It's Me, Again

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Sent From: Valhalla Valley

otherwise known as

Mystic Valley.

050321

It's Me, Again.

Hello, reader. We meet again.

You might find the torn out, rotten, old, and dusty pages of this file out of pure serendipity (which I have written during my stay here) hidden in these brobdingnagian—a word here which means big—arching windows and gigantic buildings which overwhelmed me during my stay.

I pranced the hallways of the large institution—what was nice and lively, was now wretched and abandoned. Dust filled the place. The walls deteriorates. The haunted place left an impactful mark on me that still haunts me every time I try to close my eyes.

No one was there except me.

Yet I swear I heard chatters amongst the hallways and shriekings near the locker room.

The sky was already pitch dark during nightfall; and it was a bit lonesome. The bones of the forgotten people, the flesh, the smell had scattered around the area. I felt like I was an archeologist hunting for ancient fossils. On midnights, I could hear echoing voices and clanks on the hallways outside my room as if there were a bunch of people walking. Often I would hear multiple steps behind that I felt like I was being followed. There's something lurking inside the abandoned institution that I have not uncovered during my stay, but alas I've escaped! Never to return again!

You might not know what happened at Harrel Horne at closed doors. Luckily, I am here to tell you the horrific story of this institution. I've gathered newspapers, journals, books, scraps, torn out pages to tell you this incredible—well, bizarre journey about these poor children.

If this is our first time meeting, well, hello there. I greet you with the warmest welcome, although I'm not sure it'll last. Before reading this story, I shall warn you that this is another one of those miserable stories you've read.

This story tackles about orphans, a dead woman in a basement, a no-face man, a class trial, the humming man and other suspicious sightings at Mystic Valley. If you wish to continue, then out of my respect for you; you may.

I hope to meet you at the end of this adventure.

And remember,






keep your lights on.

—Giovanna Emeraude.

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