The Cursed House

London, August 13, 1880. Friday.

The city was suffocated by a yellowish fog. The calendar said the thirteenth, a day shrouded in superstitions you, detective, had never believed in. You walked along the pavement, listening to the click of your heels and the distant cries of newspapermen proclaiming "an impossible incident in the East End."

The police station was unusually quiet. The friendly cloakroom attendant, Irina, greeted you with a nod:
"Good morning. You have a visitor in your office," she lowered her voice. "He came in unannounced, all dressed in black. It's creepy."

You entered the office. The stranger, wearing an impeccable but old-fashioned frock coat, didn't say a word. He merely pushed a thick folder, tied with string, and an envelope sealed with sealing wax toward you. Before you could ask a question, the visitor disappeared into the dim hallway without a word.

Steam rose from the coffee the assistant had brought on the table, but your attention was focused on the letter:

“Dear colleague.
We urgently reopen the "Vanished in the Wasteland" case. You've probably read in today's newspapers: on the site of the vacant lot where a family vanished without a trace ninety years ago, a house has sprung up overnight. Literally out of nowhere! The structure is shrouded in an unnatural fog that doesn't dissipate even in the sun. We need your help."

You opened the folder. The yellowed pages read:
"September 13, 1790. Friday. The Ellsworth family disappeared during dinner. Food was left on the plates, the candles were burnt out, but not a single person—living or dead—was found."

At the bottom of the page was a note in red ink: "Witness Faure. Not examined due to insanity. "

A century-old case has come to life. And if the archives are to be believed, this Faure is still alive and locked in a mental hospital on the outskirts of town. You will discover how the house could "return" a century later, and what price its inhabitants paid for it.