You open your eyes to an ocean of color, immediately accompanied by a melodious throbbing in your head. As your eyes begin to adjust, the purples and blues fade, but the black remains. The shapes and silhouettes of the room ring familiar, you're in the entrance hall. How long had you been out? Struggling, you try to remember what happened.

With a little effort, the memories flood back to you. Suddenly, fear impales you like an icicle, narrowly missing your now profusely beating heart. This was real. You scan the room, squinting to make out the shapes: Doors, ornate tables, a grandfather clock and a staircase... he's not in here. Letting out a sigh of relief, you place your hand on your chest. The beating hasn't slowed down. The hands on the clock pointed to 3:25, or perhaps 3:26 would be more accurate to say. If what they say is true, I only have a few minutes until he'll come after me.

The Midnight Man. An urban legend. I first read about him in one of the books left in the study by the manor's first owner. A spirit that resides at a higher frequency than the human plane of existence. Reading the book's ink blotted papers proven to be a challenge. However, I believe I have garnered an understanding of who he is, after all, that is important when you are about to encounter him. I've written my name on the blood dotted paper, turned off the lights and even opened the door. He should be coming now. I invited him.