In Rhode Island, the invitation comes soft and smiling — but the price is already paid.
The Conjuring House still shudders under the weight of old sins. Mercy Brown’s grave waits under its frost, patient and polite. The Biltmore whispers your name in the hallways, and Seaview Terrace opens its rotting arms a little wider every year.
The mist here doesn’t just hide you — it writes you in. Another name. Another secret. Another soul folded neatly into the story. In Rhode Island, you don’t visit the haunted places. You join them.