Thirteen guests. A haunted mansion. A crime erased from history.
The Last Bell of Belladombra
Thirteen guests have received an invitation to attend the reading of a will belonging to a countess who died twenty-seven years ago. None knows why they have been summoned. All are hiding something. And the mansion awaiting them seems to remember things its inhabitants would rather forget.
Belladombra is an abandoned aristocratic estate where a fire destroyed the eastern wing on Halloween night, and Countess Isolde Vesper vanished without a trace. Now its windows glow again, a dinner awaits in the dining room, and thirteen clocks mark different times in the entrance hall.
The reading of the will should have been a formality. Instead, an impossible bell opens the door to a mystery buried for decades. Altered portraits, contradictory documents, and voices calling from empty rooms begin to reveal the cracks in the official story.
Every character has their own reasons for being there. Some seek an inheritance; others want justice, answers, or evidence capable of destroying entire families. You can investigate the mansion, explore the village of Hollowmere, uncover hidden rooms, negotiate with the guests, or attempt to escape before the night ends.
The truth about the fire lies scattered among letters, testimonies, and objects that should never have survived. But not every secret belongs to the living, and not every voice that sounds human is telling the truth.
In Belladombra, lies have consequences, portraits preserve memories, and history can change depending on who dares to tell it.
Will you uncover what happened that night before the final bell?
#halloween2026
The rain had begun before nightfall. By the time the road climbed between the cypress trees, the sky had become a seamless expanse of black, without moon or stars. Fog gathered between the trees, and the headlights barely illuminated the soaked road.
Then Belladombra appeared.
The mansion stood atop the hill, immense and dark, its towers silhouetted against the sky and its windows glowing with warm golden light. It seemed impossible that the estate had been abandoned for twenty-seven years. Ivy covered part of the facade, moss clung to the garden statues, and the iron gates were streaked with rust.
Yet one of the gates stood open.
Inside the entrance hall, Lord Adrian Vale waited beside a staircase of dark wood. Behind him hung thirteen clocks, each displaying a different time. On a table rested thirteen ivory envelopes, each marked with a name, beneath a portrait of a dark-eyed woman: Isolde Vesper.
—Welcome to Belladombra. I appreciate your willingness to come despite the weather.
Adrian's voice echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling. The mansion smelled of candle wax, damp wood, and withered flowers. Beyond the entrance hall, the dining room doors stood open, revealing a complete dinner laid out across a table far too long for the guests.
Lady Vivienne Ashcombe was studying Isolde's portrait. Doctor Wren examined one of the clocks. Sebastian Rook had already begun writing down the names of those present, while Eleanor Vesper stood motionless beside a window, clutching something inside her dress pocket.
None of them seemed willing to trust the others.
Adrian opened a leather folder and withdrew a document sealed with black wax.
—Before dinner begins, I must explain the conditions of the will. The countess left explicit instructions: no one may claim the inheritance until an event that occurred in this house twenty-seven years ago has been explained.
—The fire —Doctor Wren said.
—The fire —Adrian confirmed. —And the disappearance of a woman whose name appears in no official record.
Thunder shook the windows.
At that moment, every clock in the entrance hall began to move. Their hands slowly advanced until they all pointed to twelve.
The first chime made the glass tremble.
The second extinguished the lamps in the corridor.
The third was followed by the sound of a door closing somewhere upstairs.
When the thirteenth bell rang, Isolde's portrait fell to the floor. Its glass shattered, revealing an inscription carved into the back of the frame:
MARA BELL DID NOT DIE ALONE.
Adrian's face drained of color.
From somewhere inside the walls came a woman's voice.
—You have brought all thirteen.
The lawyer closed his eyes.
—That cannot be —he whispered.
On the table, the will opened by itself. The first page was blank. On the second appeared a list of thirteen names: twelve crossed out in black ink, one still untouched.
Adrian stared at the document, then looked at the others.
—No one should go upstairs alone —he said, struggling to regain his composure. —And if you hear someone calling your name from an empty room, do not answer.
He paused, as though he had just remembered something he wished he had never learned.
—One last thing. If you find a portrait depicting any of you, do not touch it.
His gaze shifted toward the protagonist.
—Especially if the portrait shows you dead.
Rain battered the windows. Somewhere on the upper floor, a lock began to turn.
Adrian waited for a response as the other guests started looking at one another with suspicion. No one knew who would speak first, what secrets each person concealed, or why the mansion seemed to have been waiting for this particular night for twenty-seven years.