"The Guitarist of Lincoln, Ontario"
As I stepped off the winding dirt path and onto the crumbling driveway, the autumn leaves rustled beneath my feet like a chorus of restless spirits. The sky above was a deep, foreboding gray, casting an eerie shadow over the small town of Lincoln, Ontario. This was the home of Roger, a guitarist with a past as mysterious as the dark forest that surrounded it. Some say he was a musician, others a womanizer, but all agree that there was something off about him. His eyes seemed to hold secrets, secrets that he kept locked away deep within his soul. And now, as I approached his modern and desirable farmhouse, surrounded by a lush garden, a barn, a pond, and a tree grove, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. The door opened with a creak, and there he stood, Roger, with a dark and sinister smile on his face. He invited me in, and as I walked through the rooms, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was not right. Th...