allthekeys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
allthekeys) wrote2013-01-05 12:00 am
allthekeys) wrote2013-01-05 12:00 am
Entry tags:
Night 017
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.
In the First House the guests will find themselves waking in the Parlor. The clock has returned to its place in the wall, and the vision of a man stepping from behind it seems like little more than a fever dream. The room they have found themselves in will be their only safe room tonight, and the fire roaring in the hearth seems fit to keep them warm despite the cold surrounding them.
Music is playing in the Ballroom, and any who dare to look within it will find dancers swaying toe an elaborate waltz. They are all well dressed and clearly prepared for a fine party. The dancers do not respond to any who try to hail them, though they do not seem to mind being danced with.
For the house-guests beholding them, the floor is full of familiar faces. People they have met within the house, those that have vanished from their sides. They seem oblivious to their audience, and will not be dragged from the floor. Nothing can be done to protect or preserve them.
At one table, a mysterious blue Stranger sits, a bald woman with pointed ears. She is armoured and watches the proceedings with interest in her yellow eyes. Her body seems to have been damaged and stitched back together again. Anyone who gets close enough to get a good look at her might realize that there are wires beneath the broken skin. She holds in her lap a broken and unseeing doll, one hand resting almost protectively upon it.
The Ballroom has another creature within it, a large monster looming over the dancers. The creature is easily three times the size of a horse, mouth gaping in a fang-toothed grin of hunger, body glistening with fluid and blood. It smells as foul as it looks, driving fear into the hearts of those that behold it, and dizzy spells for those who inhale around it. The beast is clearly crafted from some nightmare.
As soon as even one of the house-guests has begun to venture into the ballroom the creature will begin to move.
Not just move, roam the halls of the house and give chase.
Anyone who breaks from the group will find themselves quickly dispatched by the creature, safety in numbers the only safety to be had tonight. For anyone who wishes to explore new friends had best be made.
As though to add insult to injury already dealt, this massive creature is not the only threat facing the guests in the first house tonight.
In all stairwells of the First House the Broken Woman has appeared again. Her pattern has shifted tonight, and she will make no allowances for gender. Any who take the stairs at any less than a run will find themselves facing her. She often screams just before she appears, voice lifted in a wail of utter despair that reaches further than her fingers could ever touch. It resonates on some dark cord within those she attacks. Her fingers are icy and unbelievably strong for such a broken body, and she will not be driven away by anything short of a full frontal attack.
The Doll Bathroom seems to be particularly active tonight, and even opening the door will give the house-guests the strange feeling that they are being pulled inside. Where once hung a mirror darkness now swirls, the shadow occasionally resolving itself into shapes that are almost human in form. Every Doll sits on their shelf, smiling down at anyone who opens the door. The sound of a child laughing can be heard from the hall, but there is no child within the room.
Entering is ill-advised, as every step closer to the darkness will be a step more difficult to take back. The pulling feeling growing stronger the closer they step to the darkness.
In the Greenhouse the blood on the path has begun to boil, steam wafting from the dark liquid and a fetid odor hanging in the air around it. Those who linger long may find themselves starting to gag on the smell, though it is the feeling of something else in the space that reaches the deepest. There is a sense of darkness here, stronger than anyone has ever felt in the house. As though something dark and full of poison lingers just beneath the surface, waiting for the flesh to split around the infection, or the tumor to grow on unseen. Nothing good can be found here, and the feeling of wrongness lingers long after the guests have left this place far behind them.
A more observant house-guest might spot something moving about in the bushes, a quick twitch of ear or tail, as though something watches. It never makes itself fully known, but the knowledge that something is aware of them might find them rushing back towards the dubious safety of the house to escape the creature.
The Ravens have found safety in the trees, fluffing themselves into small balls of feathers against the cold of the night. They seem unwilling to stir, barely a feather twitching as the house-guests move around beneath them. A raven slightly larger than the others has taken up a position in the highest branch, golden feathers standing starkly against the black. This raven alone seems to be watching those beneath her, as though waiting for someone to come.
No matter how hard the guests look for him, the child Lock seems to be missing from the house. The Study stands open and empty, the child gone from his hiding place. Not even blood remains to mark his presence.
Inside the Ivory Bathroom the taps begin to moan and creak as water leaks out, the metal apparently feeling the harsh effects of winter as the cold and frost creep across the surfaces. The entire room has a frosty air that is not aided by the freezing water pouring out of every nook and cranny, water reaching frigid temperatures that seem more suited to the frozen waters of outdoors than plumbing. In spite of the inhospitable climes a regular visitor has returned, just as at home as if she had never left-- the Drowned Woman sits in the middle of the floor, curled into herself and hugging her knees as she shivers and quakes. She remains otherwise still and quiet until someone approaches -- upon which she immediately lashes out, reaching desperately for the dry and warmth that a living soul would provide her.
In the Sewing Room, there is a sudden flurry of activity-- whenever eyes are not on the inhabitants. Each time the room is left unattended, the Mannequins apparently are moved by a hustle and bustle, for they are in a new place each time someone returns. Large quilts seem to be under way, the models working hard to create new pieces, while the rest largely remain huddled together as if for some kind of warmth. The more often they are disturbed, however, the more of them there are that face the doorway, watching those who enter with blank and eyeless faces. Waiting to see who it is that infringes on their territory.
In the Basement the Nurses seem unusually active, fluttering about the waiting room in a flurry of nervous activity. They are quick to respond to any house-guest who stumbles through the door, and quicker to protect any injured house-guests from any of the creatures that fill the night.
The Doctor sits in his office, seeming tired after his earlier work. A glass of an amber liquid is in his hand, another sitting on the table across from him. He seems to be waiting for someone to come, and will remain at his desk for the entirety of a night. Any Former Patient may request an appointment and find themselves taken to him unmolested.
In the Floating Hallway the Children have reappeared, seemingly from the locked door in the middle. They do not make any move to re-enter the house proper but instead create quite the commotion in the long playground that the hall provides. Their laughter fills the air, trickling into the Day Room and beyond. The mirth is scathing, however, and they seem both delighted to create mischief and angry that their passage has been blocked by the door leading to the Second House. They bang their broken furniture pieces and scratch up the walls without regard for the peace of any who come near. In fact, they turn violent if someone attempts to interrupt their play-- chair legs making for perfect clubs. Venomous insults are spat in the direction of those who try for the door at the end of the hall.
The people trapped in the First House may find themselves unusually picky tonight. Despite hunger pangs gnawing at them, they will find it difficult to eat anything but the exactly right thing. That thing changes from person to person, but many will find that old childhood complaints about food are coming back to haunt them. The thought of touching brussel sprouts or broccoli makes them want to gag, and anything unrecognizable is sure to be met with an almost frustrating inability to eat.
Though it starts as a restriction on what food they can eat, it soon becomes something they feel within themselves. It doesn’t taste good, it isn’t right, they simply don’t wish to eat it -- and it will soon translate into other parts of the night. In fact, many will find that any restriction someone wishes to place upon them begins to chafe unnaturally.
Why should they listen?
Who is going to make them?
Second House
The house-guests will find themselves waking in the Chapel, piled on top of each other almost carelessly. The altar is red with fresh blood, the smell of it hanging in the air as though someone has just recently removed a corpse from the room. A fire, too, has been just put out -- embers still glowing red on the small hearth. They can be coaxed back to life with a little work, and someone has laid up a small store of fuel, though not enough to last the night.
The low murmur of voices fills the hall, and the house-guests that linger here will find themselves occasionally speaking to someone who vanishes when they are directly addressed -- eyes wide with alarm and fear, but seemingly normal otherwise.
The rope to the bell in the Bell Tower seems to have come loose, and the mournful toll of the single bell makes itself known as the wind catches it. Any attempts to retie the rope will find the bell starting up again the moment the door closes behind the helpful house-guest.
Some kind soul has made a path through the snow in the Open Hall, piling the drifts so high that it is impossible to see over them. The Rose Garden has been almost completely blocked off, the entry inaccessible to anyone larger than a child. The path is narrow, only wide enough for a single person to go at a time, and the outside is bitterly cold. Still, it allows the guests to traverse between the two parts of the house.
Something skitters above them on the high shelves of snow, though it lingers out of sight. The occasional movement disturbs the snow, sometimes displacing it onto the unwary traveling beneath it in the darkness. Long strands of nearly translucent material hang over the path, easily brushed aside as the house-guests move. These strands seem to grow thicker as the night goes on, though never thick enough to cause the house-guests much of a pause.
The noises continue, whatever moves light enough to traverse the snow without collapsing the tunnel in on them.
The Locked Door in the Chapel is moving, rattling as though something is trying to open it from the other side. There is the softest sound of something falling on the other side, and the door swings open.
A horde of the undead pour into the Chapel, rotting flesh and other fetid smells filling the area around them. There are hundreds of them, men women and children, all dressed in the tattered remains of clothing.
Each and every one of them is starving, and the living seem to be their choice of a meal. Though easily dispatched by the guests, they move in such mass that they are difficult to avoid forever -- though there seems one thing that offers the house-guests a bit of luck, they are not contagious. Any bite from them might become infected, but only from the encounter with dead flesh and parasites. They run no risk of become part of the mindless horde if bitten.
Still, the creatures are hungry, and any person lingering for long alone will find themselves quickly overwhelmed by the seething mass in the halls. The unwary will be quick to die. The dead, while slow and seemingly ineffective alone, are of a large enough numbers that even with their speed they can easily overtake even a powered character if they are foolish enough strike out on their.
They are also not the only threat the residents of the Second House will face tonight.
A lone Wallcrawler stalks the halls of this house tonight, apparently confused and disoriented. It has been separated, it seems, from its fellows, and seems lost among the hoards of monsters that flood the halls in their place. It seems to be searching, and seems particularly attracted to those who were friends with the Eighth Doctor, as if it can find them now by scent. It remains possessive of these few, and always on the verge of violence.
It is weak and sluggish, seeming almost ill-- perhaps from the weather?-- but no less hungry than anyone else in the house.
Emerging from the Photography Bedroom and beginning a patrol around the Straight Hall, the Photographer seems particularly restless. He is decidedly hostile this night, and stalks the hall in an agitated manner. While he will not necessarily attack any who come through, he will charge those who step too close to him, violating an invisible bubble of personal space. The only way to pass through the hall tonight is to wait until he pauses at the Viewing Bedroom, staring out the window darkened by the night.
Of course, getting back the other way may prove challenging.
The well in the Plain Kitchen is overflowing, frigid water rushing over the feet of anyone who steps into the room. Large chunks of ice float like small icebergs in the mess, bumping against furniture and feet alike. Within this slushy mass of stale water is a familiar face, the Needle Woman sits on the floor near the counter. Her body rocks with the surging of the water, and she seems completely unaware of anything in the room. Her mouth opens, wordless noises filing the room in a dreadful din of guttural chanting, head rocking back against the cabinets behind her -- thudding softly against the wood in time with her groans. Ruined hands drag through the water, needle tipped fingers leaving dark trails of pollution in their wake.
The water is toxic, and anyone daring to wade into it will find themselves falling ill very shortly. Chills, shakes, inability to keep food down or swallow. It’s very uncomfortable, but will not result in their deaths.
In the Dining Room the Wax Family has begun to move again. At first some of the differences are subtle, small shifts in the way they are sat and posed, but they most certainly have changed. One of them has gone missing.
The Son remains in place, but rests his head against the table, eyes peering down at the wood. It seems as though someone has pushed him over, bent unnaturally and with his face almost hidden from view. Whoever pushed him did not have the grace to help him rise, leaving him like a discarded toy amongst the remaining family. His knife has been hard at work, and the word 'want' can now be read-- but only if one peers below his fallen head to see the word obscured by him. The knife is clutched ever tightly in his hand, the blood now smeared against his fingers.
The Mother has not moved, but seems to be having more difficulty smiling now. Her eyes are filled with terror and anguish, and her cheeks marred by something like burns-- as if hot tears were enough to melt malleable wax features, though surely they could not have been. She keeps her hands on the table and her eyes on the door, trying hard to ignore the sudden rage of the Father, who has grabbed her wrist in what looks to be a too-tight grip. His face is twisted in anger and betrayal, his expression scathing and accusing.
Perhaps it is because of the absence of the Daughter, her chair pushed back and tipped over.
Something seems to be moving within the parishioner's side of the Confession Booth, writhing almost unnaturally in the darkness, though any attempt to get a better look at whatever hides within will reveal that the space is empty of anything but shadows. The seat on the priest's side is wet with blood, and it seems as though here a corpse has only recently been removed. Here the Daughter of the Wax Family can be found, hidden in the priest's side of the Confession Booth, the door slightly ajar, closed in a hurry and not quite successfully. She is curled tightly into a ball in the midst of the mess of blood, wrapped around whatever object it is that she continues to protect. Whatever was recently vacated may have frightened her, but she pays no mind to the sticky pools left behind.
In the Rough Kitchen there is an unnatural and eerie light that immediately sweeps over any who enter the room. The source appears to be an Orb, glowing softly. It seems to be embedded in the table, and is so delicate that removing it might cause its power to fade-- or perhaps break the orb altogether. The room is Safe tonight, though it seems tenuous at best.
In spite of its safety, however, this kitchen is hardly pleasant to visit. The feast from the day has not yet been cleared from the Pantry, though some of it seems to be missing, either used or eaten. The smell of the birds is quickly becoming foul, though fortunately the damp coolness of the room has prevented them from rotting too quickly. Curiously, all of the organs that had been set aside are now missing.
The Frozen Woman sits almost casually in the Wall Papered Parlor, her hands rest on her lap. Her cloak is drawn around her face, obscuring her features from view. She whispers constantly, words flowing together into an almost pleasant sounding hum. The area around her is bone chilling cold, but she is a passive threat, remaining unmoving. The chant is an almost siren song, luring people to the quiet chill. A quiet death awaits those who linger in her presence, perhaps welcome amid the threats of the night.
In the ??? Room the baths have been covered with a thin sheet of glass. The hot water within them fogs the glass, though not so much that anyone entering the room cannot see what rests inside. Each of the baths holds a person, though the two closest to the door masked so that they cannot be identified.One of the figures is small, the other tall, and the water conceals all other identifying features.
In the last bath Estella sleeps, eyes closed and unresponsive. No amount of noise will cause any of them to wake, and nothing will break the glass.
In the Blank Library the walls are covered in words. It is as though someone has spent a great deal of time writing on the walls, or perhaps that the words missing from the books have appeared all at once. The text is impossible to read, outside of a few isolated words, overlaid on top of themselves until they are little more than smears of dark ink on the walls. It moves constantly, words shifting, entire sentences vanishing from sight even as the house-guests watch, making attempts to isolate the words even more headache inducing.
Though interesting, the occurrence is ultimately harmless, and the words will spin their ways across the walls without halt through the long night. Their source will not reveal itself, but a single word seems to be repeated often throughout the spinning text. It is a simple word, harmless in its intent, but no less striking for the absence of any framing. "Live."
In the Shelter Bedroom the ghost children remain, sitting in a circle around a bowl full of raisins and brandy. The brandy is on fire and the flames fill the room with a comfortable warmth and a pleasant smell. The children are all smiling, and occasionally one will dart a hand into the flames to snatch a raisin, to the delight of all the other children.
The Mute Ghost Girl seems to have relaxed, though she still doesn’t speak to any of the other children. In her lap, hiding the battered state of her dress, is the stuffed bunny from the Yellow Bedroom.
The Girl Twin pats her hand from time to time, as though to wipe away the fear she dealt the group the night before. It seems they have all relaxed around her, and are more concerned about her than anything she might do.
The Crawling Boy seems to have relaxed enough to tease with the other children, though his whispers are too low for anyone else to hear without joining the game-- at which point he becomes considerably quieter. He continues to be marked by nervous agitation and worry, though the presence of friends seems to have finally calmed him. He chews absently on pieces of bread, little fingers always occupied.
The Boy Twin seems more reticent than his sister, and occasionally seems to become overwhelmed by the brightness of the flames and the constant chatter that fills the room. He is even quieter than the Mute Girl, curling up near his sister and remaining there for much of the night.
The 13th Child remains with the children, happily chattering and quick to dare the flames to burn him. He seems bolder than the other children, and much more willing to chat with anyone that enters the room.
Another child has joined the small circle of children, slightly older than the rest. He has dark skin and eyes, and seems rather bemused by the gathering, one arm draped over his knees. He and the girl twin speak quietly from time to time, clearly exchanging some sort of information, but he seems hesitant to address any adults that might enter the room. Instead, the entire group seems willing to allow the girl twin to be their mouthpiece.
Any Child Character, a character of the age ten or younger, will find themselves waking within this room, rather than in any of the other places the adults have been placed. The children will find themselves welcome to the game, and feel the desire to stay, though they are capable of leaving to face the challenges of the night. This room is safe for the night, and though adults can duck in to catch their breaths for a few moment they will find that they feel unwelcome to stay for long.
Outside of the room there are several frogs, seemingly standing guard. The creatures make soft ribbit noises as they hop down the hall, quick and frantic and rarely staying in the same place for long. They never go further than the end of the hall, and always return to the door in a hurry.
One of them sits just inside, at the feet of the children, occasionally weaving between them but apparently always unseen or unnoticed.
Anyone in the Upper Halls may from time to time see a man walk from the Floating Hallway to the Shelter Bedroom. Throughout the night he holds a tray of food, delivering it to the children within the room. His apron is covered entirely in blood, and he seems rather horrific, but he will make no move to harm anyone as he walks pass them.
In the Second House, the guests trapped within will find themselves constantly feeling hungry, no matter how much they eat. The hunger gnaws at them, never fading for long, urging them to take great risks to find something to eat. It is as though whatever they eat is somehow not making it into their system.
Third House
The guests will find themselves waking scattered between the birdcages in the Birdcage room. The area is open to the outside, and the outer cage has a thin layer of snow covering the floor. It's chilly, and the bars they find themselves resting upon are not at all forgiving. Thankfully, whoever has placed them here has not seen fit to lock the doors, and they can untangle themselves from their prisons with little fuss or panic.
The entry door to the house is solidly closed and locked, making passage to any of the other houses impossible. Those few that have found themselves in this house will find they are cut off from the other house-guests completely, much to their frustrations.
As everyone wakes in the Birdcage Room, one of their fellows seems to have changed whilst they slumbered. His transformation already complete, the Art Enthusiast lingers at the edge of the room, near the door. He stands perfectly still for a long time, bizarrely placid face stained with tear tracks, but otherwise calm. In spite of the new location, he seems unperturbed by the lack of art around him-- and instead watches his living companions with a quiet interest and, at times, affection.
It does not take long for him to move out of the way of the entrance, but he seems much more passive tonight. He will not attack any who approach him, even if they encroach upon his personal space. Instead he reacts with longing and attempts to communicate. He is far more animated this evening than normal, though his interaction, even with gestures, is still limited. He is particularly drawn to those artistically inclined and those who are close to Don Marks in life. He will approach them more readily and will stay closer to them.
He wanders the entirety of the Third House tonight, occasionally pointing out different things in their paths and warning against danger. Occasionally he stops in his journey, however, to let out a low, quiet sob.
Despite the rather cold beginning, and some less than cheerful company, it seems as though someone has attempted to make tonight’s stay a little more pleasant. In the Professional Kitchen large tureens of hot milk wait for the guests, and the makings for all sorts of fancy sipping chocolate have been laid out for them to choose. Marshmallows at the end of peppermint sticks are very useful for stirring the concoctions, and several sorts of alcohol and cookies have been left for their enjoyment. A welcome, of sorts, perhaps an apology for their imprisonment.
It is a fortunate thing that the spread is so fancy, as the guests will soon find that the thought of eating anything plain is simply out of the question. Every meal or beverage partaken of for the guests in the third house must be something extraordinary, no matter how hungry they might find themselves to be. There are brownies, rich and soft and gooey in the center, drizzled with dark chocolate; there’s toffee that’s sticky enough to cling to your fingers but is absolutely delicious to lick off; chocolate mousse and fluffy and light lemon fromage with raspberries, just the thing to take the edge off the heavier cakes and snacks that adorn the table.
Pies, cheesecakes, puddings, soufflés; all of them not only baked and cooked to perfection to ensure the best taste the ingredients have to offer but presented meticulously, with powdered sugar on top and as well as bowls of whipped cream flavoured with vanilla close by, some of the black seeds visible in the chilled topping. There’s the red of strawberries and the yellow of lemon everywhere, not to mention blueberries and cherries visible through golden pie crusts; and cakes, plenty of them and all very stylish and rich in flavour, both unusual and homey – ranging from pound cakes to ice cream cakes to cakes topped with lime to add a bit of tang to balance out the sweetness.
If any guests would like something lighter, there are cookies with jam and glaze, slices of caramelized fruit, sugary and still warm to touch, like they’re fresh out of the kitchen, ranging from apples to mango; as well as plenty of mixed berries to go with sugar and cream, all dished out beautifully.
Then beyond that, there are the drinks. Other than chocolate, there’s coffee; and you can add anything to it - steamed milk, ice cream, whiskey, brandy, and whipped cream are just some examples, but it all adds up wonderfully with the aroma of the beverage which is deep and earthy and has a kick that few kinds of coffee can rival. But the highlight to many of the houseguests will be the alcohol. There’s rum, both white and golden, vodka, gin and various kinds of liquor, and plenty of ways to mix it if you wish; with grapefruit, lime, cranberry, grapefruit and orange juice for starters, and coupled with what fruit and berries you can already find on the table, the possibilities seem endless.
There are several more serious-looking drinks as well, less colourful and more smoky, pale or golden, like champagne, whiskey, scotch and bourbon. A crystallized bowl of ice cubes in the center of the table is there if you’d like it, but all alcoholic dreams are chilled and add just the right kind of excitement to the party. Perhaps a bit too much, if you’re not careful.
For those who prefer a more traditional local to drink in the Gentleman’s Club has just the thing. A pleasant enough man stands ready at the bar, happy to provide anything the house-guests ask for -- save for, of course, their freedom. Anything can be requested tonight, from the most mundane thing to the most illegal, and the smiling man will happily provide it. The bar is open, and the bar keeper stands ready to serve.
This room is a safe room tonight, though the Sirens again spin on the poles, lazily presenting themselves to be admired. They are harmless tonight, and offer no threat to the guests. Some may even start to recognize those that return to see them more than once, offering a playful wink or a blown kiss in their direction.
The Perfume Lady sings softly, her intoxicating voice wafting over those gathered, luring any who might try to linger out of some sort of propriety into the room. She, like the others within the bar, is harmless tonight. She will offer no threat to the house-guests who settle to enjoy her company, and the visible cloud around her offers only a nice smell. Those who remain near her for long might find themselves becoming more and more relaxed as the night goes on, a pleasant lethargy that encourages them to remain.
For those who linger here, little of the night’s true dangers will reveal themselves. The safety of the bar, and the safety of the company of others, is absolute.
Anyone who goes off alone will find themselves confronted with a Wraith. These creatures are rather insubstantial at first glance, little more than drifting bundles of bone and white fabric, impossible to touch. They are easy to ignore, as they do not at appear harmful or at all interested in those that move near them. For groups of house-guests, they do little but add another unnerving element to the night -- one that is more than willing to leave them in peace.
It is only when a house-guest is alone that they seem to take interest, drifting closer and closer in stages, brushing their bony hands against the living flesh of the guests. Those who come in contact with the Wraiths will find that it feels as though they are being drained of something more vital than blood. It is easy to move away from the creatures, easy to avoid them. A simple sidestep can see the house-guest safely parted from the ghostly creatures, the drain halted with the loss of contact.
Make eye contact, however, and a guest will find they are caught -- unable to move away as the creatures drift closer and closer, bony hands pressing insistently against exposed skin, pushing into hair in a twisted parody of intimacy. They will be unable to move as the creatures lean near to them, tasting their breath as they suck it from their bodies. Those caught in the wraith’s gaze will be unable to pull away on their own, despite their best efforts, despite the knowledge that death is nipping at their heels.
If left, the house-guest will die, another wraith rising from the corpse. The house-guest will wake after some time has passed, body achy and cold.
Those who have been killed by the Wraiths will find that they wake from death with the utter assurance that something is missing, something insubstantial but important.
Something they will be unable to identify.
Anyone who sleeps alone tonight will find that the Wraiths pose another danger. Sleeping alone will result in them waking to a Wraith leaning over them, fingers hungrily pressing to their faces and lips finding theirs in an icy kiss. It will not lead to their death, though no matter how much they struggle with the creature, they will be unable to escape from it. With each indrawn breath, they will find that more and more of the Wraith vanishes, until nothing is left but the searing cold of the hands holding their head in place and the brush of icy lips and teeth.
The moment they inhale for the last time, they will feel the hunger of the Wraith beginning to consume them. The burning need to touch someone, to caress living skin, to draw the life from their bodies. Anyone touching one of those that has been possessed by the Wraiths will find that the living house-guest now possesses the same abilities as the wraiths, and only death will free them from the creature’s grasp.
The Foul Boy has returned to the halls, though for the night he seems remarkably helpful. Anyone in his presence will find themselves safe from the Wraiths, though they will have to tolerate his company for this needed safety. He is incredibly disrespectful of physical space, creeping closer and closer to the house-guests the longer they remain in his presence. In fact, he seems to crave intimacy -- quick to grab someone’s hand at the smallest opening, or lean to smell hair and rub shoulders. Though disconcerting, he is ultimately harmless, at least so long as the house-guests do not try to push him away. If they do, they will find that he is equally as dangerous as the rest of the ghosts, attacking quickly and without mercy, hands finding their throats and fists flying with the fury of spurned advances.
The Hunters loom in the Husk Bedroom, a rather passive threat that seems almost common with the rest of the unpleasantness of the night. They seem rather sleepy, and a few have crept close to the hot spot on the floor as though to bask in the radiant heat. They are rather difficult to be bothered, and will not attack anyone unless first hassled by the reckless guest.
Those who enter the Wax Room will find that the heat is a welcome break from the cold, though they must tolerate the resident of the room tonight. The Wax Man seems unusually active tonight, walking around the room and muttering to himself. He gestures from time to time, as though carrying on a conversation with someone only he can see. He will not bother anyone who wishes to shelter in the warmth of the room, and anyone who remains with him will find themselves safe from the Wraith even in sleep.
The doll in the Velvet Bedroom is kneeling in the bottom of his prison, fingers searching around edge carefully. He lifts his head if anyone comes near to his cage, indicating the bottom of the case. He seems more than willing to communicate with those who come near to him, in spite of the soundless nature of his current confines. He is very adept at gesturing, and even seems to possess some rudimentary skill in sign language, all accomplished with a certain amount of wry humor.
The woman in the Silk Bedroom is sleeping, legs drawn to her chest despite the elaborateness of her costume. She stirs on occasion, a single eye opening to stare at those who try to catch her attention, but seems too tired to move.
Anyone entering the Herbal Bedroom will be struck by how nice the entire area smells, though lingering too long to indulge in the scent will find them left with the strange feeling of pinpricks on any exposed skin. The pricks seem to do no harm, aside from the occasional spot of blood. The injuries will not even summon the hellhounds.
They will find themselves beginning to feel incredibly warm as more pricks that dance across their skin. A pleasant sort of heaviness settles over them, the chill of the night fading away. They feel content, and rather lethargic, but slowly growing within them is a desire to be touched. Despite the oddness of the feeling, it seems to cause no greater harm. Leaving the room will find the feeling slowly fading away, though the longing for its return might find them wandering back before much time has passed.
The dogs have vanished from outside the Stables, though the horses remain in their stalls. They are restless tonight, stomping their feet and tossing their heads as though alarmed by something within the house. The horse bound outside the stalls seems particularly restless, snorting and rearing, nearly jerking his lead away from the post to which he is bound. His mouth is frothing, sweat standing out clearly on a ghostly body, eyes rolling in clear terror.
Whatever has happened, it has clearly upset him, and as the night goes on, he seems more and more likely to pull himself free from his current restraint.
In the tub of the Bell Bathroom, a quartet of Skinless can be found, two males and two females. The warm water is a murky red, and they moan in agony as they soak their flayed bodies. All four are hostile, and will attempt to overpower anyone who disturbs them.
In the Getaway Cabin the Lady In White seems to be waiting for someone. Her hands are resting in her lap, lips curled into a small smile.
Anyone who enters the room will find that they do not feel like leaving, and in fact, that she resembles someone they love. For those with a romantic interest, she resembles that person, somehow here and waiting. For those without anyone they love romantically, she best resembles the sort of person they would like to have in their life, regardless of gender or species.
She is enchanting, and compelling. Those who enter will find that they draw closer, struck by the absolute certainty that she has been waiting for them. Her touch is gentle but insistent, pulling them down to the bed, drawing them close to her, lips finding theirs in a searing kiss.
They will find themselves helpless to resist when she breaks the kiss to trail kisses down their throat, stopping over the vital artery, tiny nips of affection turning into bites. There will be no pain as she drains their lives away.
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.
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. 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. Catacombs
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
((ooc: The character division are as follows.
In the First House: 7, 10th Doctor, Akito, Agito, Alex, Alice, Amaterasu, Angel, Ash, Bakura, Blue, Buffy, Coulson, Dean, Enzan, Gabriel, Giotto, Itachi, Jeff, Jennifer, Kiziah, L, Link (OoT), Lucifer, Markus, Mary, Maurice, Mavis, Monroe, Natasha, Orihime, Rabbit, River, Rory Mustang, Schwarz, Sirius, Spanner, Vexen, Vivi, Yamamoto
In the Second House: Belphegor, Ben, Braig, Chrome, Dawn, Faiza, Heather, Hollow Ichigo, Hughes, Jamie, Jo, The Jon, Katniss, Kaworu, Leaf, Lexaeus, Lilith, Link (SS), Liz, Loki, Luke, Magus, Maia, Mello, Niall, Nina, Oz, Rose, Sammie, Sasuke, Shani, Shouichi, Sif, Sokoya, Soma, Spade, Sunny, Teru, Vincent
In the Third House: Bianchi, Castiel, Charles, Dugan, Epsilon, G, Gilbert, Gokudera, James, John, Katie, Kaylee, Kigetsuki, Kuja, Laura, Leon, Light, Lind, Mukuro, Phylia, Rachel, Reynard, Rei, Riku, Roy Mustang, Sam, Shisui, Simon, Soubi, The Spine Vivien, Warden, Xehanort, Zevran, Zexion
Mod Note: Hey guys! We will have one more extended update after this one, thank you so much for sticking with us as the holiday season made everyone's lives insane. Welcome to the new year! We hope to spend many wonderful hours with all of you in 2013. The next update will be one January 25th, after which we return to our normal schedule. Let us know if you have any problems, and as always, thank you guys for being the most awesome game any mod team could ask for.
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.
In the First House the guests will find themselves waking in the Parlor. The clock has returned to its place in the wall, and the vision of a man stepping from behind it seems like little more than a fever dream. The room they have found themselves in will be their only safe room tonight, and the fire roaring in the hearth seems fit to keep them warm despite the cold surrounding them.
Music is playing in the Ballroom, and any who dare to look within it will find dancers swaying toe an elaborate waltz. They are all well dressed and clearly prepared for a fine party. The dancers do not respond to any who try to hail them, though they do not seem to mind being danced with.
For the house-guests beholding them, the floor is full of familiar faces. People they have met within the house, those that have vanished from their sides. They seem oblivious to their audience, and will not be dragged from the floor. Nothing can be done to protect or preserve them.
At one table, a mysterious blue Stranger sits, a bald woman with pointed ears. She is armoured and watches the proceedings with interest in her yellow eyes. Her body seems to have been damaged and stitched back together again. Anyone who gets close enough to get a good look at her might realize that there are wires beneath the broken skin. She holds in her lap a broken and unseeing doll, one hand resting almost protectively upon it.
The Ballroom has another creature within it, a large monster looming over the dancers. The creature is easily three times the size of a horse, mouth gaping in a fang-toothed grin of hunger, body glistening with fluid and blood. It smells as foul as it looks, driving fear into the hearts of those that behold it, and dizzy spells for those who inhale around it. The beast is clearly crafted from some nightmare.
As soon as even one of the house-guests has begun to venture into the ballroom the creature will begin to move.
Not just move, roam the halls of the house and give chase.
Anyone who breaks from the group will find themselves quickly dispatched by the creature, safety in numbers the only safety to be had tonight. For anyone who wishes to explore new friends had best be made.
As though to add insult to injury already dealt, this massive creature is not the only threat facing the guests in the first house tonight.
In all stairwells of the First House the Broken Woman has appeared again. Her pattern has shifted tonight, and she will make no allowances for gender. Any who take the stairs at any less than a run will find themselves facing her. She often screams just before she appears, voice lifted in a wail of utter despair that reaches further than her fingers could ever touch. It resonates on some dark cord within those she attacks. Her fingers are icy and unbelievably strong for such a broken body, and she will not be driven away by anything short of a full frontal attack.
The Doll Bathroom seems to be particularly active tonight, and even opening the door will give the house-guests the strange feeling that they are being pulled inside. Where once hung a mirror darkness now swirls, the shadow occasionally resolving itself into shapes that are almost human in form. Every Doll sits on their shelf, smiling down at anyone who opens the door. The sound of a child laughing can be heard from the hall, but there is no child within the room.
Entering is ill-advised, as every step closer to the darkness will be a step more difficult to take back. The pulling feeling growing stronger the closer they step to the darkness.
In the Greenhouse the blood on the path has begun to boil, steam wafting from the dark liquid and a fetid odor hanging in the air around it. Those who linger long may find themselves starting to gag on the smell, though it is the feeling of something else in the space that reaches the deepest. There is a sense of darkness here, stronger than anyone has ever felt in the house. As though something dark and full of poison lingers just beneath the surface, waiting for the flesh to split around the infection, or the tumor to grow on unseen. Nothing good can be found here, and the feeling of wrongness lingers long after the guests have left this place far behind them.
A more observant house-guest might spot something moving about in the bushes, a quick twitch of ear or tail, as though something watches. It never makes itself fully known, but the knowledge that something is aware of them might find them rushing back towards the dubious safety of the house to escape the creature.
The Ravens have found safety in the trees, fluffing themselves into small balls of feathers against the cold of the night. They seem unwilling to stir, barely a feather twitching as the house-guests move around beneath them. A raven slightly larger than the others has taken up a position in the highest branch, golden feathers standing starkly against the black. This raven alone seems to be watching those beneath her, as though waiting for someone to come.
No matter how hard the guests look for him, the child Lock seems to be missing from the house. The Study stands open and empty, the child gone from his hiding place. Not even blood remains to mark his presence.
Inside the Ivory Bathroom the taps begin to moan and creak as water leaks out, the metal apparently feeling the harsh effects of winter as the cold and frost creep across the surfaces. The entire room has a frosty air that is not aided by the freezing water pouring out of every nook and cranny, water reaching frigid temperatures that seem more suited to the frozen waters of outdoors than plumbing. In spite of the inhospitable climes a regular visitor has returned, just as at home as if she had never left-- the Drowned Woman sits in the middle of the floor, curled into herself and hugging her knees as she shivers and quakes. She remains otherwise still and quiet until someone approaches -- upon which she immediately lashes out, reaching desperately for the dry and warmth that a living soul would provide her.
In the Sewing Room, there is a sudden flurry of activity-- whenever eyes are not on the inhabitants. Each time the room is left unattended, the Mannequins apparently are moved by a hustle and bustle, for they are in a new place each time someone returns. Large quilts seem to be under way, the models working hard to create new pieces, while the rest largely remain huddled together as if for some kind of warmth. The more often they are disturbed, however, the more of them there are that face the doorway, watching those who enter with blank and eyeless faces. Waiting to see who it is that infringes on their territory.
In the Basement the Nurses seem unusually active, fluttering about the waiting room in a flurry of nervous activity. They are quick to respond to any house-guest who stumbles through the door, and quicker to protect any injured house-guests from any of the creatures that fill the night.
The Doctor sits in his office, seeming tired after his earlier work. A glass of an amber liquid is in his hand, another sitting on the table across from him. He seems to be waiting for someone to come, and will remain at his desk for the entirety of a night. Any Former Patient may request an appointment and find themselves taken to him unmolested.
In the Floating Hallway the Children have reappeared, seemingly from the locked door in the middle. They do not make any move to re-enter the house proper but instead create quite the commotion in the long playground that the hall provides. Their laughter fills the air, trickling into the Day Room and beyond. The mirth is scathing, however, and they seem both delighted to create mischief and angry that their passage has been blocked by the door leading to the Second House. They bang their broken furniture pieces and scratch up the walls without regard for the peace of any who come near. In fact, they turn violent if someone attempts to interrupt their play-- chair legs making for perfect clubs. Venomous insults are spat in the direction of those who try for the door at the end of the hall.
The people trapped in the First House may find themselves unusually picky tonight. Despite hunger pangs gnawing at them, they will find it difficult to eat anything but the exactly right thing. That thing changes from person to person, but many will find that old childhood complaints about food are coming back to haunt them. The thought of touching brussel sprouts or broccoli makes them want to gag, and anything unrecognizable is sure to be met with an almost frustrating inability to eat.
Though it starts as a restriction on what food they can eat, it soon becomes something they feel within themselves. It doesn’t taste good, it isn’t right, they simply don’t wish to eat it -- and it will soon translate into other parts of the night. In fact, many will find that any restriction someone wishes to place upon them begins to chafe unnaturally.
Why should they listen?
Who is going to make them?
Second House
The house-guests will find themselves waking in the Chapel, piled on top of each other almost carelessly. The altar is red with fresh blood, the smell of it hanging in the air as though someone has just recently removed a corpse from the room. A fire, too, has been just put out -- embers still glowing red on the small hearth. They can be coaxed back to life with a little work, and someone has laid up a small store of fuel, though not enough to last the night.
The low murmur of voices fills the hall, and the house-guests that linger here will find themselves occasionally speaking to someone who vanishes when they are directly addressed -- eyes wide with alarm and fear, but seemingly normal otherwise.
The rope to the bell in the Bell Tower seems to have come loose, and the mournful toll of the single bell makes itself known as the wind catches it. Any attempts to retie the rope will find the bell starting up again the moment the door closes behind the helpful house-guest.
Some kind soul has made a path through the snow in the Open Hall, piling the drifts so high that it is impossible to see over them. The Rose Garden has been almost completely blocked off, the entry inaccessible to anyone larger than a child. The path is narrow, only wide enough for a single person to go at a time, and the outside is bitterly cold. Still, it allows the guests to traverse between the two parts of the house.
Something skitters above them on the high shelves of snow, though it lingers out of sight. The occasional movement disturbs the snow, sometimes displacing it onto the unwary traveling beneath it in the darkness. Long strands of nearly translucent material hang over the path, easily brushed aside as the house-guests move. These strands seem to grow thicker as the night goes on, though never thick enough to cause the house-guests much of a pause.
The noises continue, whatever moves light enough to traverse the snow without collapsing the tunnel in on them.
The Locked Door in the Chapel is moving, rattling as though something is trying to open it from the other side. There is the softest sound of something falling on the other side, and the door swings open.
A horde of the undead pour into the Chapel, rotting flesh and other fetid smells filling the area around them. There are hundreds of them, men women and children, all dressed in the tattered remains of clothing.
Each and every one of them is starving, and the living seem to be their choice of a meal. Though easily dispatched by the guests, they move in such mass that they are difficult to avoid forever -- though there seems one thing that offers the house-guests a bit of luck, they are not contagious. Any bite from them might become infected, but only from the encounter with dead flesh and parasites. They run no risk of become part of the mindless horde if bitten.
Still, the creatures are hungry, and any person lingering for long alone will find themselves quickly overwhelmed by the seething mass in the halls. The unwary will be quick to die. The dead, while slow and seemingly ineffective alone, are of a large enough numbers that even with their speed they can easily overtake even a powered character if they are foolish enough strike out on their.
They are also not the only threat the residents of the Second House will face tonight.
A lone Wallcrawler stalks the halls of this house tonight, apparently confused and disoriented. It has been separated, it seems, from its fellows, and seems lost among the hoards of monsters that flood the halls in their place. It seems to be searching, and seems particularly attracted to those who were friends with the Eighth Doctor, as if it can find them now by scent. It remains possessive of these few, and always on the verge of violence.
It is weak and sluggish, seeming almost ill-- perhaps from the weather?-- but no less hungry than anyone else in the house.
Emerging from the Photography Bedroom and beginning a patrol around the Straight Hall, the Photographer seems particularly restless. He is decidedly hostile this night, and stalks the hall in an agitated manner. While he will not necessarily attack any who come through, he will charge those who step too close to him, violating an invisible bubble of personal space. The only way to pass through the hall tonight is to wait until he pauses at the Viewing Bedroom, staring out the window darkened by the night.
Of course, getting back the other way may prove challenging.
The well in the Plain Kitchen is overflowing, frigid water rushing over the feet of anyone who steps into the room. Large chunks of ice float like small icebergs in the mess, bumping against furniture and feet alike. Within this slushy mass of stale water is a familiar face, the Needle Woman sits on the floor near the counter. Her body rocks with the surging of the water, and she seems completely unaware of anything in the room. Her mouth opens, wordless noises filing the room in a dreadful din of guttural chanting, head rocking back against the cabinets behind her -- thudding softly against the wood in time with her groans. Ruined hands drag through the water, needle tipped fingers leaving dark trails of pollution in their wake.
The water is toxic, and anyone daring to wade into it will find themselves falling ill very shortly. Chills, shakes, inability to keep food down or swallow. It’s very uncomfortable, but will not result in their deaths.
In the Dining Room the Wax Family has begun to move again. At first some of the differences are subtle, small shifts in the way they are sat and posed, but they most certainly have changed. One of them has gone missing.
The Son remains in place, but rests his head against the table, eyes peering down at the wood. It seems as though someone has pushed him over, bent unnaturally and with his face almost hidden from view. Whoever pushed him did not have the grace to help him rise, leaving him like a discarded toy amongst the remaining family. His knife has been hard at work, and the word 'want' can now be read-- but only if one peers below his fallen head to see the word obscured by him. The knife is clutched ever tightly in his hand, the blood now smeared against his fingers.
The Mother has not moved, but seems to be having more difficulty smiling now. Her eyes are filled with terror and anguish, and her cheeks marred by something like burns-- as if hot tears were enough to melt malleable wax features, though surely they could not have been. She keeps her hands on the table and her eyes on the door, trying hard to ignore the sudden rage of the Father, who has grabbed her wrist in what looks to be a too-tight grip. His face is twisted in anger and betrayal, his expression scathing and accusing.
Perhaps it is because of the absence of the Daughter, her chair pushed back and tipped over.
Something seems to be moving within the parishioner's side of the Confession Booth, writhing almost unnaturally in the darkness, though any attempt to get a better look at whatever hides within will reveal that the space is empty of anything but shadows. The seat on the priest's side is wet with blood, and it seems as though here a corpse has only recently been removed. Here the Daughter of the Wax Family can be found, hidden in the priest's side of the Confession Booth, the door slightly ajar, closed in a hurry and not quite successfully. She is curled tightly into a ball in the midst of the mess of blood, wrapped around whatever object it is that she continues to protect. Whatever was recently vacated may have frightened her, but she pays no mind to the sticky pools left behind.
In the Rough Kitchen there is an unnatural and eerie light that immediately sweeps over any who enter the room. The source appears to be an Orb, glowing softly. It seems to be embedded in the table, and is so delicate that removing it might cause its power to fade-- or perhaps break the orb altogether. The room is Safe tonight, though it seems tenuous at best.
In spite of its safety, however, this kitchen is hardly pleasant to visit. The feast from the day has not yet been cleared from the Pantry, though some of it seems to be missing, either used or eaten. The smell of the birds is quickly becoming foul, though fortunately the damp coolness of the room has prevented them from rotting too quickly. Curiously, all of the organs that had been set aside are now missing.
The Frozen Woman sits almost casually in the Wall Papered Parlor, her hands rest on her lap. Her cloak is drawn around her face, obscuring her features from view. She whispers constantly, words flowing together into an almost pleasant sounding hum. The area around her is bone chilling cold, but she is a passive threat, remaining unmoving. The chant is an almost siren song, luring people to the quiet chill. A quiet death awaits those who linger in her presence, perhaps welcome amid the threats of the night.
In the ??? Room the baths have been covered with a thin sheet of glass. The hot water within them fogs the glass, though not so much that anyone entering the room cannot see what rests inside. Each of the baths holds a person, though the two closest to the door masked so that they cannot be identified.One of the figures is small, the other tall, and the water conceals all other identifying features.
In the last bath Estella sleeps, eyes closed and unresponsive. No amount of noise will cause any of them to wake, and nothing will break the glass.
In the Blank Library the walls are covered in words. It is as though someone has spent a great deal of time writing on the walls, or perhaps that the words missing from the books have appeared all at once. The text is impossible to read, outside of a few isolated words, overlaid on top of themselves until they are little more than smears of dark ink on the walls. It moves constantly, words shifting, entire sentences vanishing from sight even as the house-guests watch, making attempts to isolate the words even more headache inducing.
Though interesting, the occurrence is ultimately harmless, and the words will spin their ways across the walls without halt through the long night. Their source will not reveal itself, but a single word seems to be repeated often throughout the spinning text. It is a simple word, harmless in its intent, but no less striking for the absence of any framing. "Live."
In the Shelter Bedroom the ghost children remain, sitting in a circle around a bowl full of raisins and brandy. The brandy is on fire and the flames fill the room with a comfortable warmth and a pleasant smell. The children are all smiling, and occasionally one will dart a hand into the flames to snatch a raisin, to the delight of all the other children.
The Mute Ghost Girl seems to have relaxed, though she still doesn’t speak to any of the other children. In her lap, hiding the battered state of her dress, is the stuffed bunny from the Yellow Bedroom.
The Girl Twin pats her hand from time to time, as though to wipe away the fear she dealt the group the night before. It seems they have all relaxed around her, and are more concerned about her than anything she might do.
The Crawling Boy seems to have relaxed enough to tease with the other children, though his whispers are too low for anyone else to hear without joining the game-- at which point he becomes considerably quieter. He continues to be marked by nervous agitation and worry, though the presence of friends seems to have finally calmed him. He chews absently on pieces of bread, little fingers always occupied.
The Boy Twin seems more reticent than his sister, and occasionally seems to become overwhelmed by the brightness of the flames and the constant chatter that fills the room. He is even quieter than the Mute Girl, curling up near his sister and remaining there for much of the night.
The 13th Child remains with the children, happily chattering and quick to dare the flames to burn him. He seems bolder than the other children, and much more willing to chat with anyone that enters the room.
Another child has joined the small circle of children, slightly older than the rest. He has dark skin and eyes, and seems rather bemused by the gathering, one arm draped over his knees. He and the girl twin speak quietly from time to time, clearly exchanging some sort of information, but he seems hesitant to address any adults that might enter the room. Instead, the entire group seems willing to allow the girl twin to be their mouthpiece.
Any Child Character, a character of the age ten or younger, will find themselves waking within this room, rather than in any of the other places the adults have been placed. The children will find themselves welcome to the game, and feel the desire to stay, though they are capable of leaving to face the challenges of the night. This room is safe for the night, and though adults can duck in to catch their breaths for a few moment they will find that they feel unwelcome to stay for long.
Outside of the room there are several frogs, seemingly standing guard. The creatures make soft ribbit noises as they hop down the hall, quick and frantic and rarely staying in the same place for long. They never go further than the end of the hall, and always return to the door in a hurry.
One of them sits just inside, at the feet of the children, occasionally weaving between them but apparently always unseen or unnoticed.
Anyone in the Upper Halls may from time to time see a man walk from the Floating Hallway to the Shelter Bedroom. Throughout the night he holds a tray of food, delivering it to the children within the room. His apron is covered entirely in blood, and he seems rather horrific, but he will make no move to harm anyone as he walks pass them.
In the Second House, the guests trapped within will find themselves constantly feeling hungry, no matter how much they eat. The hunger gnaws at them, never fading for long, urging them to take great risks to find something to eat. It is as though whatever they eat is somehow not making it into their system.
Third House
The guests will find themselves waking scattered between the birdcages in the Birdcage room. The area is open to the outside, and the outer cage has a thin layer of snow covering the floor. It's chilly, and the bars they find themselves resting upon are not at all forgiving. Thankfully, whoever has placed them here has not seen fit to lock the doors, and they can untangle themselves from their prisons with little fuss or panic.
The entry door to the house is solidly closed and locked, making passage to any of the other houses impossible. Those few that have found themselves in this house will find they are cut off from the other house-guests completely, much to their frustrations.
As everyone wakes in the Birdcage Room, one of their fellows seems to have changed whilst they slumbered. His transformation already complete, the Art Enthusiast lingers at the edge of the room, near the door. He stands perfectly still for a long time, bizarrely placid face stained with tear tracks, but otherwise calm. In spite of the new location, he seems unperturbed by the lack of art around him-- and instead watches his living companions with a quiet interest and, at times, affection.
It does not take long for him to move out of the way of the entrance, but he seems much more passive tonight. He will not attack any who approach him, even if they encroach upon his personal space. Instead he reacts with longing and attempts to communicate. He is far more animated this evening than normal, though his interaction, even with gestures, is still limited. He is particularly drawn to those artistically inclined and those who are close to Don Marks in life. He will approach them more readily and will stay closer to them.
He wanders the entirety of the Third House tonight, occasionally pointing out different things in their paths and warning against danger. Occasionally he stops in his journey, however, to let out a low, quiet sob.
Despite the rather cold beginning, and some less than cheerful company, it seems as though someone has attempted to make tonight’s stay a little more pleasant. In the Professional Kitchen large tureens of hot milk wait for the guests, and the makings for all sorts of fancy sipping chocolate have been laid out for them to choose. Marshmallows at the end of peppermint sticks are very useful for stirring the concoctions, and several sorts of alcohol and cookies have been left for their enjoyment. A welcome, of sorts, perhaps an apology for their imprisonment.
It is a fortunate thing that the spread is so fancy, as the guests will soon find that the thought of eating anything plain is simply out of the question. Every meal or beverage partaken of for the guests in the third house must be something extraordinary, no matter how hungry they might find themselves to be. There are brownies, rich and soft and gooey in the center, drizzled with dark chocolate; there’s toffee that’s sticky enough to cling to your fingers but is absolutely delicious to lick off; chocolate mousse and fluffy and light lemon fromage with raspberries, just the thing to take the edge off the heavier cakes and snacks that adorn the table.
Pies, cheesecakes, puddings, soufflés; all of them not only baked and cooked to perfection to ensure the best taste the ingredients have to offer but presented meticulously, with powdered sugar on top and as well as bowls of whipped cream flavoured with vanilla close by, some of the black seeds visible in the chilled topping. There’s the red of strawberries and the yellow of lemon everywhere, not to mention blueberries and cherries visible through golden pie crusts; and cakes, plenty of them and all very stylish and rich in flavour, both unusual and homey – ranging from pound cakes to ice cream cakes to cakes topped with lime to add a bit of tang to balance out the sweetness.
If any guests would like something lighter, there are cookies with jam and glaze, slices of caramelized fruit, sugary and still warm to touch, like they’re fresh out of the kitchen, ranging from apples to mango; as well as plenty of mixed berries to go with sugar and cream, all dished out beautifully.
Then beyond that, there are the drinks. Other than chocolate, there’s coffee; and you can add anything to it - steamed milk, ice cream, whiskey, brandy, and whipped cream are just some examples, but it all adds up wonderfully with the aroma of the beverage which is deep and earthy and has a kick that few kinds of coffee can rival. But the highlight to many of the houseguests will be the alcohol. There’s rum, both white and golden, vodka, gin and various kinds of liquor, and plenty of ways to mix it if you wish; with grapefruit, lime, cranberry, grapefruit and orange juice for starters, and coupled with what fruit and berries you can already find on the table, the possibilities seem endless.
There are several more serious-looking drinks as well, less colourful and more smoky, pale or golden, like champagne, whiskey, scotch and bourbon. A crystallized bowl of ice cubes in the center of the table is there if you’d like it, but all alcoholic dreams are chilled and add just the right kind of excitement to the party. Perhaps a bit too much, if you’re not careful.
For those who prefer a more traditional local to drink in the Gentleman’s Club has just the thing. A pleasant enough man stands ready at the bar, happy to provide anything the house-guests ask for -- save for, of course, their freedom. Anything can be requested tonight, from the most mundane thing to the most illegal, and the smiling man will happily provide it. The bar is open, and the bar keeper stands ready to serve.
This room is a safe room tonight, though the Sirens again spin on the poles, lazily presenting themselves to be admired. They are harmless tonight, and offer no threat to the guests. Some may even start to recognize those that return to see them more than once, offering a playful wink or a blown kiss in their direction.
The Perfume Lady sings softly, her intoxicating voice wafting over those gathered, luring any who might try to linger out of some sort of propriety into the room. She, like the others within the bar, is harmless tonight. She will offer no threat to the house-guests who settle to enjoy her company, and the visible cloud around her offers only a nice smell. Those who remain near her for long might find themselves becoming more and more relaxed as the night goes on, a pleasant lethargy that encourages them to remain.
For those who linger here, little of the night’s true dangers will reveal themselves. The safety of the bar, and the safety of the company of others, is absolute.
Anyone who goes off alone will find themselves confronted with a Wraith. These creatures are rather insubstantial at first glance, little more than drifting bundles of bone and white fabric, impossible to touch. They are easy to ignore, as they do not at appear harmful or at all interested in those that move near them. For groups of house-guests, they do little but add another unnerving element to the night -- one that is more than willing to leave them in peace.
It is only when a house-guest is alone that they seem to take interest, drifting closer and closer in stages, brushing their bony hands against the living flesh of the guests. Those who come in contact with the Wraiths will find that it feels as though they are being drained of something more vital than blood. It is easy to move away from the creatures, easy to avoid them. A simple sidestep can see the house-guest safely parted from the ghostly creatures, the drain halted with the loss of contact.
Make eye contact, however, and a guest will find they are caught -- unable to move away as the creatures drift closer and closer, bony hands pressing insistently against exposed skin, pushing into hair in a twisted parody of intimacy. They will be unable to move as the creatures lean near to them, tasting their breath as they suck it from their bodies. Those caught in the wraith’s gaze will be unable to pull away on their own, despite their best efforts, despite the knowledge that death is nipping at their heels.
If left, the house-guest will die, another wraith rising from the corpse. The house-guest will wake after some time has passed, body achy and cold.
Those who have been killed by the Wraiths will find that they wake from death with the utter assurance that something is missing, something insubstantial but important.
Something they will be unable to identify.
Anyone who sleeps alone tonight will find that the Wraiths pose another danger. Sleeping alone will result in them waking to a Wraith leaning over them, fingers hungrily pressing to their faces and lips finding theirs in an icy kiss. It will not lead to their death, though no matter how much they struggle with the creature, they will be unable to escape from it. With each indrawn breath, they will find that more and more of the Wraith vanishes, until nothing is left but the searing cold of the hands holding their head in place and the brush of icy lips and teeth.
The moment they inhale for the last time, they will feel the hunger of the Wraith beginning to consume them. The burning need to touch someone, to caress living skin, to draw the life from their bodies. Anyone touching one of those that has been possessed by the Wraiths will find that the living house-guest now possesses the same abilities as the wraiths, and only death will free them from the creature’s grasp.
The Foul Boy has returned to the halls, though for the night he seems remarkably helpful. Anyone in his presence will find themselves safe from the Wraiths, though they will have to tolerate his company for this needed safety. He is incredibly disrespectful of physical space, creeping closer and closer to the house-guests the longer they remain in his presence. In fact, he seems to crave intimacy -- quick to grab someone’s hand at the smallest opening, or lean to smell hair and rub shoulders. Though disconcerting, he is ultimately harmless, at least so long as the house-guests do not try to push him away. If they do, they will find that he is equally as dangerous as the rest of the ghosts, attacking quickly and without mercy, hands finding their throats and fists flying with the fury of spurned advances.
The Hunters loom in the Husk Bedroom, a rather passive threat that seems almost common with the rest of the unpleasantness of the night. They seem rather sleepy, and a few have crept close to the hot spot on the floor as though to bask in the radiant heat. They are rather difficult to be bothered, and will not attack anyone unless first hassled by the reckless guest.
Those who enter the Wax Room will find that the heat is a welcome break from the cold, though they must tolerate the resident of the room tonight. The Wax Man seems unusually active tonight, walking around the room and muttering to himself. He gestures from time to time, as though carrying on a conversation with someone only he can see. He will not bother anyone who wishes to shelter in the warmth of the room, and anyone who remains with him will find themselves safe from the Wraith even in sleep.
The doll in the Velvet Bedroom is kneeling in the bottom of his prison, fingers searching around edge carefully. He lifts his head if anyone comes near to his cage, indicating the bottom of the case. He seems more than willing to communicate with those who come near to him, in spite of the soundless nature of his current confines. He is very adept at gesturing, and even seems to possess some rudimentary skill in sign language, all accomplished with a certain amount of wry humor.
The woman in the Silk Bedroom is sleeping, legs drawn to her chest despite the elaborateness of her costume. She stirs on occasion, a single eye opening to stare at those who try to catch her attention, but seems too tired to move.
Anyone entering the Herbal Bedroom will be struck by how nice the entire area smells, though lingering too long to indulge in the scent will find them left with the strange feeling of pinpricks on any exposed skin. The pricks seem to do no harm, aside from the occasional spot of blood. The injuries will not even summon the hellhounds.
They will find themselves beginning to feel incredibly warm as more pricks that dance across their skin. A pleasant sort of heaviness settles over them, the chill of the night fading away. They feel content, and rather lethargic, but slowly growing within them is a desire to be touched. Despite the oddness of the feeling, it seems to cause no greater harm. Leaving the room will find the feeling slowly fading away, though the longing for its return might find them wandering back before much time has passed.
The dogs have vanished from outside the Stables, though the horses remain in their stalls. They are restless tonight, stomping their feet and tossing their heads as though alarmed by something within the house. The horse bound outside the stalls seems particularly restless, snorting and rearing, nearly jerking his lead away from the post to which he is bound. His mouth is frothing, sweat standing out clearly on a ghostly body, eyes rolling in clear terror.
Whatever has happened, it has clearly upset him, and as the night goes on, he seems more and more likely to pull himself free from his current restraint.
In the tub of the Bell Bathroom, a quartet of Skinless can be found, two males and two females. The warm water is a murky red, and they moan in agony as they soak their flayed bodies. All four are hostile, and will attempt to overpower anyone who disturbs them.
In the Getaway Cabin the Lady In White seems to be waiting for someone. Her hands are resting in her lap, lips curled into a small smile.
Anyone who enters the room will find that they do not feel like leaving, and in fact, that she resembles someone they love. For those with a romantic interest, she resembles that person, somehow here and waiting. For those without anyone they love romantically, she best resembles the sort of person they would like to have in their life, regardless of gender or species.
She is enchanting, and compelling. Those who enter will find that they draw closer, struck by the absolute certainty that she has been waiting for them. Her touch is gentle but insistent, pulling them down to the bed, drawing them close to her, lips finding theirs in a searing kiss.
They will find themselves helpless to resist when she breaks the kiss to trail kisses down their throat, stopping over the vital artery, tiny nips of affection turning into bites. There will be no pain as she drains their lives away.
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.
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. 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. Catacombs
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
((ooc: The character division are as follows.
In the First House: 7, 10th Doctor, Akito, Agito, Alex, Alice, Amaterasu, Angel, Ash, Bakura, Blue, Buffy, Coulson, Dean, Enzan, Gabriel, Giotto, Itachi, Jeff, Jennifer, Kiziah, L, Link (OoT), Lucifer, Markus, Mary, Maurice, Mavis, Monroe, Natasha, Orihime, Rabbit, River, Rory Mustang, Schwarz, Sirius, Spanner, Vexen, Vivi, Yamamoto
In the Second House: Belphegor, Ben, Braig, Chrome, Dawn, Faiza, Heather, Hollow Ichigo, Hughes, Jamie, Jo, The Jon, Katniss, Kaworu, Leaf, Lexaeus, Lilith, Link (SS), Liz, Loki, Luke, Magus, Maia, Mello, Niall, Nina, Oz, Rose, Sammie, Sasuke, Shani, Shouichi, Sif, Sokoya, Soma, Spade, Sunny, Teru, Vincent
In the Third House: Bianchi, Castiel, Charles, Dugan, Epsilon, G, Gilbert, Gokudera, James, John, Katie, Kaylee, Kigetsuki, Kuja, Laura, Leon, Light, Lind, Mukuro, Phylia, Rachel, Reynard, Rei, Riku, Roy Mustang, Sam, Shisui, Simon, Soubi, The Spine Vivien, Warden, Xehanort, Zevran, Zexion
Mod Note: Hey guys! We will have one more extended update after this one, thank you so much for sticking with us as the holiday season made everyone's lives insane. Welcome to the new year! We hope to spend many wonderful hours with all of you in 2013. The next update will be one January 25th, after which we return to our normal schedule. Let us know if you have any problems, and as always, thank you guys for being the most awesome game any mod team could ask for.