allthekeys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
allthekeys) wrote2012-10-20 12:00 am
allthekeys) wrote2012-10-20 12:00 am
Entry tags:
Night 015
The clock sounds the hour almost apathetically, as though it cannot be bothered to carry the sound much further than it already has.
As the last chime fades, there is a barely audible click from the Front Door and the once impassible wood swings slowly open, revealing the outside for the first time since the guests arrived within the house.
The night has brought with it colder temperatures, the wind bitter and slicing through layers as though they are not there at all. It is raining, rain that seems torn between remaining sleet and becoming snow. The dying grass outside with traces of white that can’t quite cling to the ground yet.
The house looms behind any brave enough to venture outside, and around them other islands float in the sky. On a few are other buildings, distant and indistinct in the darkness. Some of the windows have lights burning within them, the only visible points in the darkness.
Shapes swoop over head, and though none grow close enough to be closely observed one must assume that the Hunters are out in force in the dark of the night. The corpse of one a few hundred feet from the front door only proves this, though other creatures seem to be grazing on it, ripping chunks of meat and skin from the carcase.
These new beasts most closely resemble deer, though they are much larger than deer any of the house-guests might have seen before. Starkly white their wings spread against the chilled air, breath fogging as they eat. Their antlers reach in impressive racks of dangerous points, and their mouths are stained red with the blood of their meal. They seem interested in the house-guests as they wander closer, sharp eyes fixing with a predatory gleam.
It is clear that given an opening, the massive creatures would take easy prey without pause.
Those who venture further will find themselves standing at the edge of a cliff. There seems to be no way down, and nothing dropped will make a sound as it falls. Jumping is always an option, but ill-advised for those who want to survive the experience. Following the line of the house will lead the guests to the bars of the Rose Garden on one side of the house, and on the other an opaque glass wall.
Stunted trees stand near the center of the area, twisted into odd shapes by the near constant wind. Their branches hold a strange, dark fruit, unrecognizable to anyone who steps near. It smells of wet leaves, trampled beneath the feet of the deer-like creatures, and rot, damp in the chilled air.
Beneath the twisted trees are other creatures, dancing in and out of sight. Much smaller than the deer, they resemble strange coyotes, nearly translucent upon the snow dusted terrain. They will not allow the house-guests to approach them, and seem cautious of the strange deer-creature -- perhaps fearing they might also become lunch. Any who manage to get close will find that the creatures are covered in sharp spines, much like a porcupine, and are quite capable of dislodging some of those spines into those who attempt to capture them.
A Bonfire has been built up within sight of the house, made of twisted wood and bleached white bones. The heat is a welcome break from the chill, and it remains burning throughout the night. The flying shapes avoid it, offering a beacon of safety in the night.
In the Entry Way fresh blood drips from the bloody hand prints on the ceiling, still warm as it falls onto the guests beneath them. There seems to be no source, though anyone with enhanced senses will be able to tell the blood is human.
In the corner of the Parlour , unnoticeable if the house-guests are not looking for him, is Lock. His left arm is drawn tight to his chest, the fabric covering it wet with blood -- his eyes are fixed on the open door. His face seems unnaturally pale, despite the normal lightness of his completion, and his breath comes in quick, unsteady pants.
He will not make an effort to make himself known to anyone who passes, and seems liable to bolt if approached wrong.
As night falls something unusual happens throughout the house. Every light is extinguished utterly as the last chime fades, leaving only the the bonfire to cast light upon the house. A familiar face appears, walking from the house and towards the flames, one hand reaching within the blaze to draw free a burning brand. The Burning Man returns slowly to the house, face lit strangely by the flame from his torch. He goes to any room with a Fireplace and relights the fire, before vanishing once more. The rooms he makes his way through are all safe for the duration of the night so long as the flames burn.
Emerging from where he had locked himself away The Art Enthusiast stalks the halls once again, no sign of the vibrant life of day left in him. His face is still streaked with tears, the last convulsions of pain shaking through him as he heads toward the Gallery -- almost limping from his broken leg. He positions himself there almost calmly, staring up at the portraits from the jarring angle that his neck provides. Apparently intent on his study of the art around him, he folds his hands carefully behind him, not watching the doorway or the stairs that lead there. Approach too closely, however, and those hands move quickly to aim for the living. At a distance, he will largely ignore those passing through, but the study of his art will absolutely not be interrupted. From time to time he casts a look back toward the hallway, almost longingly.
The Hellhounds have returned to the halls once more, reacting to any fresh injury. They will not follow the guests into a Safe Room and they will also not follow the guests outside. Even if they are chasing prey, the dogs start short of the entry way, standing in a pack and whimpering, seeming alarmed by the open door.
Though the food has not returned, on the hearth of the Rough Kitchen it appears that someone has been foraging. Mounds of fresh berries, mushrooms, nuts, wild onions, potatoes, roots, bark, bundles of fresh smelling herbs and flowers have been laid out to dry. Over the fire hangs a pot full of bubbling liquid, a hearty soup of mushrooms, dried meat, and potatoes. In the ashes of the fire several sweet potatoes have been buried, cooking in residual heat of the embers. A smaller bundle of dried fish and slabs of dried meat has been left on the floor, as though someone was in the midst of packing as they cooked a meal and was called away.
The soup is warm and flavorful, should anyone risk trying it.
Near the counter, neatly tucked out of sight is a small cloth bag, within it are additional supplies, including warm gloves, a scarf and what seems to be a handmade blanket, too small for an adult. A neat bundle of dried herbs gives the bag a strange, almost musty smell. A small chunk of salt that seems to have been broken away from a larger block is hidden in the outer pocket. Whoever was gathering seemed well prepared to face the winter. The supplies seem harmless enough, though the gatherer remains unseen.
In the Rose Garden none of the items have vanished. The paving stones around them are now covered with offerings. Bundles of herbs, spices, more tiny cakes, pies wrapped in cheesecloth, bags of nuts, and other sundry items, left here for whatever haunts this garden. It is as though this place has suddenly become an alter. A single white candle holds a place of honor on the birdbath, flame flickering in the wind but refusing to go out. Gourds have been hollowed out, elaborate carvings pressed into their flesh, and their innards filled with candles. They are scattered around the enclosed garden, as though to provide some light in the depth of night.
The other roses are all dead, and the wind has stripped the bushes of leaves, leaving the thorns a dark tangle, almost defiant of any who might try to touch them. The white rose still blooms, as thorny and dangerous as ever, and as immaculate, undamaged by the frost or the wind.
The garden feels strangely full, as though around the house guest stand a thousand people packed into the tiny area. Though no sound disturbs the unnatural quiet. Touching the offerings will not be tolerated, resulting in a vicious attack from the invisible worshippers, but any who settle quietly or offer something to the pile will find themselves undisturbed by any of the frightful things filling the night.
Any Sensitive entering the Rose Garden will be struck by the thought that they should leave something of value behind. The compulsion can be shaken off, but stepping into the garden fills them with a sense of safety. The spirits still surround them, but seem almost reverently caught in a moment of silence. They will find that though the garden is open to the air, and the wind is bitingly cold in the Open Hall they feel warm, protected, and loved.
Entering the Chapel gives them a different sort of feeling, that of being hunted. Though no noise disturbs the silence of the night and the room seems empty, and otherwise safe. The feeling does not abate and even normal humans will find themselves feeling as though they should move quickly through this empty room. Far from a place of safety tonight, it feels as though a hunt is brewing, and those caught in its path will be spared no pity. The air of the room is oppressive and dangerous, as thought a storm is about to break.
The blood on the altar in the middle of the room is warm and wet, and the smell of burned hair fills the room.
On the heavy doors the hand prints burn with an unnatural light, blood oozing from the aged wood and fluid dripping like the inside of a blister. The marks seem new, as though their maker has just left them. There are muddy bootprints on the stone floor beneath it.
In the Greenhouse a man has appeared, or what was once a man. His head is unnaturally shaped, antlers poking from under graying hair, face lined where it has not been softened with fur. His skull bulges in place, as though it is in the midst of reshaping. His bare feet are twisted into strange shapes, almost resembling hooves.
Despite his transitioning appearance the man seems quite comfortable perched on a stump. Next to him sits a net full of fish, and two dead coyote like creatures. He cleans the fish neatly and businesslike, dropping them into a basket by his side as he finishes, leaving the innards where they fall. There is a cool efficiency to the motion, as though he has preformed it a hundred times before.
The Crows dot the trees around him, adding their noise to the otherwise quiet night. A few of the more daring birds have settled on the ground by his feet or on his shoulders, scooping up the leavings with gusto. He seems immune to their antics, even tossing a few of the smaller fish to them as he works.
Though he seems non-threatening he is quick to react to any who step into his space. He is unnaturally fast, swift with his knife and very difficult to avoid. Any he manages to kill will added to his bloody pile of meat.
It seems even the Hellhounds are unwilling to challenge him for his prey.
In the Doll Bathroom the dolls have returned to their shelves. Each doll sits perfectly still, seemingly unwilling to move around. Their eyes track anyone who comes into the bathroom, but they will not shift from their shelf. The Largest Doll is missing. Where the mirror once was, the darkness seems unnaturally thin, almost fog-like as it drifts around the bathroom. Those who enter the fog will find themselves experiencing the unnatural chill the sensitives suffer.
Without warning each of the taps in the Public Restroom begin to drip, then sputter. One by one they explode with water, making a discordant rhythm that overflows quickly. The toilets begin to leak and overflow themselves, water pooling rapidly across the floor. In no time at all, the tile is covered in a shallow, stagnant layer of water. With a crash, one of the stall doors opens, allowing the Drowned Woman to stumble out, falling into the water around her. With her comes the stinging scent of salt in the air, and she stares out from behind her bangs, eyes fixed on the door leading out. She stretches out, head angled as if she is listening for something. She seems almost calmer, tonight, not immediately chasing after any who enter-- approaching her within two metres, however, causes a rapid change in her as she lunges for them, grabbing at clothing and flesh with an almost ravenous desire for purchase. Her fervent desires are not thwarted, but she does not seem particularly aware or attentive of those who do not come too close.
At the table in the Blue Kitchen, the corpse of a woman sits. It's quite possible she was pretty once, though death has not been kind to her body. Her jaw seems to have been broken, and something seems to have been force feeding her raw, bloody chunks of meat, still dripping with fluid. Her eyes are wide and her hands are twisted into bloody claws, as though she were trying to fight back. Her stomach is distended, as though something inside her has ruptured, dark bruises spreading across her flesh.
Bowls of raw meat dot the table, still full of what she was unable to eat. Chunks of raw steak, freshly ground sausages, raw organ meats sliced into bite-sized pieces. The smell of blood hangs heavy in the air of the kitchen, the meat is so fresh it is still bleeding, the woman so newly dead that she is still warm.
In the Plain Kitchen it seems like the bakers have not left off their activities. Large vats of crushed apples are being juiced, the sweet smelling liquid falling into buckets on the floor, being moved to bottles as the house-guests watch by some invisible cook. Great piles of pumpkins have appeared from some unknown garden, and from time to time they are moved to the counter to be broken down. They seem to be being slowly turned into pies and soups, filling the kitchen with more tempting smells.
Piles of vegetables have been brought into the kitchen, not even cleaned before being stacked in heaps around the room. Joining the apples and pumpkin are piles of onions, potatoes, yams, radishes, leeks, sweet potatoes, carrots, beets, turnips, garlic, and parsnips. Several varieties of squash and other fall harvest vegetables have been made into smaller piles.
The vegetables are all being processed, slowly moved to bins and hung from the bars in the Pantry, still dusted with the earth they were pulled from.
Bowls of salted pumpkin seeds sit on the counter, baked until they are crispy, a nice snack to tide the guests over during the night.
In the Observatory a naked man lays on the floor, gasping for breath and seemingly confused by his current location. He seems somewhat familiar, but his current lack of dress has stripped him of identifying markers, making it difficult to guess from where the guests might know him. He will reappears in this location every even hour by the clock in the parlor, and seems to vanish from the house entirely during the odd hours. He looks increasingly irritated by the situation as the night progresses, though he seems quick to gain some idea of what is happening. By midnight there are clothes waiting for him every time he wakes up.
He seems almost hostile to those he encounters, unwilling to engage them in conversation without someone forcing the attention upon him. His left arm is marked with heavy tattooing, wrapping nearly around his shoulder, with a blank space on his forearm. His body is well-muscled, tan and heavily scarred, as though he has survived in this place for a very long time. Though he is scowling, it is possible he would be handsome if he bothered to smile, with dark hair and dark eyes and a well proportioned face. He seems to study the house around him with the air of someone who is used to being hunted, suspicious of the house at large and any noise that occurs around him. He roams restlessly through the house, as though he is looking for someone, though he, like the house-guests, cannot explain who they are.
The ghost of the Photographer has reappeared, in the Loft Bedroom this time. Fortunately for guests he does not seem particularly interested in those passing through the hall or into the room itself. Instead his gaze is fixed downward, his camera pointed toward the Ballroom from a bird's eye view. Anyone who interrupts his observation, however, is met with hostility-- while not immediately violent, he attempts to drive off those that bother him. Pressing the matter does them no favours, and he will attack any who do not take his warning to leave.
Occasionally he grows impatient and paces slightly within his confines, apparently waiting for something to pass his line of sight below. He inevitably returns to his study with little change.
In the Rough Kitchen a familiar face has reappeared, the Lady In White has returned to the house. On every Odd Hour she kneels by the gathered supplies, quickly shoving them into her bag. She seems to have made some effort to conceal herself, coving her white dress with a brightly patterned skirt, a cloak, and a scarf over her hair, but for those who have met her she is impossible to miss. Whatever her mission is, she seems quite ready to flee, and quite prepared to do it properly.
On every even hour she is as dangerous as she always is, and the fire seems to dim under the force of her presence. Any who encounter her during the time she is hostile will find that she is a very dangerous threat, completely incapable of taking harm. But perhaps her living form might hold some answers, should any be willing to risk a meeting.
In the Husk Bedroom the Wax Man has moved from his standing position, body curled under one of the blown out windows. The scratches on his face sluggishly ooze blood, and his eyes are wide and sightless, staring at some distant point. His lips are cracked with lack of moisture, and tears stream steadily down his face. Though he seems otherwise immobile and completely senseless, his voice rises in unsteady song, creeping its way back down the hall and into the rest of the third house.
"The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done."
The song ends, and the figure is silent for a moment, body racked with miserable sobs, hands curled into useless claws at his side. He remains silent for a long time, and then haltingly begins his mournful song again.
In the Study the Mother’s Ghost has returned to her desk, writing once more, seeming unusually focused, as though she is for once in control of herself. She does not look up from whatever she is writing, and those within the house can walk past her, and will find that she offers no threat for the moment. That changes quickly, however, should anyone attempt to read what she is writing: a single glance at the pages in front of her and her body is racked by violent tremors of rage. Her hands cover the papers even as she stands, a shrill and unnatural voice rising from her throat in an unnatural shriek of a noise. Her siren lullabies are left for banshee calls as she spins as thought she will seize whoever was so crass as to peer at private papers.
The Pigtailed Girl who sang at the start of Day 011 and hid in this same room on Night 012 has appeared once again in the Dawn Room, curled up under a table -- legs pulled against her chest as she regards the place and anyone who enters with deep suspicion. By her feet sits the large Doll, recognisable to some as the de-facto leader of them and the instigator of some more troublesome events.
She seems quite frightened, trying to stifle hitching sobs against the fabric of her dirty pinafore to minimise the attention she receives. Guests are regarded with deep cynicism, and she continually asks for someone she claims has left her.
On every even hour she becomes dangerous, skin sinking and paling -- dark shadows forming under her eyes as she becomes gaunt and her dark pigtails become thinner and lank. Her face is dirt-smeared and she trembles, sickly pallor not at all right. She will give only one warning to guests before she attacks, moving so fast it is impossible to see it happen before she lunges forward to strangle them. Even if they manage to escape her grip her touch has a lasting impact -- making a guest's stomach turn with a strange sickness that grows into a fever as the night progresses.
Once the hour becomes odd again she reverts to her previous state, slightly more nervous and upset each time -- but increasingly angry.
In the Trophy Room something is moving within the walls. The sound of chains fills the area, loud and discordant. The panelling around the safe seems to be bulging, as though something behind it is trying to come through. The animals are all bleeding, blood dripping slowly down the walls. The room smells of cigars, heavy smoke filling the area, and several lit cigars have been left in ashtrays around the room. Glasses have been filled with alcohol, placed on any clear space, as though a party is occurring just beyond the sight of the guests. The sound of male voices fills the room, quieting whenever a woman walks in.
The stuffed heads seem to be watching anyone that enters, mouths and ears streaming with fresh blood.
In Every Bathroom and the Hot Springs the Skinless have returned. They seem unusually hostile tonight, attacking any guests who wander near them. Their intentions seem to be to claim the skins of their victims, though the cold of the night makes them slow and makes it more difficult for them to move, anyone capture by them will find that their grip is strong and hard to escape.
The sound of construction fills the house, as though someone works tirelessly throughout the night. If the house-guests dare the outside area, they will find that the noise fades, but it is otherwise inescapable.
Nick and Shion whimper as the night falls, Nick managing to raise his voice in a proper wail before he falls stubbornly silent. Neither baby will make any further noise during the night, reactive to the presence of their guardians, but mute and still within their arms.
Those who said yes in the Stalker Plot of Night 008 will feel pangs, and a tugging on their cords, as night approaches. As it nears they will feel more sluggish and fatigued -- not enough, perhaps, to put them to sleep but enough to slow them down. It crescendos as the changes of night arrive, with a sharp pang from the cords. There is a moment of dizziness then, and when they regain their faculties, they are no longer alone. The companions hover by them when they snap out of it, mere echoes and shadows of their previously comforting appearances. While their eyes and faces still call back memories of loved ones, the expressions there are no longer kind and doting -- they are purely desperate and hungry. Their mouths hang open to reveal sharp, jagged teeth in a too-wide jaw that drips with saliva, fluids unknown, and blood.
Apparently caught in the act of feeding, the creatures quickly turn hostile. Bristling, they move in to attack, not willing to let their prey go.
No longer bound to the house guests, the Leeches are now free to hunt. Those who had been bound to them may find themselves woozy, or any magical abilities they possess weakened-- and an oval of jagged pinpricks somewhere on their body. Those who said no will also find themselves particularly hunted during the night, seeing the creatures now for what they truly are. Fortunately for them and those who were not involved in the event, however, it does not seem as if these monsters can smell and track them with the same familiarity of those they were close to.
In the Orchard the Frozen Lady sits on the ground beneath an apple tree. Around her, the formerly vibrant grass is crisp with frost. The trees above her are covered in dying leaves, brilliantly colored in the darkness. She is humming, counting apple seeds on her lap, the dark color stark against the white of her clothes. Her hair is tucked beneath her hood, eyes hidden in shadow. She seems entirely focused on her task, completely oblivious to any who enter.
The air is so bitterly cold that any who linger for long will find their body temperatures dropping rapidly, exposed skin paling with the beginnings of frostbite. Exterior limbs start becoming stiff, coordination slips, leaving become less and less important to the guests who find their way here. Hypothermia will set in within ten minutes of entering the orchard, and the chill can easily carry them off to a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the Silk Room the Wax Doll is active, circling her glass prison almost thoughtfully. She seems to be checking the walls for weaknesses, though she is attentive enough to notice those who enter her room. She is quite pretty, sitting gracefully to exchange what limited communication she can. Like her partner in the Velvet Room, the glass is soundproofed, but she seems more willing to make hand gestures and to communicate with those who try to speak to her.
In the Velvet Bedroom the man remains curled in a ball, tucked in on himself as though he is sleeping. He does not stir, no matter what is done to try to wake him.
In All Hallways the Wallcrawlers have returned. These creatures seem unusually hungry tonight, perhaps encouraged by the over-abundance of food currently filling the house, as if the meals serve only to improve the quality of their own. They are quick to fall upon anyone who pauses for even a moment in their space, no matter how large the party, though the creatures seem disinclined to hunt in groups tonight. The hallways are best taken at a run if one wishes to pass safely, as they are apparently unwilling to let anyone go through some sort of without some kind of trouble. They will not leave the hallways tonight, but they are lively and aggressive in their designated space.
The Rats have also returned, scattered about the surfaces of the house. They sit on their haunches, black eyes following any movement that happens near them. They will keep space between themselves and the guests, moving to keep from being touched, but otherwise do not move around. They seem to be watching, waiting for something.
In the Yellow Bedroom there is a rustling from underneath the bed. The Mute Ghost Girl pokes her head out from underneath it, peering out from the covers hanging over the edge. She seems perturbed and frightened by all of the events going on around her, wide frightened eyes peeking out from behind dark hair and her large, stuffed rabbit, which is cradled carefully in her arms. It takes gentle coaxing for her to emerge, but she is avoidant of most -- especially adults.
Perhaps she is worried that whatever has scared her will return.
For the Sensitive the night is full of voices. The whispers of noon move beyond normal perception and into quiet words that only they can hear. If anyone seems to be trying to listen, to discern what is being said, they will find themselves being touched. Hands tug at sleeves and hems, pawing at them like children desperate for attention. The presence surrounds them, the constant feeling of being watched chases them through the night. No matter what is done, the voices cannot be made out, the words do not resolve into anything but fragments.
With everything that has happened around nightfall, it might be difficult to notice another change at first. The awareness is not a sudden thing, but rather one arrived at gradually, independently of one another. The house-guests seem to have lost their names. No matter how close they might be to someone, no matter how deeply they know they must be named, no one can recall them. Nicknames might be remembered, but the name that they were given at their birth is gone from them completely.
It seems such a strange thing to lose, a vitally important part of their being, but no matter what they do they will find that the name is gone. Gone from anything they might have with them that has it written on it, gone from the recollections of friends and family. The memories remain, for the moment, but the names have vanished. Brother, sister, father, mother, daughter, son, dearest friend, lover. All gone.
It seems to cause distance, moments of hesitation where there had been none before. It is as though this vitally important bit of forgotten information has caused some connection to be lost.
Anyone who looks at their tattoos will find that a blank space has been left in the mark, as though something central is missing.
The Entry Point for new characters has changed tonight. Anyone entering the house after Nightfall will arrive in the Leather Study in the Third House.
The safe rooms tonight are the Parlor, Dawn Room, Observatory, Attic, Carpenter’s Room, Main Room of the Gardener's Wing, Wall Papered Parlor, Rough Kitchen, Rose Garden, Diamond Dining Room, Playboy Bedroom, Wax Bedroom, and the Bonfire.
((ooc: And the winners for the experiment draw are Bakura, Chrome, Gokudera, Jamie, River, Vivi, and Xehanort! Your respective mods will be getting in touch with you sometime soon to work out the details with you.))
1. Front Door 2. Entry Way 3. Coat Closet 4. Parlor 5. Formal Dining Room 6. Blue Kitchen 7. Doll Bathroom 8. East Hallway 9. Library 10. Study 11. Dawn Room 12. Closed Closet 13. Nursery 14. Dollhouse Room 15. Dollhouse 16. The Crack In The Wall 17. Maid Hallway 18. Clean Bedroom 19. Dirty Bedroom 20. Closet Room 21. Smoke Room 22. Yellow Bedroom 23. Vanity Room 24. Ivory Bathroom 25. Door to Basement 26. Supply Closet 27. Ballroom 28. Oak Hallway 30. Theater 31. Backstage 32. Locked Door 33. Music Room
1. Hallway 2. Princess Bedroom 3. Princess Closet 4. Mirror Bedroom 5. Journey Bedroom 6. Fairy Bedroom 7. Red Bedroom 8. Mask Bedroom 9. Trophy Room 10. Gallery 11. Observatory 12. Sewing Room 13. Glass Bathroom 14. Perfume Bedroom 15. Library 16. Cherry Hallway 17. Thin Bedroom 18. Dark Bedroom 19. Light Bedroom 20. Loft Bedroom 21. Ink Bedroom 22. Mosaic Bedroom 23. Day Room 24. Narrow Hallway 25. Store Room 26. Open Bathroom 27. Blind Bedroom 28. Door To Floating Hallway 29. Corkscrew Stair
1. Attic
1. Main Room 2. Green Room 3. Half Bath 4. Small Kitchen 5. Garden Closet 6. Empty Hall 7. Radio Room 8. Carpenters Room 9. Painter’s Room 10. Shared Bath 11. Glass Blowers Room 12. Tapestry Bedroom 13. Dollmaker's Workshop 14. Pottery Room
1. Basement 2. Dirt Hallway 3. Waiting Room 4. Doctor's Office 5. Supply Closet 6. Recovery Ward 7-11. Examination Rooms 12. Treatment Room 13. Surgery Room 14. Ward 15. Morgue
1. Straight Hall 2. Public Restroom 3. Glass Half Empty 4. Fake Bedroom 5. Model Bedroom 6. Locked Door 7. Viewing Bedroom 8. Memory Bedroom 9. Photography Bedroom 10. Dark Room 11. Shelter Bedroom
1. Stairwell Room 2. Wallpapered Parlor 3. The Open Door 4. Plain Kitchen 5. Pantry 6. Dining Room 7. Hallway 8. Half Sized Bath 9. The Blank Library 10. ??? Room 11. Open Hall 12. Rose Garden 13. Chapel 14. Priest's Room 15. Priest's Bedroom 16. Hallway 17. Locked Door 18. Rough Kitchen 19. Junior Dormitory 20. Bell Tower 21. Courtyard
1. Wind Tunnel Hallway 2. The Front Door 3. Sitting Room 4. Leather Study 5. Gentlemen's Lounge 6. Diamond Dining Room 7. Professional Kitchen 8. Stable 9. Locked Door 10. Orchard 11. Hanging Tree 12. Hot Springs 13. Locked Door
1. Red Hallway 2. Herbal Bedroom 3. Costumed Room 4. Bell Bathroom 5. Locked Door 6. Playboy Bedroom 7. Statuary Bedroom 8. Candy Store 9. Stalker Room 10. Satin Room 11. Scented Bathroom 12. Birdcage Room 13. Hedonist Room 14. Carved Parlor 15. Silk Room 16. Get Away Cabin 17. Vanity Bathroom 18. Velvet Bedroom 19. Wax Bedroom 20. Husk Bedroom
As the last chime fades, there is a barely audible click from the Front Door and the once impassible wood swings slowly open, revealing the outside for the first time since the guests arrived within the house.
The night has brought with it colder temperatures, the wind bitter and slicing through layers as though they are not there at all. It is raining, rain that seems torn between remaining sleet and becoming snow. The dying grass outside with traces of white that can’t quite cling to the ground yet.
The house looms behind any brave enough to venture outside, and around them other islands float in the sky. On a few are other buildings, distant and indistinct in the darkness. Some of the windows have lights burning within them, the only visible points in the darkness.
Shapes swoop over head, and though none grow close enough to be closely observed one must assume that the Hunters are out in force in the dark of the night. The corpse of one a few hundred feet from the front door only proves this, though other creatures seem to be grazing on it, ripping chunks of meat and skin from the carcase.
These new beasts most closely resemble deer, though they are much larger than deer any of the house-guests might have seen before. Starkly white their wings spread against the chilled air, breath fogging as they eat. Their antlers reach in impressive racks of dangerous points, and their mouths are stained red with the blood of their meal. They seem interested in the house-guests as they wander closer, sharp eyes fixing with a predatory gleam.
It is clear that given an opening, the massive creatures would take easy prey without pause.
Those who venture further will find themselves standing at the edge of a cliff. There seems to be no way down, and nothing dropped will make a sound as it falls. Jumping is always an option, but ill-advised for those who want to survive the experience. Following the line of the house will lead the guests to the bars of the Rose Garden on one side of the house, and on the other an opaque glass wall.
Stunted trees stand near the center of the area, twisted into odd shapes by the near constant wind. Their branches hold a strange, dark fruit, unrecognizable to anyone who steps near. It smells of wet leaves, trampled beneath the feet of the deer-like creatures, and rot, damp in the chilled air.
Beneath the twisted trees are other creatures, dancing in and out of sight. Much smaller than the deer, they resemble strange coyotes, nearly translucent upon the snow dusted terrain. They will not allow the house-guests to approach them, and seem cautious of the strange deer-creature -- perhaps fearing they might also become lunch. Any who manage to get close will find that the creatures are covered in sharp spines, much like a porcupine, and are quite capable of dislodging some of those spines into those who attempt to capture them.
A Bonfire has been built up within sight of the house, made of twisted wood and bleached white bones. The heat is a welcome break from the chill, and it remains burning throughout the night. The flying shapes avoid it, offering a beacon of safety in the night.
In the Entry Way fresh blood drips from the bloody hand prints on the ceiling, still warm as it falls onto the guests beneath them. There seems to be no source, though anyone with enhanced senses will be able to tell the blood is human.
In the corner of the Parlour , unnoticeable if the house-guests are not looking for him, is Lock. His left arm is drawn tight to his chest, the fabric covering it wet with blood -- his eyes are fixed on the open door. His face seems unnaturally pale, despite the normal lightness of his completion, and his breath comes in quick, unsteady pants.
He will not make an effort to make himself known to anyone who passes, and seems liable to bolt if approached wrong.
As night falls something unusual happens throughout the house. Every light is extinguished utterly as the last chime fades, leaving only the the bonfire to cast light upon the house. A familiar face appears, walking from the house and towards the flames, one hand reaching within the blaze to draw free a burning brand. The Burning Man returns slowly to the house, face lit strangely by the flame from his torch. He goes to any room with a Fireplace and relights the fire, before vanishing once more. The rooms he makes his way through are all safe for the duration of the night so long as the flames burn.
Emerging from where he had locked himself away The Art Enthusiast stalks the halls once again, no sign of the vibrant life of day left in him. His face is still streaked with tears, the last convulsions of pain shaking through him as he heads toward the Gallery -- almost limping from his broken leg. He positions himself there almost calmly, staring up at the portraits from the jarring angle that his neck provides. Apparently intent on his study of the art around him, he folds his hands carefully behind him, not watching the doorway or the stairs that lead there. Approach too closely, however, and those hands move quickly to aim for the living. At a distance, he will largely ignore those passing through, but the study of his art will absolutely not be interrupted. From time to time he casts a look back toward the hallway, almost longingly.
The Hellhounds have returned to the halls once more, reacting to any fresh injury. They will not follow the guests into a Safe Room and they will also not follow the guests outside. Even if they are chasing prey, the dogs start short of the entry way, standing in a pack and whimpering, seeming alarmed by the open door.
Though the food has not returned, on the hearth of the Rough Kitchen it appears that someone has been foraging. Mounds of fresh berries, mushrooms, nuts, wild onions, potatoes, roots, bark, bundles of fresh smelling herbs and flowers have been laid out to dry. Over the fire hangs a pot full of bubbling liquid, a hearty soup of mushrooms, dried meat, and potatoes. In the ashes of the fire several sweet potatoes have been buried, cooking in residual heat of the embers. A smaller bundle of dried fish and slabs of dried meat has been left on the floor, as though someone was in the midst of packing as they cooked a meal and was called away.
The soup is warm and flavorful, should anyone risk trying it.
Near the counter, neatly tucked out of sight is a small cloth bag, within it are additional supplies, including warm gloves, a scarf and what seems to be a handmade blanket, too small for an adult. A neat bundle of dried herbs gives the bag a strange, almost musty smell. A small chunk of salt that seems to have been broken away from a larger block is hidden in the outer pocket. Whoever was gathering seemed well prepared to face the winter. The supplies seem harmless enough, though the gatherer remains unseen.
In the Rose Garden none of the items have vanished. The paving stones around them are now covered with offerings. Bundles of herbs, spices, more tiny cakes, pies wrapped in cheesecloth, bags of nuts, and other sundry items, left here for whatever haunts this garden. It is as though this place has suddenly become an alter. A single white candle holds a place of honor on the birdbath, flame flickering in the wind but refusing to go out. Gourds have been hollowed out, elaborate carvings pressed into their flesh, and their innards filled with candles. They are scattered around the enclosed garden, as though to provide some light in the depth of night.
The other roses are all dead, and the wind has stripped the bushes of leaves, leaving the thorns a dark tangle, almost defiant of any who might try to touch them. The white rose still blooms, as thorny and dangerous as ever, and as immaculate, undamaged by the frost or the wind.
The garden feels strangely full, as though around the house guest stand a thousand people packed into the tiny area. Though no sound disturbs the unnatural quiet. Touching the offerings will not be tolerated, resulting in a vicious attack from the invisible worshippers, but any who settle quietly or offer something to the pile will find themselves undisturbed by any of the frightful things filling the night.
Any Sensitive entering the Rose Garden will be struck by the thought that they should leave something of value behind. The compulsion can be shaken off, but stepping into the garden fills them with a sense of safety. The spirits still surround them, but seem almost reverently caught in a moment of silence. They will find that though the garden is open to the air, and the wind is bitingly cold in the Open Hall they feel warm, protected, and loved.
Entering the Chapel gives them a different sort of feeling, that of being hunted. Though no noise disturbs the silence of the night and the room seems empty, and otherwise safe. The feeling does not abate and even normal humans will find themselves feeling as though they should move quickly through this empty room. Far from a place of safety tonight, it feels as though a hunt is brewing, and those caught in its path will be spared no pity. The air of the room is oppressive and dangerous, as thought a storm is about to break.
The blood on the altar in the middle of the room is warm and wet, and the smell of burned hair fills the room.
On the heavy doors the hand prints burn with an unnatural light, blood oozing from the aged wood and fluid dripping like the inside of a blister. The marks seem new, as though their maker has just left them. There are muddy bootprints on the stone floor beneath it.
In the Greenhouse a man has appeared, or what was once a man. His head is unnaturally shaped, antlers poking from under graying hair, face lined where it has not been softened with fur. His skull bulges in place, as though it is in the midst of reshaping. His bare feet are twisted into strange shapes, almost resembling hooves.
Despite his transitioning appearance the man seems quite comfortable perched on a stump. Next to him sits a net full of fish, and two dead coyote like creatures. He cleans the fish neatly and businesslike, dropping them into a basket by his side as he finishes, leaving the innards where they fall. There is a cool efficiency to the motion, as though he has preformed it a hundred times before.
The Crows dot the trees around him, adding their noise to the otherwise quiet night. A few of the more daring birds have settled on the ground by his feet or on his shoulders, scooping up the leavings with gusto. He seems immune to their antics, even tossing a few of the smaller fish to them as he works.
Though he seems non-threatening he is quick to react to any who step into his space. He is unnaturally fast, swift with his knife and very difficult to avoid. Any he manages to kill will added to his bloody pile of meat.
It seems even the Hellhounds are unwilling to challenge him for his prey.
In the Doll Bathroom the dolls have returned to their shelves. Each doll sits perfectly still, seemingly unwilling to move around. Their eyes track anyone who comes into the bathroom, but they will not shift from their shelf. The Largest Doll is missing. Where the mirror once was, the darkness seems unnaturally thin, almost fog-like as it drifts around the bathroom. Those who enter the fog will find themselves experiencing the unnatural chill the sensitives suffer.
Without warning each of the taps in the Public Restroom begin to drip, then sputter. One by one they explode with water, making a discordant rhythm that overflows quickly. The toilets begin to leak and overflow themselves, water pooling rapidly across the floor. In no time at all, the tile is covered in a shallow, stagnant layer of water. With a crash, one of the stall doors opens, allowing the Drowned Woman to stumble out, falling into the water around her. With her comes the stinging scent of salt in the air, and she stares out from behind her bangs, eyes fixed on the door leading out. She stretches out, head angled as if she is listening for something. She seems almost calmer, tonight, not immediately chasing after any who enter-- approaching her within two metres, however, causes a rapid change in her as she lunges for them, grabbing at clothing and flesh with an almost ravenous desire for purchase. Her fervent desires are not thwarted, but she does not seem particularly aware or attentive of those who do not come too close.
At the table in the Blue Kitchen, the corpse of a woman sits. It's quite possible she was pretty once, though death has not been kind to her body. Her jaw seems to have been broken, and something seems to have been force feeding her raw, bloody chunks of meat, still dripping with fluid. Her eyes are wide and her hands are twisted into bloody claws, as though she were trying to fight back. Her stomach is distended, as though something inside her has ruptured, dark bruises spreading across her flesh.
Bowls of raw meat dot the table, still full of what she was unable to eat. Chunks of raw steak, freshly ground sausages, raw organ meats sliced into bite-sized pieces. The smell of blood hangs heavy in the air of the kitchen, the meat is so fresh it is still bleeding, the woman so newly dead that she is still warm.
In the Plain Kitchen it seems like the bakers have not left off their activities. Large vats of crushed apples are being juiced, the sweet smelling liquid falling into buckets on the floor, being moved to bottles as the house-guests watch by some invisible cook. Great piles of pumpkins have appeared from some unknown garden, and from time to time they are moved to the counter to be broken down. They seem to be being slowly turned into pies and soups, filling the kitchen with more tempting smells.
Piles of vegetables have been brought into the kitchen, not even cleaned before being stacked in heaps around the room. Joining the apples and pumpkin are piles of onions, potatoes, yams, radishes, leeks, sweet potatoes, carrots, beets, turnips, garlic, and parsnips. Several varieties of squash and other fall harvest vegetables have been made into smaller piles.
The vegetables are all being processed, slowly moved to bins and hung from the bars in the Pantry, still dusted with the earth they were pulled from.
Bowls of salted pumpkin seeds sit on the counter, baked until they are crispy, a nice snack to tide the guests over during the night.
In the Observatory a naked man lays on the floor, gasping for breath and seemingly confused by his current location. He seems somewhat familiar, but his current lack of dress has stripped him of identifying markers, making it difficult to guess from where the guests might know him. He will reappears in this location every even hour by the clock in the parlor, and seems to vanish from the house entirely during the odd hours. He looks increasingly irritated by the situation as the night progresses, though he seems quick to gain some idea of what is happening. By midnight there are clothes waiting for him every time he wakes up.
He seems almost hostile to those he encounters, unwilling to engage them in conversation without someone forcing the attention upon him. His left arm is marked with heavy tattooing, wrapping nearly around his shoulder, with a blank space on his forearm. His body is well-muscled, tan and heavily scarred, as though he has survived in this place for a very long time. Though he is scowling, it is possible he would be handsome if he bothered to smile, with dark hair and dark eyes and a well proportioned face. He seems to study the house around him with the air of someone who is used to being hunted, suspicious of the house at large and any noise that occurs around him. He roams restlessly through the house, as though he is looking for someone, though he, like the house-guests, cannot explain who they are.
The ghost of the Photographer has reappeared, in the Loft Bedroom this time. Fortunately for guests he does not seem particularly interested in those passing through the hall or into the room itself. Instead his gaze is fixed downward, his camera pointed toward the Ballroom from a bird's eye view. Anyone who interrupts his observation, however, is met with hostility-- while not immediately violent, he attempts to drive off those that bother him. Pressing the matter does them no favours, and he will attack any who do not take his warning to leave.
Occasionally he grows impatient and paces slightly within his confines, apparently waiting for something to pass his line of sight below. He inevitably returns to his study with little change.
In the Rough Kitchen a familiar face has reappeared, the Lady In White has returned to the house. On every Odd Hour she kneels by the gathered supplies, quickly shoving them into her bag. She seems to have made some effort to conceal herself, coving her white dress with a brightly patterned skirt, a cloak, and a scarf over her hair, but for those who have met her she is impossible to miss. Whatever her mission is, she seems quite ready to flee, and quite prepared to do it properly.
On every even hour she is as dangerous as she always is, and the fire seems to dim under the force of her presence. Any who encounter her during the time she is hostile will find that she is a very dangerous threat, completely incapable of taking harm. But perhaps her living form might hold some answers, should any be willing to risk a meeting.
In the Husk Bedroom the Wax Man has moved from his standing position, body curled under one of the blown out windows. The scratches on his face sluggishly ooze blood, and his eyes are wide and sightless, staring at some distant point. His lips are cracked with lack of moisture, and tears stream steadily down his face. Though he seems otherwise immobile and completely senseless, his voice rises in unsteady song, creeping its way back down the hall and into the rest of the third house.
"The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done."
The song ends, and the figure is silent for a moment, body racked with miserable sobs, hands curled into useless claws at his side. He remains silent for a long time, and then haltingly begins his mournful song again.
In the Study the Mother’s Ghost has returned to her desk, writing once more, seeming unusually focused, as though she is for once in control of herself. She does not look up from whatever she is writing, and those within the house can walk past her, and will find that she offers no threat for the moment. That changes quickly, however, should anyone attempt to read what she is writing: a single glance at the pages in front of her and her body is racked by violent tremors of rage. Her hands cover the papers even as she stands, a shrill and unnatural voice rising from her throat in an unnatural shriek of a noise. Her siren lullabies are left for banshee calls as she spins as thought she will seize whoever was so crass as to peer at private papers.
The Pigtailed Girl who sang at the start of Day 011 and hid in this same room on Night 012 has appeared once again in the Dawn Room, curled up under a table -- legs pulled against her chest as she regards the place and anyone who enters with deep suspicion. By her feet sits the large Doll, recognisable to some as the de-facto leader of them and the instigator of some more troublesome events.
She seems quite frightened, trying to stifle hitching sobs against the fabric of her dirty pinafore to minimise the attention she receives. Guests are regarded with deep cynicism, and she continually asks for someone she claims has left her.
On every even hour she becomes dangerous, skin sinking and paling -- dark shadows forming under her eyes as she becomes gaunt and her dark pigtails become thinner and lank. Her face is dirt-smeared and she trembles, sickly pallor not at all right. She will give only one warning to guests before she attacks, moving so fast it is impossible to see it happen before she lunges forward to strangle them. Even if they manage to escape her grip her touch has a lasting impact -- making a guest's stomach turn with a strange sickness that grows into a fever as the night progresses.
Once the hour becomes odd again she reverts to her previous state, slightly more nervous and upset each time -- but increasingly angry.
In the Trophy Room something is moving within the walls. The sound of chains fills the area, loud and discordant. The panelling around the safe seems to be bulging, as though something behind it is trying to come through. The animals are all bleeding, blood dripping slowly down the walls. The room smells of cigars, heavy smoke filling the area, and several lit cigars have been left in ashtrays around the room. Glasses have been filled with alcohol, placed on any clear space, as though a party is occurring just beyond the sight of the guests. The sound of male voices fills the room, quieting whenever a woman walks in.
The stuffed heads seem to be watching anyone that enters, mouths and ears streaming with fresh blood.
In Every Bathroom and the Hot Springs the Skinless have returned. They seem unusually hostile tonight, attacking any guests who wander near them. Their intentions seem to be to claim the skins of their victims, though the cold of the night makes them slow and makes it more difficult for them to move, anyone capture by them will find that their grip is strong and hard to escape.
The sound of construction fills the house, as though someone works tirelessly throughout the night. If the house-guests dare the outside area, they will find that the noise fades, but it is otherwise inescapable.
Nick and Shion whimper as the night falls, Nick managing to raise his voice in a proper wail before he falls stubbornly silent. Neither baby will make any further noise during the night, reactive to the presence of their guardians, but mute and still within their arms.
Those who said yes in the Stalker Plot of Night 008 will feel pangs, and a tugging on their cords, as night approaches. As it nears they will feel more sluggish and fatigued -- not enough, perhaps, to put them to sleep but enough to slow them down. It crescendos as the changes of night arrive, with a sharp pang from the cords. There is a moment of dizziness then, and when they regain their faculties, they are no longer alone. The companions hover by them when they snap out of it, mere echoes and shadows of their previously comforting appearances. While their eyes and faces still call back memories of loved ones, the expressions there are no longer kind and doting -- they are purely desperate and hungry. Their mouths hang open to reveal sharp, jagged teeth in a too-wide jaw that drips with saliva, fluids unknown, and blood.
Apparently caught in the act of feeding, the creatures quickly turn hostile. Bristling, they move in to attack, not willing to let their prey go.
No longer bound to the house guests, the Leeches are now free to hunt. Those who had been bound to them may find themselves woozy, or any magical abilities they possess weakened-- and an oval of jagged pinpricks somewhere on their body. Those who said no will also find themselves particularly hunted during the night, seeing the creatures now for what they truly are. Fortunately for them and those who were not involved in the event, however, it does not seem as if these monsters can smell and track them with the same familiarity of those they were close to.
In the Orchard the Frozen Lady sits on the ground beneath an apple tree. Around her, the formerly vibrant grass is crisp with frost. The trees above her are covered in dying leaves, brilliantly colored in the darkness. She is humming, counting apple seeds on her lap, the dark color stark against the white of her clothes. Her hair is tucked beneath her hood, eyes hidden in shadow. She seems entirely focused on her task, completely oblivious to any who enter.
The air is so bitterly cold that any who linger for long will find their body temperatures dropping rapidly, exposed skin paling with the beginnings of frostbite. Exterior limbs start becoming stiff, coordination slips, leaving become less and less important to the guests who find their way here. Hypothermia will set in within ten minutes of entering the orchard, and the chill can easily carry them off to a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the Silk Room the Wax Doll is active, circling her glass prison almost thoughtfully. She seems to be checking the walls for weaknesses, though she is attentive enough to notice those who enter her room. She is quite pretty, sitting gracefully to exchange what limited communication she can. Like her partner in the Velvet Room, the glass is soundproofed, but she seems more willing to make hand gestures and to communicate with those who try to speak to her.
In the Velvet Bedroom the man remains curled in a ball, tucked in on himself as though he is sleeping. He does not stir, no matter what is done to try to wake him.
In All Hallways the Wallcrawlers have returned. These creatures seem unusually hungry tonight, perhaps encouraged by the over-abundance of food currently filling the house, as if the meals serve only to improve the quality of their own. They are quick to fall upon anyone who pauses for even a moment in their space, no matter how large the party, though the creatures seem disinclined to hunt in groups tonight. The hallways are best taken at a run if one wishes to pass safely, as they are apparently unwilling to let anyone go through some sort of without some kind of trouble. They will not leave the hallways tonight, but they are lively and aggressive in their designated space.
The Rats have also returned, scattered about the surfaces of the house. They sit on their haunches, black eyes following any movement that happens near them. They will keep space between themselves and the guests, moving to keep from being touched, but otherwise do not move around. They seem to be watching, waiting for something.
In the Yellow Bedroom there is a rustling from underneath the bed. The Mute Ghost Girl pokes her head out from underneath it, peering out from the covers hanging over the edge. She seems perturbed and frightened by all of the events going on around her, wide frightened eyes peeking out from behind dark hair and her large, stuffed rabbit, which is cradled carefully in her arms. It takes gentle coaxing for her to emerge, but she is avoidant of most -- especially adults.
Perhaps she is worried that whatever has scared her will return.
For the Sensitive the night is full of voices. The whispers of noon move beyond normal perception and into quiet words that only they can hear. If anyone seems to be trying to listen, to discern what is being said, they will find themselves being touched. Hands tug at sleeves and hems, pawing at them like children desperate for attention. The presence surrounds them, the constant feeling of being watched chases them through the night. No matter what is done, the voices cannot be made out, the words do not resolve into anything but fragments.
With everything that has happened around nightfall, it might be difficult to notice another change at first. The awareness is not a sudden thing, but rather one arrived at gradually, independently of one another. The house-guests seem to have lost their names. No matter how close they might be to someone, no matter how deeply they know they must be named, no one can recall them. Nicknames might be remembered, but the name that they were given at their birth is gone from them completely.
It seems such a strange thing to lose, a vitally important part of their being, but no matter what they do they will find that the name is gone. Gone from anything they might have with them that has it written on it, gone from the recollections of friends and family. The memories remain, for the moment, but the names have vanished. Brother, sister, father, mother, daughter, son, dearest friend, lover. All gone.
It seems to cause distance, moments of hesitation where there had been none before. It is as though this vitally important bit of forgotten information has caused some connection to be lost.
Anyone who looks at their tattoos will find that a blank space has been left in the mark, as though something central is missing.
The Entry Point for new characters has changed tonight. Anyone entering the house after Nightfall will arrive in the Leather Study in the Third House.
The safe rooms tonight are the Parlor, Dawn Room, Observatory, Attic, Carpenter’s Room, Main Room of the Gardener's Wing, Wall Papered Parlor, Rough Kitchen, Rose Garden, Diamond Dining Room, Playboy Bedroom, Wax Bedroom, and the Bonfire.
((ooc: And the winners for the experiment draw are Bakura, Chrome, Gokudera, Jamie, River, Vivi, and Xehanort! Your respective mods will be getting in touch with you sometime soon to work out the details with you.))
1. Front Door 2. Entry Way 3. Coat Closet 4. Parlor 5. Formal Dining Room 6. Blue Kitchen 7. Doll Bathroom 8. East Hallway 9. Library 10. Study 11. Dawn Room 12. Closed Closet 13. Nursery 14. Dollhouse Room 15. Dollhouse 16. The Crack In The Wall 17. Maid Hallway 18. Clean Bedroom 19. Dirty Bedroom 20. Closet Room 21. Smoke Room 22. Yellow Bedroom 23. Vanity Room 24. Ivory Bathroom 25. Door to Basement 26. Supply Closet 27. Ballroom 28. Oak Hallway 30. Theater 31. Backstage 32. Locked Door 33. Music Room
1. Hallway 2. Princess Bedroom 3. Princess Closet 4. Mirror Bedroom 5. Journey Bedroom 6. Fairy Bedroom 7. Red Bedroom 8. Mask Bedroom 9. Trophy Room 10. Gallery 11. Observatory 12. Sewing Room 13. Glass Bathroom 14. Perfume Bedroom 15. Library 16. Cherry Hallway 17. Thin Bedroom 18. Dark Bedroom 19. Light Bedroom 20. Loft Bedroom 21. Ink Bedroom 22. Mosaic Bedroom 23. Day Room 24. Narrow Hallway 25. Store Room 26. Open Bathroom 27. Blind Bedroom 28. Door To Floating Hallway 29. Corkscrew Stair
1. Attic
1. Main Room 2. Green Room 3. Half Bath 4. Small Kitchen 5. Garden Closet 6. Empty Hall 7. Radio Room 8. Carpenters Room 9. Painter’s Room 10. Shared Bath 11. Glass Blowers Room 12. Tapestry Bedroom 13. Dollmaker's Workshop 14. Pottery Room
1. Basement 2. Dirt Hallway 3. Waiting Room 4. Doctor's Office 5. Supply Closet 6. Recovery Ward 7-11. Examination Rooms 12. Treatment Room 13. Surgery Room 14. Ward 15. Morgue
1. Straight Hall 2. Public Restroom 3. Glass Half Empty 4. Fake Bedroom 5. Model Bedroom 6. Locked Door 7. Viewing Bedroom 8. Memory Bedroom 9. Photography Bedroom 10. Dark Room 11. Shelter Bedroom
1. Stairwell Room 2. Wallpapered Parlor 3. The Open Door 4. Plain Kitchen 5. Pantry 6. Dining Room 7. Hallway 8. Half Sized Bath 9. The Blank Library 10. ??? Room 11. Open Hall 12. Rose Garden 13. Chapel 14. Priest's Room 15. Priest's Bedroom 16. Hallway 17. Locked Door 18. Rough Kitchen 19. Junior Dormitory 20. Bell Tower 21. Courtyard
1. Wind Tunnel Hallway 2. The Front Door 3. Sitting Room 4. Leather Study 5. Gentlemen's Lounge 6. Diamond Dining Room 7. Professional Kitchen 8. Stable 9. Locked Door 10. Orchard 11. Hanging Tree 12. Hot Springs 13. Locked Door
1. Red Hallway 2. Herbal Bedroom 3. Costumed Room 4. Bell Bathroom 5. Locked Door 6. Playboy Bedroom 7. Statuary Bedroom 8. Candy Store 9. Stalker Room 10. Satin Room 11. Scented Bathroom 12. Birdcage Room 13. Hedonist Room 14. Carved Parlor 15. Silk Room 16. Get Away Cabin 17. Vanity Bathroom 18. Velvet Bedroom 19. Wax Bedroom 20. Husk Bedroom