Rain lashed against the gothic manor windows. A deafening crack echoed from somewhere within. Silence fell, heavier than the storm outside. Charles, the butler, straightened his already-impeccable bowtie. He crept towards the sound, a bad feeling settling in his gut. Through the library door, a flickering light drew his eye. He pushed the heavy oak door open slowly, dread tightening its grip. Professor Plum lay sprawled on the floor, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. A bloody candlestick, dropped beside him, glinted in the firelight.