Residents woke to a clock that no longer exists. Tonight we file the fifth and final dispatch from Grayhaven Manor, a haunted place that refuses to surrender its secrets. The caretaker’s diary appeared in the foyer, pages inked with fresh warnings: leave before the quiet arrives. Our cameras captured shadows lengthening along the stairwell as wind threaded through the house like a brittle whisper. In the library, a chair moved on its own; portraits blinked in unison. Local authorities found no wires—only air thick with something older than the house. Those who stayed reported a figure at the window, listening inward, counting heartbeats. We do not sensationalize hauntings; we report what happened: a hollow heartbeat pulsing through the walls, a warning that this is far from over.