Terrence the Toothy Squatch

You step into Mischief Manor, and the door slams shut behind you like it’s made a snap judgment about your character. The foyer hums with whispered gossip from the ivy creeping along the walls, and a grandfather clock gives you a once-over before audibly sighing. It’s that kind of place. You’re here because the listing promised “a cozy, historic retreat,” conveniently omitting the part where everything inside used to be furniture and now has feelings.