allthekeys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
allthekeys) wrote2012-03-31 11:59 pm
allthekeys) wrote2012-03-31 11:59 pm
1:11 PM
Just as suddenly as the door that once lead into the Closet Room changed an entry into the Planetarium, the room has changed once again. As an occupant ventures further and further into the room, the cold becomes even more drastic than before, especially to any Sensitive. Within a few minutes, it becomes painfully biting, breath clouding in front of their faces, barely visible in the darkness. The air is damp, and eventually the resident's feet wil step into something cold and wet-- snow has begun to cover the floor, sprinklings at first, until a faint breeze begins to scatter it. Soon the sound of wind grows, and snow can be seen drifting under one of the doors. When the door is opened, the light is almost blinding.
The sun, suddenly unfiltered, is painfully bright, reflecting off of the snow-covered ground. The air is crisp and fresh, clearer than any air the guests will have known since their arrival. There is a general sense of peace in the air, like they can, at long last, relax. Near the door, inexplicably standing without any walls surrounding it on the outside, is a set of tracks-- cloved foot prints, surely barely more than a few hours old. Strangely, there are only enough to account for two hooves.
No matter how far one travels, in any direction but following the hooves, nothing can be found. It is an expanse of barren snow and thick woods, eventually leading back to the door even if you never turned.
If the tracks are followed, leading into the cold wind, the scent of blood will reach them. Eventually, it becomes almost unbearable, until ash mixes on the breeze, the sky turning grey and the snow has begun to melt.
A wooden shack has been burned to the ground, and a small, mutilated body is among the ruins. Oddly enough, it looks like it could have been two bodies, but half of each is missing. The torso of a small man has been torn apart, its eyes and scalp removed. The lower half of the corpse is only two small, furred legs, clearly the source of the prints. They are too straight, like it should have walked upright, though the front legs are still missing.
There are no other prints in the snow.
Elsewhere in the house, a door has appeared. On the far side of the Parlour, it stands suddenly, where no door should logically be. Above it, a bright red message has been left, in what is probably paint: EXIT. The door itself looks although someone has taken great care to prevent it from being used. Every angle is covered by wooden planks, nailed messily and hastily into place. More than necessary to block it have been used, but the job is half finished and sloppy-- the hammer lies nearby.
If the planks are torn down, and the door surpassed, a barricade of plaster and brick has been placed in the way of going down the mysterious staircase. The air is dank and smells faintly rotten.
At the bottom of the stairs is a door. Someone has tried to hastily close it with a padlock, but failed to do so properly-- it is easily surpassed.
Within the room, a thin layer of spiders covers every surface. When light reaches the room, however little, the sheet of spiders surges.
The sun, suddenly unfiltered, is painfully bright, reflecting off of the snow-covered ground. The air is crisp and fresh, clearer than any air the guests will have known since their arrival. There is a general sense of peace in the air, like they can, at long last, relax. Near the door, inexplicably standing without any walls surrounding it on the outside, is a set of tracks-- cloved foot prints, surely barely more than a few hours old. Strangely, there are only enough to account for two hooves.
No matter how far one travels, in any direction but following the hooves, nothing can be found. It is an expanse of barren snow and thick woods, eventually leading back to the door even if you never turned.
If the tracks are followed, leading into the cold wind, the scent of blood will reach them. Eventually, it becomes almost unbearable, until ash mixes on the breeze, the sky turning grey and the snow has begun to melt.
A wooden shack has been burned to the ground, and a small, mutilated body is among the ruins. Oddly enough, it looks like it could have been two bodies, but half of each is missing. The torso of a small man has been torn apart, its eyes and scalp removed. The lower half of the corpse is only two small, furred legs, clearly the source of the prints. They are too straight, like it should have walked upright, though the front legs are still missing.
There are no other prints in the snow.
Elsewhere in the house, a door has appeared. On the far side of the Parlour, it stands suddenly, where no door should logically be. Above it, a bright red message has been left, in what is probably paint: EXIT. The door itself looks although someone has taken great care to prevent it from being used. Every angle is covered by wooden planks, nailed messily and hastily into place. More than necessary to block it have been used, but the job is half finished and sloppy-- the hammer lies nearby.
If the planks are torn down, and the door surpassed, a barricade of plaster and brick has been placed in the way of going down the mysterious staircase. The air is dank and smells faintly rotten.
At the bottom of the stairs is a door. Someone has tried to hastily close it with a padlock, but failed to do so properly-- it is easily surpassed.
Within the room, a thin layer of spiders covers every surface. When light reaches the room, however little, the sheet of spiders surges.