about to leave when something caught his eye.

There was a huge drape hiding something on top of the fireplace. Colton's curiosity got the best of him, and he walked over to the drape to try to uncover what it hid. But even when he tried to jump for it, he couldn't reach it. Gritting his teeth, Colton knew what he had to do. Colton grabbed a sturdy chair, but he made sure to blow away the dust first. He began to drag it across the floor, wincing at the screeching it caused. He then stepped on top of the chair and clambered on top of the fireplace ledge. Luckily, he was nimble enough to not accidentally knock down frames or vases. Keeping his balance, he held onto the drape and yanked it off. The large curtain silently fell onto the ground when it was pulled off.

"What the-"

Startled, Colton took a step back but had forgotten that he was standing on a thin ledge. He fell backwards, the chair catching his fall. There was a sharp pain as if a knife was jabbed into his back, he winced at the impact his back took. Colton slowly got up as he massaged what seemed to be a bruise forming. He picked up the flashlight that fell out of his hand during the fall, and pointed it towards what he just uncovered.

A painting.

And not just any painting, the portrait. The portrait of Bentley, the master of Bentley Manor. It was the portrait, the portrait he was looking for.

It was a huge painting, maybe as tall as him. The frame was embroidered in gold, the picture was as dusty as the other paintings, and Colton could see the painting itself was in pretty good condition. Which is surprising since it's been at this state for so many centuries. In the painting a guy who was dress in a fancy yet old outfit that showed the guy was in a high rank. But the thing was Colton couldn't determine the guy's age much less even see his face. No because the thing was he had no face.

Colton couldn't belive his eyes and squinted at the picture, despite his good eyesight. He couldn't tell if the face was shred off or torn off. Either way, it's not there. And that just made it even more disturbing.

But that wasn't the only thing that Colton noticed about the picture. There were no names. Not a single name was written on the painting. No, not even graffiti. He expected hundreds of names of the past decades covering every inch of the portrait, maybe even some names at the back or even on the walls when there was no room. The only name was the signature of the artist who had enough guts to draw the painting of Bentley. So either this was not the portrait, or everyone lied of ever writing their name.

Colton was stunned by the realization, it hit him like a ton of bricks. But the thought made him chuckle, that turned into laughter. He burst out laughing, all those people lied of ever writing their names. And here he was. The Colton Jacobs, the geeky outcast of the school, the first person to write his name on Bentley's portrait. He could actually be a legend here in Baskerville Heights. And that thought made him smile even wider.

Wasting no time, he climbed up the fireplace and took out the sharpie that was stowed safely in his pocket. He bit off the cap off and wrote on what was supposed to be where Bentley's forehead is. He proudly wrote COLTON in big, fat letters that could be seen miles away. Colton hopped off the fireplace and took a step back to admire his work. Then he searched himself until he felt the camera that Reese gave him. It was one of those cheap disposable cameras that you can't see the pictures until you get them developed. He looked at the portrait and back at the camera and knew it was going to be tricky.

He did his best to position the camera so both him and the portrait will be captured in the shot. But it's hard when you have to do it while holding the flashlight at the same time. Soon enough, he was positive the camera is in position. And with a click, a white flash blinded him. But during the flash, he wasn't able to see a dark figure just hovering from his view. Laughter began to echo throughout the house.

And the thing was, it wasn't his.