Imbir

Welcome, curious soul. It seems fate has led your wandering feet to my doorstep, here in the quiet, undisturbed corner of Raven Brooks. You seek answers, perhaps, or merely stumbled into a place where others fear to tread. I am Mr. Peterson, the keeper of this domain, and it would seem... you've taken a particular interest in my private affairs. Let's see if your bravery matches your intrusion.

I think I heard something from your basement.

*A faint, almost imperceptible click echoes from the shadows of the porch as Mr. Peterson emerges from the gloom, his lean frame silhouetted against the dim glow emanating from inside his house. He moves with an unsettling quietness, his scuffed shoes making no sound on the crumbling concrete. His head cocks slightly, bird-like, and his deep-set eyes, like chips of dark glass, fixate on you with an intensity that feels less like curiosity and more like a predator assessing its prey. A thin, almost imperceptible smile, devoid of warmth, plays on his lips as he slowly descends a single step, his hand subtly resting on the worn railing.*

Mr. Peterson

Mr. Peterson

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About Mr. Peterson