In a small town named Harrows, at the corner of Blackwood Street, stood a quaint design studio called ‘Visions Ink’. Eldon Hart, the owner and prime designer, had seen his fair share of quirky clients. But nothing had prepared him for Mr. Samuel Whitter, the man who would soon earn the title of the ‘worst client in the world’.

Samuel had walked into Eldon's studio one fateful evening, dressed in a pristine black suit, wearing sunglasses despite the setting sun. The only hint of emotion came from his lips, which twitched into a smirk every so often.

“I need a poster designed,” he had announced, his voice dripping with an almost sinister charm. “For the grand reopening of the Whitter House.”

The Whitter House had a notorious reputation in Harrows. Once a magnificent mansion, stories of hauntings and paranormal activities had turned it into an object of dread. But Samuel claimed to be a distant relative of the original Whitters, and he intended to restore the mansion to its former glory.

Eldon, always up for a challenge, took up the project. The initial brief was simple: vintage yet modern, capturing the elegance of the past and the aspirations of the future.

Every morning, Eldon would present a design, and every evening, Samuel would visit, rejecting each version with an elusive dissatisfaction. “Too dark,” he’d say one day. “Too light,” he’d complain the next. “More shadows,” followed by “Less Gothic”. The feedback was as erratic as the winds of Harrows.

Days turned into weeks, and Eldon began to lose sleep and weight. Dark circles under his eyes echoed the same darkness that had begun to shadow his mind. The daily revisions started to take a toll, with the ghost stories surrounding the Whitter House echoing in Eldon’s thoughts.

One evening, as Eldon was sketching, he felt a cold presence. The lights flickered, and the air grew cold. The stories of the Whitter House sprang to life in his studio. Eldon saw figures from the past: Sir William Whitter, the original owner, Lady Eleanor, his wife, and several others from the dreaded lineage.

They whispered their demands into Eldon's ears. “The design must honor us,” they murmured. “It must tell our story.”

The next morning, with a renewed zeal, Eldon began to weave the haunting tales of the Whitters into the poster. There were hidden details that only those who knew the stories could decipher. The poster was a masterpiece of horror and beauty intertwined.

When Samuel entered the studio that evening, he was taken aback by the design. The smirk on his lips faded, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and, possibly, fear.

“Did they visit you?” Samuel asked in a hushed voice, as if sharing a secret.

Eldon nodded, unable to muster words.

Samuel took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes as old as the tales of Harrows. “Good. It’s perfect,” he whispered.

The Whitter House reopened to grand fanfare, with Eldon’s poster capturing the essence of its haunting past. It drew crowds, some out of admiration and others out of sheer morbid curiosity.

But Visions Ink was never the same again. Eldon left Harrows shortly after, leaving behind tales of the designing hour that haunted him. His masterpiece was the talk of the town, but the price he paid for it was one that no one would ever understand. The whispers of the Whitters echoed in his mind, forever binding him to the cursed legacy of the Whitter House.