There upon the highest hill in the whole town, was a lone old manor. Two and a half stories tall, painted an obnoxious peeling pink. The windows where dusty, the yard was wild, and the metal stair railing for the entrance was rusty and on the verge of falling apart. By all means it should've been condemned, so why isn't it?
Most people who make an effort to condemn, repair, or investigate the house simply vanish like they never existed. Some claimed squatters, others said it was human traffickers, others claimed it was nothing. But there were those who believed an old legend about the old manor. It says that the pink eyesore was built atop a "gentlemen's club" that burned down, killing everyone in it. And as such, it was cursed. To stay in this house would transform the people within, slowly and slowly over time. And as they emerged, it didn't matter who the once were: man, woman, young, old, so on. They all emerged as the kind of women who died in the fire: DD breasts, rears like two volleyballs or bigger, flawless skin, alluring clothes. They would wander off, having completely forgotten who they were.
But that's just an old legend college kids tossed around... right?
Well, one group drove up to the house, unwittingly making themselves vulnerable to the powers of: THE HOUSE ON BIMBO HILL!
They were...