In the forgotten vale of Ravenswood, where crooked trees did claw the moon and the wind spake in tongues unknown, there stood an ancient manor long abandoned by mortal joy. Its windows gaped like sightless eyes, and its gates groaned as though burdened by memory.
Thither came young Master Adrian, scholar of restless curiosity, who held that fear was but a fancy of weakened minds. "What spectre dares oppose reason?" quoth he, lantern held high against the swallowing dark.
The villagers had warned him: "Disturb not the Hollow, for it keepeth what it taketh." Yet pride is oft the herald of peril, and Adrian crossed the threshold as midnight tolled.
Within, the air lay thick as a burial shroud. Portraits lined the walls, their painted gazes following his every tread. Dust rose in sighing clouds, stirred by unseen passage.
"Show thyself!" Adrian cried, voice trembling despite his boast.
A whisper answered, faint yet piercing: "I have never left."
The lantern flame faltered. From the grand stair descended a figure veiled in tattered white, face pale as drowned lilies. 'Twas Lady Evelyne, once mistress of the house, whose death had birthed dark rumour.
"Why dost thou haunt this mortal coil?" Adrian demanded, though his courage waned.
Her voice flowed cold as winter's stream. "Betrayal bindeth me. My lord husband sealed me within these walls, jealous of shadows that never were."
As she spake, the chamber shifted. The walls wept crimson stains; the floorboards echoed with phantom cries. Adrian beheld a vision: Evelyne, young and pleading, bricked alive within a hidden vault.
"Justice!" her spirit moaned. "Speak my truth, and set me free."
Yet fear, that ancient tyrant, clutched Adrian's heart. He stumbled backward, seeking escape. The doors slammed shut as if by wrathful hand. The whisper grew a wail, the wail a tempest.
"Coward!" thundered the unseen voice. "Thou wouldst know truth, yet flee its burden?"
In desperate resolve, Adrian found the concealed vault behind the hearth. With trembling hands he tore loose the ancient stones. Within lay bones entwined with rusted chains.
"I swear it," he gasped. "Thy story shall be told."
At once the manor stilled. The crimson faded; the whisper softened to a sigh of wind through leaves. Lady Evelyne appeared once more, no longer dreadful but serene.
"Thou hast chosen courage," she murmured. "Thus art thou spared."
When dawn broke, Adrian emerged pale yet living, bearing relics of the crime. The villagers, aghast, heard the tale and unearthed the truth long buried by fear.
And lo, the Hollow of Ravenswood fell silent thereafter. No more did shadows stir nor whispers coil about the eaves. For though terror may dwell in darkness, it is truth alone that grants release.
Yet some aver that on moonless nights, when pride stirs the hearts of men, a faint voice wandereth the wind, reminding all who hear:
Fear not the ghost that seeketh justice—
but the living soul that burieth it.