The rain lashed against the windows of the old manor, a relentless rhythm that seemed to echo the pounding of my heart. I had come here, drawn by the whispers of a legend—a legend of a ghost, trapped within these walls for seven days. They called it "Seven Days with the Ghost," a title that sent shivers down my spine even as it ignited a spark of morbid curiosity.

Day five, the manor itself seemed to change. Doors that were locked were now open. Paintings appeared to shift, their subjects watching my every move with mournful eyes. The atmosphere was thick with a palpable sense of grief, a weight that threatened to pull me under.

Day two brought the first flicker of something... else. A cold draft where there should have been none. The faint sound of a melody, a mournful tune played on a piano that hadn't been touched in decades. I followed the sound, but it always seemed to stay just out of reach, a phantom echo in the vast emptiness.