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Marty was never happier than the day she drove away from Prescott Hall for the last time. She had moved into the spooky old mansion with her aunt Martha when her parents died in a car accident when she was a very young girl. The clock ticking behind the wall sent goose bumps down her spine, and the people from another time dancing in the third floor ballroom sent her running to her room to hide under the covers. When she looked up for the last time to wave goodbye to the house and saw the lace curtain blowing through the open bedroom window that she was sure she had closed; she knew the decision to sell the mansion and everything in it had been right. Charlotte had never been happier than the day she had moved into Prescott Hall. The old brick mansion needed some work so she had hired Jake, the local handyman. Though their relationship started out on rocky ground, they soon became best friends, and she began to think of him as the father she never had. When Jake found some very old family portraits in the attic and re-hung them, strange things began to happen. Charlotte could swear she heard a clock ticking behind the wall in the downstairs foyer. She even heard music and laughter coming from the third floor ballroom, but when she went to check, the room was empty. And then one night, a fierce storm blew up. The lightning was so bright, Charlotte's entire bedroom lit up. Standing by her bed was a man and she recognized him immediately. It was Robert Prescott, the eldest son in the portraits Jake found in the attic. He had died in 1840, on the same day as his brother and his wife.

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