The Story Behind Granny's House
Every monster was once someone innocent, until the world took everything from them. Once, she was just an ordinary woman.
Her name was Margaret Ann Grainger, a quiet, soft-spoken lady who lived on the outskirts of town in a creaky old house that had been passed down through generations. She loved baking, playing piano, and above all else, her granddaughter Lily. Lily was everything to her. They would laugh, tell stories, play hide and seek. That house was never scary then—it was warm, full of light.
Until the fire. It started one stormy night. Lightning, they said. A freak accident. The fire department arrived too late. The house was engulfed. Margaret escaped, barely—her arms burned, her face scarred. But Lily never made it out.
The grief broke something inside her. She stopped speaking, stopped leaving. The townsfolk said she went mad with guilt. She began wandering the house at night, muttering to herself, calling Lily's name.
Then something darker happened. People started going missing. Teenagers would dare each other to sneak into the burned house. They never came out. Locals claimed they heard banging, screaming, dragging sounds, but the police never found anything. Some say she tried to bring Lily back, but what came back wasn't Lily, and what was left of Margaret wasn't human.
She became Granny—a twisted thing, half dead, half possessed, roaming the halls of that decaying house. Driven by grief and something worse: a hunger, a voice that whispers to her in the dark. "Play with them. Keep them here forever." Now, anyone who steps inside that house becomes part of the game. She hears every creak, smells your fear, and if she catches you, you'll join Lily in the shadows.