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The clock in the parlor begins to move as night approaches, swinging away from the wall, revealing a small door set into the wall behind it. Only one chime sounds in the night, the clock’s announcement halted by the movement.
Through the door comes a man, rather plain and oddly cheerful for the place he has found himself in.
He smile cheerily, clapping once, twice, and once more. The sound carries, lingering visibly in the air around the guests.
The cold surges through the house with the echo of the chime, biting and numbing the guests where they stand. A strange sort of stiffness grips them, and each will find that they are entirely unable to move a single inch. Despite this, they will find themselves suddenly conscious of each other person in the house, seeing the events though every eye at once. They are together, again, as they were in the fire. The shared fear and panic moving from guest to guest, the vision of what is about to occur shared between each of them.
The man rubs his hands together, seemingly gleeful, though he remains wordless, standing near the doorway.
The Phantasms surge around him, moving into the house, seeking out the guests.
Almost as an afterthought, the two Doctor’s duck through the low door, both looking tired and a little strained. They begin to move through the house, each holding a device in their hands. For any new house-guests, they will find themselves helpless to move as the Doctor’s mark their arms with the tattoo. Nothing else is done, and the two men look entirely too defeated to be bargained with, even if the guests could manage to speak to ask for mercy.
The Phantasms have a different purpose, moving almost sedately through the house. Their heads move slowly from side to side, as though they look for something specific. They, too, hold strange devices in their hands. At each guest, they pause, lifting the strange device to press against their arms. Each will feel something press into their skin, sharp and painful and bitterly cold. It lasts a hundred moments, shared between each guest, until the pain is little more than a blur in their shared consciousness.
Those Sensitive who are empathic or telepathic will find themselves sharing a sickening realization with their fellows.
Whatever has been placed within them is alive.
And hungry.
There are only four who remain untouched by the device, avoided by the Phantasms and the Doctors alike. Liz, Sam, Rei, Daemon are left where they stand, unmolested and unmarked. Whatever reason the Phantasms have for this action remains unknown to the guests, and the four are just as caught by the moment of shared consciousness as the rest of the house.
After each guest has been marked and implanted, the groups recedes from the house, moving back for the hidden door and out of the house once more.
The man smiles brightly at the nearest guests, clapping three times once more, before turning to walk back through the door himself.
The clock moves slowly back into place behind him, and the chimes resume as though they were not interrupted by the strange entrance.
The house-guests will find that the cold seems to grow, spreading outward from their arms as they find sleep creeping over them.
The sleep is deep, painless, and somehow more dangerous than it has ever felt before.
A girl stands in front of a mirror, candle flickering on the counter near her. For those who have met her, Rose is a familiar face. She looks a fair bit better than the last time any of the guests saw her. Still pale and a bit wane, but smiling once more.
The blood has been cleaned the blood from her face and hands, her clothes changed to something much neater and cleaner. Despite this, though, the scene is still oddly disconcerting -- the shadows cast by the flickering flame seem strangely alive, moving themselves about as they wrap around her like a living cloak.
She smiles at the mirror, lifting a needle and thread from the counter in front of her, and whispers a word the house-guests will not recognize -- then another.
A name.
“Lock.”
Her reflection distorts for a moment, shape changing to that of the familiar boy before shifting back to her own.
Without further ado, she begins to sew her lips closed.
Each stitch is neat, careful, meant to seal rather than cause harm. She pauses on occasion, dabbing the blood away from the marks as she works.
She knots the thread as she finished, snipping it away with a pair of silver scissors.
Her smile is ghoulish now, but seems to echo a dark mirth in her eyes. Whatever she has done is exactly what she means to do.
A darker shadow moves behind her, hands resting on her shoulders. A voice speaks, almost strangely musical. “Well done. You have done well, little one. Your sacrifice is accepted.”
The last word rings in the ears of the dreamers, even as the dream shifts and draws away from them.
Two children are playing with an elaborate doll-house, one familiar with a shock of red hair hanging about her shoulders and one with dirty, ragged dark pigtails. They giggle and laugh, pass the dolls between each other as they enjoy their game.
“He should go here. I don’t like him, so I don’t want him near to the people I do.”
The other child nods, smiling as she moves the doll with care to a different house.
“Should we put everyone we like together?”
The red-haired girl shakes her head. “No. Just a few. It won’t be a fun game if nobody gets to play.”
She giggles, lifting one of the dolls, starting a nursery rhyme in an oddly singsong voice.
”One bright day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.”
The other girl smiles in response, catching the game even as she moves the dolls about. She joins in, beaming as they chant the words in sync and moved each doll to where it they feel it belongs. The dolls are all neatly dressed, each hairstyle and set of clothes different -- and some oddly familiar.
”Back to back they faced each other,
drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise
and ran to save the two dead boys.
And if you don’t believe it’s true,
go ask the blind man, he saw it too.”
The girls giggle conspiratorially, the second child clapping in glee at the end of the song
Once they have worked their way through the toys the last doll is cradled gently in the red-haired girl’s hands, clearly that of a pregnant woman. She strokes the hair of the doll, pressing a kiss to the top of her head carefully, voice lifting in a soft, haunting tune.
“Rock-a-by baby, in the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all.”
Her hand squeezed around the doll, the dream dissolving into a spike of very real pain, shocking the house-guests from their shared slumber.
For one in the house, the pain would not end, labor begun before its time and body heaving with pain.
The last moments of shared consciousness would give the guests only one image, that of the Phantasms surrounding someone.
As the house-guests begin to wake they will find that they have been moved from the place they were. Each will find themselves waking in a pile of other people. It may take some time to realize that those they might recognize are not with them.
There are three groups, one in the each house. All doors and ways between the houses are solidly locked, though those in the first house may brave the fog in the Greenhouse if they wish to test their luck.
Each group will face a different challenge tonight, and the only way to survive is for those who find themselves pushed together to work with one another.
Death is certain otherwise.
The Resurrection and Entry Point is different in each house.
Those in the First House will find themselves waking in the Parlor and those new to the house assigned to this house will find themselves entering there also.
In the Second House the Entry and Resurrection Point is the main room of the Chapel.
In the Third House the Resurrection Point is inside the cages of the Birdcage Room. The Entry Point for new arrivals to the third house remains the same, The Leather Study serving the purpose admirably.
In All Houses the Hellhounds have returned. They seem less dangerous than usual, whimpering and whining in their hunger. Though they will attack an injured house-guest without pause, their hunger has led them to find other prey. Many of the hounds can be found chewing on table legs and chairs, great jaws working against the wood until it is little more than splinters. What damage they do to themselves is completely ignored, hunger overriding even the most basic instinct of self preservation.
The Mirror Man has returned tonight, and anyone lingering too long at any mirror will find themselves confronted with the faceless man. He taps on the mirror, as though testing the boundaries between himself and the rest of the house. It takes him longer to start his game tonight, almost as though something is interfering with his abilities to affect the house-guests. Anyone who lingers at a mirror more than five minutes will begin to notice his knife lifting. Stepping out of the frame will protect them, but the time is cumulative, adding up as the night stretches on.
All High Level Sensitives will find themselves in need of company tonight. Any who wander far from the safety of the others will find that the Burning Man appears, reaching for them almost desperately. His skin bubbles with the heat of the flame surrounding him, and though his intention seems to be to help protect them from something, in practice his touch is deadly. He mutters to himself, eyes bright with madness as he appears, whispering a plea to allow him to help.
Any who accept his help will find that the flames quickly claim their lives.
In All Houses the night also bring a troubling sound. Any closed door will be subject to a phantom knocking, varying in intensity and frequency. What will occasionally be the faintest of knocks, barely a sound against the wood, can become the loud noise of someone in a panic pounding upon the door.
Any who open the doors will find that the hall is empty and the sound will not begin again until the door is closed.
The blades in each house, those belonging to the house-guests included, remain used and unclean, but as the night goes on the scent becomes worse as the fluids staining them do. Blood remains, but is replaced bit by bit by other substances, foul smelling, as well as sticky, meaty residue, partly rotted and caked hard onto the surfaces. Cleaning it off is possible, though it takes some hard scrubbing, but eventually the build up with continue, an unseen force using their weapons to carve into, apparently, old meat and food.
Each dining room in each house has been set carefully, as if in preparation for a large sit down meal, the tables crowed with more placings than surely could comfortable fit around the furniture. The place settings are complete for a several course long meal, though not a single one is set with any food to speak of. Instead, an elegant red cloth napkin is laid out neatly on the dinner plate, and atop it lays a decorated tube dressed in golden wrapping, twisted into the shape of a candy. When pulled and snapped open these Crackers make a quiet bang and leave behind a small of burnt paper and hair.
Within each there are several small items. A small crown, a slip of paper, and a tiny trinket-- small charms, measuring tapes that do not follow any well documented measuring system, marbles. Upon each slip of paper, in place of a more customary fortune, is a single number between one and six.
There are enough of these crackers laid out for each house guest to have one, if it pleases them.
( First House )
( Second House )
( Third House )
The ways between the houses are closed tonight, and passage between them is entirely impossible. Nothing interferes with the radios, however, allowing uninhibited communication between the houses where normally there would be none. Finding out how the other house-guests are is the work of a few moments. Those in the Third House can even request batteries from the helpful Barkeep. Telepathic links are open and uninhibited, though anyone in the Third House will find a strange sort of static winding through the contact, thoughts that are not their own drifting through their minds. Those with any sort of precognitive abilities will find themselves struck with the growing assurance that something is coming, though they do not know what.
Other than this static, however, the house is eerily quiet. There is no sound of construction to punctuate the night, the projects apparently paused. Very little background noise can be found, there seems to be an almost absence of white noise in general. Voices and footsteps seem unnaturally loud in the droning silence, like they might be heard from far off now-- if anyone or anything is within hearing range.
Occasionally one thing does break the silence: the quiet chattering of rats. They are almost never seen, but as the night grows many will find themselves feeling watched by the creatures, especially those who has wronged Danielle in some way. From time to time they are seen out of the corners of eyes, up on shelves, bending close while they squeak, and seem almost to converse. Their eyes never leave the house-guests in the room with them.
Though the night is long and full of challenges, it seems the boundaries of the houses are the only restraints placed upon the guests. Survival tonight requires relying on strangers for safety.
( Threat Down )
( Character Divisions And a Word From Our Sponsors )
Through the door comes a man, rather plain and oddly cheerful for the place he has found himself in.
He smile cheerily, clapping once, twice, and once more. The sound carries, lingering visibly in the air around the guests.
The cold surges through the house with the echo of the chime, biting and numbing the guests where they stand. A strange sort of stiffness grips them, and each will find that they are entirely unable to move a single inch. Despite this, they will find themselves suddenly conscious of each other person in the house, seeing the events though every eye at once. They are together, again, as they were in the fire. The shared fear and panic moving from guest to guest, the vision of what is about to occur shared between each of them.
The man rubs his hands together, seemingly gleeful, though he remains wordless, standing near the doorway.
The Phantasms surge around him, moving into the house, seeking out the guests.
Almost as an afterthought, the two Doctor’s duck through the low door, both looking tired and a little strained. They begin to move through the house, each holding a device in their hands. For any new house-guests, they will find themselves helpless to move as the Doctor’s mark their arms with the tattoo. Nothing else is done, and the two men look entirely too defeated to be bargained with, even if the guests could manage to speak to ask for mercy.
The Phantasms have a different purpose, moving almost sedately through the house. Their heads move slowly from side to side, as though they look for something specific. They, too, hold strange devices in their hands. At each guest, they pause, lifting the strange device to press against their arms. Each will feel something press into their skin, sharp and painful and bitterly cold. It lasts a hundred moments, shared between each guest, until the pain is little more than a blur in their shared consciousness.
Those Sensitive who are empathic or telepathic will find themselves sharing a sickening realization with their fellows.
Whatever has been placed within them is alive.
And hungry.
There are only four who remain untouched by the device, avoided by the Phantasms and the Doctors alike. Liz, Sam, Rei, Daemon are left where they stand, unmolested and unmarked. Whatever reason the Phantasms have for this action remains unknown to the guests, and the four are just as caught by the moment of shared consciousness as the rest of the house.
After each guest has been marked and implanted, the groups recedes from the house, moving back for the hidden door and out of the house once more.
The man smiles brightly at the nearest guests, clapping three times once more, before turning to walk back through the door himself.
The clock moves slowly back into place behind him, and the chimes resume as though they were not interrupted by the strange entrance.
The house-guests will find that the cold seems to grow, spreading outward from their arms as they find sleep creeping over them.
The sleep is deep, painless, and somehow more dangerous than it has ever felt before.
A girl stands in front of a mirror, candle flickering on the counter near her. For those who have met her, Rose is a familiar face. She looks a fair bit better than the last time any of the guests saw her. Still pale and a bit wane, but smiling once more.
The blood has been cleaned the blood from her face and hands, her clothes changed to something much neater and cleaner. Despite this, though, the scene is still oddly disconcerting -- the shadows cast by the flickering flame seem strangely alive, moving themselves about as they wrap around her like a living cloak.
She smiles at the mirror, lifting a needle and thread from the counter in front of her, and whispers a word the house-guests will not recognize -- then another.
A name.
“Lock.”
Her reflection distorts for a moment, shape changing to that of the familiar boy before shifting back to her own.
Without further ado, she begins to sew her lips closed.
Each stitch is neat, careful, meant to seal rather than cause harm. She pauses on occasion, dabbing the blood away from the marks as she works.
She knots the thread as she finished, snipping it away with a pair of silver scissors.
Her smile is ghoulish now, but seems to echo a dark mirth in her eyes. Whatever she has done is exactly what she means to do.
A darker shadow moves behind her, hands resting on her shoulders. A voice speaks, almost strangely musical. “Well done. You have done well, little one. Your sacrifice is accepted.”
The last word rings in the ears of the dreamers, even as the dream shifts and draws away from them.
Two children are playing with an elaborate doll-house, one familiar with a shock of red hair hanging about her shoulders and one with dirty, ragged dark pigtails. They giggle and laugh, pass the dolls between each other as they enjoy their game.
“He should go here. I don’t like him, so I don’t want him near to the people I do.”
The other child nods, smiling as she moves the doll with care to a different house.
“Should we put everyone we like together?”
The red-haired girl shakes her head. “No. Just a few. It won’t be a fun game if nobody gets to play.”
She giggles, lifting one of the dolls, starting a nursery rhyme in an oddly singsong voice.
”One bright day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.”
The other girl smiles in response, catching the game even as she moves the dolls about. She joins in, beaming as they chant the words in sync and moved each doll to where it they feel it belongs. The dolls are all neatly dressed, each hairstyle and set of clothes different -- and some oddly familiar.
”Back to back they faced each other,
drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise
and ran to save the two dead boys.
And if you don’t believe it’s true,
go ask the blind man, he saw it too.”
The girls giggle conspiratorially, the second child clapping in glee at the end of the song
Once they have worked their way through the toys the last doll is cradled gently in the red-haired girl’s hands, clearly that of a pregnant woman. She strokes the hair of the doll, pressing a kiss to the top of her head carefully, voice lifting in a soft, haunting tune.
“Rock-a-by baby, in the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all.”
Her hand squeezed around the doll, the dream dissolving into a spike of very real pain, shocking the house-guests from their shared slumber.
For one in the house, the pain would not end, labor begun before its time and body heaving with pain.
The last moments of shared consciousness would give the guests only one image, that of the Phantasms surrounding someone.
As the house-guests begin to wake they will find that they have been moved from the place they were. Each will find themselves waking in a pile of other people. It may take some time to realize that those they might recognize are not with them.
There are three groups, one in the each house. All doors and ways between the houses are solidly locked, though those in the first house may brave the fog in the Greenhouse if they wish to test their luck.
Each group will face a different challenge tonight, and the only way to survive is for those who find themselves pushed together to work with one another.
Death is certain otherwise.
The Resurrection and Entry Point is different in each house.
Those in the First House will find themselves waking in the Parlor and those new to the house assigned to this house will find themselves entering there also.
In the Second House the Entry and Resurrection Point is the main room of the Chapel.
In the Third House the Resurrection Point is inside the cages of the Birdcage Room. The Entry Point for new arrivals to the third house remains the same, The Leather Study serving the purpose admirably.
In All Houses the Hellhounds have returned. They seem less dangerous than usual, whimpering and whining in their hunger. Though they will attack an injured house-guest without pause, their hunger has led them to find other prey. Many of the hounds can be found chewing on table legs and chairs, great jaws working against the wood until it is little more than splinters. What damage they do to themselves is completely ignored, hunger overriding even the most basic instinct of self preservation.
The Mirror Man has returned tonight, and anyone lingering too long at any mirror will find themselves confronted with the faceless man. He taps on the mirror, as though testing the boundaries between himself and the rest of the house. It takes him longer to start his game tonight, almost as though something is interfering with his abilities to affect the house-guests. Anyone who lingers at a mirror more than five minutes will begin to notice his knife lifting. Stepping out of the frame will protect them, but the time is cumulative, adding up as the night stretches on.
All High Level Sensitives will find themselves in need of company tonight. Any who wander far from the safety of the others will find that the Burning Man appears, reaching for them almost desperately. His skin bubbles with the heat of the flame surrounding him, and though his intention seems to be to help protect them from something, in practice his touch is deadly. He mutters to himself, eyes bright with madness as he appears, whispering a plea to allow him to help.
Any who accept his help will find that the flames quickly claim their lives.
In All Houses the night also bring a troubling sound. Any closed door will be subject to a phantom knocking, varying in intensity and frequency. What will occasionally be the faintest of knocks, barely a sound against the wood, can become the loud noise of someone in a panic pounding upon the door.
Any who open the doors will find that the hall is empty and the sound will not begin again until the door is closed.
The blades in each house, those belonging to the house-guests included, remain used and unclean, but as the night goes on the scent becomes worse as the fluids staining them do. Blood remains, but is replaced bit by bit by other substances, foul smelling, as well as sticky, meaty residue, partly rotted and caked hard onto the surfaces. Cleaning it off is possible, though it takes some hard scrubbing, but eventually the build up with continue, an unseen force using their weapons to carve into, apparently, old meat and food.
Each dining room in each house has been set carefully, as if in preparation for a large sit down meal, the tables crowed with more placings than surely could comfortable fit around the furniture. The place settings are complete for a several course long meal, though not a single one is set with any food to speak of. Instead, an elegant red cloth napkin is laid out neatly on the dinner plate, and atop it lays a decorated tube dressed in golden wrapping, twisted into the shape of a candy. When pulled and snapped open these Crackers make a quiet bang and leave behind a small of burnt paper and hair.
Within each there are several small items. A small crown, a slip of paper, and a tiny trinket-- small charms, measuring tapes that do not follow any well documented measuring system, marbles. Upon each slip of paper, in place of a more customary fortune, is a single number between one and six.
There are enough of these crackers laid out for each house guest to have one, if it pleases them.
( First House )
( Second House )
( Third House )
The ways between the houses are closed tonight, and passage between them is entirely impossible. Nothing interferes with the radios, however, allowing uninhibited communication between the houses where normally there would be none. Finding out how the other house-guests are is the work of a few moments. Those in the Third House can even request batteries from the helpful Barkeep. Telepathic links are open and uninhibited, though anyone in the Third House will find a strange sort of static winding through the contact, thoughts that are not their own drifting through their minds. Those with any sort of precognitive abilities will find themselves struck with the growing assurance that something is coming, though they do not know what.
Other than this static, however, the house is eerily quiet. There is no sound of construction to punctuate the night, the projects apparently paused. Very little background noise can be found, there seems to be an almost absence of white noise in general. Voices and footsteps seem unnaturally loud in the droning silence, like they might be heard from far off now-- if anyone or anything is within hearing range.
Occasionally one thing does break the silence: the quiet chattering of rats. They are almost never seen, but as the night grows many will find themselves feeling watched by the creatures, especially those who has wronged Danielle in some way. From time to time they are seen out of the corners of eyes, up on shelves, bending close while they squeak, and seem almost to converse. Their eyes never leave the house-guests in the room with them.
Though the night is long and full of challenges, it seems the boundaries of the houses are the only restraints placed upon the guests. Survival tonight requires relying on strangers for safety.
( Threat Down )
( Character Divisions And a Word From Our Sponsors )
