Prolog The house was sitting on the top of a small hill surrounded by large oak trees. In a nearby meadow, one could hear the rippling of clear water, streaming its way down some rolling hills that made up a small sized pasture. The house was designed in an old Georgian style. It had two stories with a large porch on each level. There were four rounded columns, giving the house a look of a small plantation estate from the old days of the south. The warm breeze blowing on my face reminded me of how pleasant the summer could be. I walked slowly towards the house, as if drawn to it. As I walked up the hill following a dirt driveway leading up to the old house, I could hear the leaves of the trees rustling in the wind. As I approached the house a feeling of dread came over me. I walked up the stairs onto the porch with the feelings growing worse. After taking a few steps forward, a gush of cold air hit my face, causing me to look back. To my surprise, the countryside was now in the dead of winter with all the trees bare of their leaves. The sky, which had been bright and clear was now, overcast with dark brooding clouds.