Night 031

[allthekeys]

GO TO THREAT DOWN

|| NIGHT 031: GENERAL The house-guests will find themselves drifting off to sleep as night grows closer, gently lulled closer to true relaxation. It seems particularly centered on the bar, and anyone there will find their heads drifting down to their arms and that their eyes are suddenly too heavy to remain open. The two crows land with a rustle of feathers on the bar, fluffing up their feathers as they, too, are engulfed. It seems to take some time for the dream to begin, the deep, restful sleep. When they do, it seems the events unfolding have been going on for some time. Dave stands at the bar, and Shadow Man sits on a stool across from him, chin resting on his arm and his shoulders slumped with what seems like exhaustion. A chessboard sits between them, a game in the midst of being played laid out. As the dreamers join, the shadow exhales slightly and moves one of his pieces. Dave studies the board for long moment before he moves, his normally cheerful face intent. "I don't understand you." The words come from the shadow, and seem to be the first either has spoken. Around the players, the house-guests can see themselves sleeping in the booths, the birds still curled in puffs on feathers on the bars. "Many greater beings than you have tried." Dave finally smiles, eyes never lifting from the board. "But if you understood me, would you join me for the game?" The shadow seems to scowl. "No." "See? Then there is reason for the obscuration of my true nature." "Luring me into chess games?" Dave laughs softly. "Yes, in part. It bothers you." The shadow seems to frown again, shifting on the stool. "I am a tool, a nightmare, and a monster. Use or fear or slavish devotion, those are things I understand. You? You remind me of a story, not a living creature." Dave smiles, motioning to the board. "Move." There is an irritated huff from the shadow, but he obediently moves one of his pieces and Dave returns to his study of the board -- eyes slightly narrowed. "Why her?" The barman chuckles, slowly easing one of his pieces into play. He seems to play a cautious game, never risking one of his pieces without an equal or greater reward. "Why Ruth? Why any of this? We are the work of moments, my young friend, for good or ill. The paths we take are never certain, ever changing as we choose. We are often lucky to find companions on our journeys, but they are on their own journey." "You speak like a madman or a prophet." This seems to irritate the shadow, though there is no expression to demonstrate it, his next move comes almost without a glance to the board. Dave laughs. "Perhaps I am both." "Are you?" Dave's smile turns relaxed, his expression fond. "I will tell you when you manage to win a game. But, that will not be today. Checkmate." The dream fades as the shadow rises. As the house-guests wake, it will be to find that the Doctor, Lady in White and Photographer have vanished from their table. Sam will wake with Shion and Nick tucked into his lap -- though there is no sign, for the moment, of Lock. Dave stands at the bar, looking thoughtful as he cleans. He is quick to fetch the house-guests anything they might want. The bar is once again a safe room, and the troubles that haunt the hall will not follow them here. The sleepy crows seem less willing to perform the antics they were consumed by during the day, remaining in sleepy puffs of feathers on the bar to occasionally be bribed with scraps by the bartender. The Silenced Woman stands in the middle of the Opium Den her hands folded gracefully over her stomach. She neither reacts to nor approaches any who enter the room. All would seem normal if not for the blackness oozing from beneath her clasped hands, dripping slowly to the floor. The sound is the only one in the room, a steady, constant plop. In the Tea Room some violence has clearly occurred. Blood stains the floor and has stained a few of the chairs, one of the elegant tea pots has been smashed to the floor and one of the longer shards is stained with blood, dripping with the thick liquid. Of whomever was involved in the fight, there is no sign. The Bakery is too warm for the mild coolness of the night, and the back seems to be a hive of activity, bits of flour lingering in the air and making breathing difficult. Whatever has agitated the occupant remains both unseen and unheard, but there is a constant stream of fresh bread and pastries being brought to the front of the area, and any house-guest who wishes can manage to secure themselves a good meal. Someone is hard at work in the Empty Kitchen, though the room currently smells a bit like burnt sugar, and one of the pots had been thrown into the sink, the lumpy mess at the bottom too badly burned to be saved. The tables are piled high with sweets and confections, delicately crafted sugar sculptures standing amid the more mundane creations. Smears of sugar and flour dot the counters, and bowl full of some sort of filling has fallen to the floor, letting the fluid inside leak out. The kitchen is too cold, and it seems to be interfering with the person working within it. In the cafeteria, there is a spread as if someone had attempted to cater a special event, the normal over-greased food replaced with prime rib roast, turkey, cakes, sweet potatoes, and other holiday foods from different parts of the world -- or other worlds entirely. The quality, however, leaves much to be desired; the prime rib, knife left half-cut-through-it, is overcooked and cold, the turkey dry, cakes over-sugared and tasteless. Much of the spread is overcooked, undercooked, dried, or lumpy, and none of it is quite hot, as if the cooks had been paying it little care and laid it out far too early for the event. Claire is gone from the bench she was sleeping on as the house-guests wake. There is no trace of the little girl, save for her shoes and socks placed neatly just outside the booth. Anyone who looks for her will not need to go very far to find her. Though the snow is gone, the Courtyard is still chilly, and the cobblestones show traces of frost. Claire stands in the middle of the area, head tilted back to look at the distant sky. A storm rages overhead, but there is no rain falling, and the thunder is distant and muted, though it is difficult to tell by what. The flashes of lightning seem to strike something far above their heads, preventing them from touching down near the houses. The sound of the storm is overlaid by faint pipes being played, and those looking for the player will quickly find the Lonely Ghost Boy kneeling behind the locked gate. He smiles as he plays, but his eyes are closed and he does not respond to attempts to speak to him. The Crows have settled on the branches and stones around him, all staring intently at the boy. There is something wrong with the Gazebo; a thick, dark, somewhat acidic liquid seems to be staining the wooden floor, and those who step inside will be sure they saw a woman sitting on the rail looking down at the lake. She vanishes the moment they blink, and will not reappear if they remain within it. Curiously, anyone in the gazebo and staring down toward the Lake may notice a woman there as well. She does not appear quite the same as the one who disappeared mere seconds before, but this one remains. The shoddy, blonde figure sways faintly by the shore, her head lolling as she moves in a wave. She begins to walk into the lake, and should the house-guest stand to watch they will witness her agonized death as she drowns. Anyone approaching the lake by foot will find no sign of any woman, though sometimes a long, dark shape seems to float just below the surface of the water. In the Servant's Kitchen it looks like a meal has recently been prepared. Pots, pans, cutting boards, knives and remnants of food still litter the various workspaces in the room which smells of something good yet difficult to define. Busying himself with cleaning up the mess is the Cook, who once again has a towel thrown over one shoulder as he works, completely engrossed in his tasks as he puts things away and cleans in silence. Helping him is Kita. She occasionally look towards the Cook for guidance, but for the most part it appears that helping him with these tasks isn't new for her and she seems comfortable in the routine. She is just as focused on their work as he is, and little will disturb either of the two tonight. Any repeated attempts to interrupt them will get a violent reaction from the cook. The Lift appears empty, even safe, to all but the most thorough scrutiny from the doorway; it is after entering that the guests may realize a mistake, as the doors are closing. A few of the Boneless have wedged themselves hiding along shadowed corners and clinging to an upper edge of the ceiling, waiting for unwary victims to be trapped in the enclosed space with them. They are slow on the ground, but the narrow room affords little space to get out of their reach, and they will drop onto victims, stripping flesh from bones with alarming speed. Upstairs in the Slaughterhouse the activity continues, only now the Butchers have appeared. They do not look up from their work, at least not while anyone is watching them, but anyone who walks through the area will feel their eyes upon them. Weighing, judging, and waiting. For what, they cannot guess, but the feeling of anticipation hangs heavy in the air. There is no sound in the room but the squelch of the meat and the thud of the knives on the tables. Those who wish to can pass through the area without being assailed by the strange figures. The door to the rest of the houses is unlocked. The hall leading up to the Second House is clean, and clear of any obstructions. It feels strangely empty, and the emptiness wears at even those travelling in groups. Something is missing in the hall, something important. It feels as though if they do not take care that something might be snatched from them as well. The air seems a little thin until they reach the Floating Hall. The Greenhouse beneath them practically seethes with fog, the upper edges of it curling against the windows. Something seems almost menacing about the fog, though there is no indication of what might cause that impression. The First and Second Houses are open to them again. To their right, the second house seems unusually foreboding; the walls are slick with grease and dirt, never reaching higher than four feet above the ground. Some of the marks bear the clear impression of a dirty hand pressed against the wall. The floor is covered with small bits of debris that crunch when they're stepped upon. A closer look will reveal that these items are bones, each varying in size and length, and clearly not all belonging to the same type of creature. They have all been gnawed upon, their exteriors split so that the marrow could be sucked from inside them. The trail of desperate hunger goes through the entire house, and a few of the walls are marked as though something -- or someone -- has clawed at them. This is most apparent at the partially opened front door, where deep gouges have been torn from the wood. The markings are distinctly human, and much too small to be an adult. Huddled broken and moaning beneath the table in the Dining Room is the Crawling Boy. He holds the bone of something clutched desperately in his hands, occasionally sucking on it, though there seems to be no sustenance left to draw from it. He coughs, occasionally, but seems unwilling to move. The Needle Woman, no longer in her passive state from the night before, stands in the Plain Kitchen, her head bowed so that her hair obscures the ruin of her face. She makes an odd noise, as though something rattles in her chest, and rocks slowly on her feet. Her hands have once again been restored to their original state, long, thin, and dripping with poison. She will kill anyone who steps over the threshold. The doors to the Open Hallway stand wide and cannot be shut, and in this area the very beginning of rain can be felt. The rain is warm, but the wind that follows it is still chilly. The entire hallway smells heavily of roses, the scent mingling with the earthy smell of rainfall to create a fresh, outdoor odor. In the Rose Garden the flowers are just beginning to bloom, but even the few blooms that have opened are powerful. Kneeling at the broken stone is the Lady In White, her hands forced beneath the wet earth, and her eyes closed. Though she seems passive, those who step too close will find themselves drawn to her, compelled to step close and embrace her. She has been waiting, waiting for them to find her. As they step closer, she will stand up, her hands still dirty from the earth, and turn to meet them. Her smile is warm, welcoming, and they will find themselves stepping closer. They will not even care when she bites and begins to take their lives from them. The Chapel is clean and empty of anything. There is no sign that anything living stirs within the walls, and the echoing emptiness seems to imply that there are no ghosts. A few inches of water stand in the Catacombs, but this seems to be caused only by leaking snow-melt, not by any malice. The shadows beyond the locked gate seem passive, offering no threat to those who step close. The chain between the gates hangs slack, unstrained. The door to the Priest's Room is locked tonight, though anyone listening at the door can hear someone moving around inside, as well as the occasional flutter of paper. Nobody will answer the door if it is knocked upon. There is bread in the kitchen, but nothing further and the loaves are cold and hard, as though they have been there for several days. Outside in the Chapel Courtyard someone has planted in the garden beds, and swept the cobblestones. But there is again no other sign of life or industry, and the rain discourages investigation. Everything seems almost unnaturally quiet. The door that would normally lead to the Third House is solidly locked. The First House seems quiet, a strange echoing silence that seems almost reverent. Those who enter this house tonight will find that loudness seems to make them feel small, the louder they are, the smaller they feel. It seems to have no relationship with how large they actually are, but the meekness it causes will surely cause them a few unnerving moments. The Wallcrawlers have taken over the hallways in the first house tonight, though something seems to be odd about them. They jingle as they move, no longer silent stalkers in the night. If one of the house-guests manages to get a close look at one of them, they will see that they are wearing clothes, and jewellery, and some attempt has been made at putting make-up on their alien faces. There seems to be no reason for this, but it does make them easier to hear coming. The Trophy Room is full of chains. They force their way out from beneath the safe, spilling out into the room and creeping into the hallway beyond. Anyone who walks by wearing a chain upon their person, even something as simple as a necklace, will find that it tugs them gently in the direction of the room. For the moment the chains do not seem at all hostile, in fact the general sense of them is simply curious, but they wind around arms and legs like snakes, trapping those that linger for too long. As though in counterpoint to this strangeness, there are new creatures in the halls. Little of them is recognizable, but it is easy to hear them coming. They walk on all fours, their bodies entirely wrapped in heavy, shiny chain. Eyes glare out at the house-guests from beneath their wrappings, and they grunt and moan as they move slowly down the halls. They do not seem particularly threatening, however the chains that surround them seem to share the same ability as the ones currently occupying the Trophy Room. Those who remain too close to these misshapen beasts will find themselves wrapped in chains and forced to all fours, that their breathing becomes difficult as the chains slowly, inescapably, suffocate them. Those trapped like this will find that the pressure on their chests renders them incapable of screaming or speaking, they will only be able to grunt and moan, forced to crawl as they desperately search for help. There is a woman in the Observatory, her head tilted back as she admires the sky. She is dressed rather plainly, but there seems to be nothing odd about her at all. Her hair falls in a loose, unbroken tangle of gold down her back and she is somewhat pale, or at least the bad lighting has leached color from her skin. Perhaps the only odd thing about her is that she simply disappears the moment anyone gets close enough to see her. The room is unnaturally cold, and those who enter will notice that their breath forms a visible fog around them. It is not a comfortable place to linger. Written in the fog of a breath on the window is "I couldn't protect her." In the Glass Bathroom the figures beyond the glass seem unusually active, clear impressions of hands and faces can be seen behind the glass, and the darkness seems to suck up any trace of light that might have otherwise better illuminated the room. Candles and flash-lights seem to have the oddest habit of flickering off in this room, though they will work or light just fine once anyone steps back into the hall. The water works, and aside from the darkness and the sense of movement, nothing appears to be wrong with this room. All doors to the Study and Library are locked. The Dollhouse Room has an extra member tonight. In it the Pigtailed Girl stands as if in a trance, staring fixedly into one of the dollhouses. Any attempt to get her attention falls flat, but if one stands beside her and follows her gaze they will notice something strange. She seems to be staring into a miniature replication of the room they are in, where a miniature version of her stares into a model of the dollhouse. A figurine of the guest stands behind beside her. Behind them, a figurine of Rose stands -- blade raised in her hand and a slightly mad look in her eyes. Straightening to look over their shoulders will reveal nobody behind them, and on second glance the figure is gone. The door creaks, however, as if someone just moved it on their way out. There are figures dancing in the Ballroom, and music audible from an upstairs perch. Each seems gaily dressed, and the dancing is certainly exuberant. Tables stand piled high with food and drink, and are seem to be constantly refilled. It looks beautiful from upstairs, and very active, though nothing of detail can be seen. Those who open the doors to the Ballroom downstairs will find only an empty room, a dusty table piled high with empty plates and dirty glasses. The dance floor is empty and silent. The Mute Ghost Girl sits near the piano, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees and her face is hidden from view. Her dress is clearly meant for the grand party the house-guests had seen from above, but she is alone. Those who get closer to her will hear the faint sound of giggling, and stepping over an invisible proximity alarm will result in the smiling, gleeful child running at them, her hands out stretched as though she wishes to be picked up. Touching her or picking her up will be fatal, as her touch burns through clothes and armor, into skin and bone. Those who avoid the child and head down the Oak Hall will find that the outside door stands open, seeming to invite them into the mist. The fog presses unusually close to the house, or perhaps it doesn't. Their perspective as they step beyond the door seems off, out of balance, compressed and over stretched. The ground seems solid and spongy all at once, and for many the feeling that they are about to sink might drive them back into the dubious safety of the Ballroom. Those who press on will find themselves standing on a path, the fog gone from around them and the sun shining overhead. The road stretches out an immeasurable distance in either direction, with no end in sight, but seems somehow too brightly lit for comfort. Something walks towards them down the road, something that seems to fill them with dread the closer it gets to them. Most will find themselves darting off the road and back into the fog, arriving too quickly back at the door in relation to how far they travelled. Those who manage to linger will find that the figure keeps approaching, wrapped in a heat haze that hides its features from them, thought in their hearts they know it is smiling at them. They will wake in the Attic. Most of the doors down the Oak Hallway remain locked, though something seems to be happening in the Theater. Several of the Twisted seem to be putting on a play, though there seems to be no audience and they are all incapable of speech. Sitting tucked into one of the chairs in the front row is the Boy Twin, his arms curled around his legs as he watches the players on the stage. He is dressed warmly, a scarf wrapped around his shoulders, and gloves still covering his fingers. Anyone who speaks will quickly gain his attention, as he quietly lifts his finger to his lips and quietly shushes them. They will find that they are unable to speak or make a single noise, even footsteps, for an hour following the encounter. In the Pool Room, the sound of something moving in the water might lure the guests into the room. The pool is dark, the lights around it dimmed by something, and the water laps against the sides of the pool. Nothing is visible within the dark water. The Hot tub is full of blood, still warm and just beginning to clot. The smell of it hangs heavily in the room, but there is no sign of the person or persons responsible for the blood. Huddled in a corner as far as it can get from the hot tub is a tiny, barely fledged crow. She is covered in blood and seems rather disoriented, hunkered down to hide from any who might seek her out. She will clack her beak at anyone who gets close, and try to shuffle away, but she is clearly too weak to put up much of a fight should anyone decide to pick her up. The Student Bedroom is safe tonight. There is a figure in the Gallery, a man seemingly surprised -- perhaps even impressed -- by its radical change. He is impeccably well dressed, staring up at some of the shadowed portraits with fondness. The man can be recognized by many in the house as Don, though he seems weary somehow. He is completely absorbed in the act of admiration, not looking up until he is approached. When his attention is arrested, he glances up first in surprise and then smiles, slowly. Then the expression of happy recognition disappears with a crack, the man twisting violently into the Art Enthusiast, face marred by agony. He lunges, snarling, for whoever has imposed upon him -- before he simply vanishes into thin air. Left behind on a pedestal is Don's sketch book. It is safe to read tonight. Anyone who drops down into the Gardener's Wing will hear the heavy sound of something moving in the hall beyond, though the Green Room is safe enough for the moment. The plants grow, and the room is warm. Those that open the door will discover something moves beyond, great creatures filling the hall. Their eyes glow, and though they appear to be human shaped, they are clearly not human. Their bodies are a mix of clay and glass, their muscles sculpted. The craftsmanship that has gone to them is incredibly detailed, and each face is different. The shades their eyes glow are slightly different, the placement of the glass within them is widely varied, but the glass work glows with an internal fire, casting the hallway into shadows and movement. They are incredibly hostile, though slow, and the internal fire is present in their hands, a heat that can easily kill anyone they touch. It is a twisted fire, and impossible to resist, even for those who are resistant to fire. The Fifth House looks forlorn to those approaching from the outside. Those who are just arriving will discover the structure is full of gloom, and that they can distantly hear the sound of a baby crying. There is no baby to be found in the house, and the sound is so maddeningly indistinct that it is impossible to locate. The walls are covered with a thin sheen of blood, visibly beading up and dripping down. It leaves streaks, evidence of its presence, but seems to vanish into the floor again. The dead woman in the Den hasn't moved, and seems like she will never move again, though she shows no sign of decay. The TV in the corner has flickered to life, though the picture is dim and indistinct, little more than shadows playing out their parts. The Screamers fill the basement, their low cries quickly turning into deafening shrieks the moment someone enters their line of sight. They are dangerous, if only because the Hellhounds seem incredibly responsive to their cries. There is something in Boat House, though for those just stepping on the rotting wood it might be difficult to see them at first. The Wraiths are rather indistinct, hovering just over the water, but their touch is just as draining as it would normally be. Those who linger close to the shore of the lake will find that the water seems to have grown in violence as night fell, rippling and surging against the shore. Strangely, though the distance between the shores is great, they can often see the woman appearing in the Gazebo on the other side. She seems to be watching them in turn. The Hellhounds have returned, and will attack and kill any who become injured during the night. They will not attack injured new arrivals or injuries that were caused in the day or during the previous night. They seem unhappy about something, if anyone is paying attention. When passive they paw at door frames and whine lowly, as though they have misplaced something. Whatever it is remains unresolved. || THREAT DOWN First House 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. Student Bedroom 3. Student 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. 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. 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 Second House 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 Courtyard 14. Priest's Room 15. Priest's Bedroom 16. Hallway 17. Locked Door 18. Rough Kitchen 19. Junior Dormitory 20. Bell Tower 21. Courtyard Fourth House 1. Hanging Hall 2. The Slaughterhouse 3. Meat Freezer 4. Cheese Room 5. Salt Room 6. Preserved Storage 7. Fresh Storage 8. Hallway 9. Distillery 10. Humidor 11. Cramped Stairs 12. Hook Hallway 13. Smoke House 14. Drying Shed 15. Hot House 16. Lift 1. Tea Room 2. Cafeteria 3. Entrance Hall 4. Courtyard 5. Bakery 6. Patisserie 7. Overstuffed Kitchen 8. Ladies' Room 9. Mis-sized Dining Room 10. Men's Room 11. Servant's Kitchen 12. Unidentified Restroom 13. Empty Kitchen 14. Opium Den 15. Seedy Bar Fifth House 1. Outside Door 2. Plastic Hall 3. Bachelor's Kitchen 4. Garage 5. Abandoned Nursery 6. Boarded Room 7. Rough Hall 8. Old Bedroom 9. Bathroom 10. Pillow Room 11. Empty Bedroom 12. Patio 13. Poet's Room 14. Forgotten Storeroom 15. Mildewed Hallway 16. Broom Cupboard 17. Den 18. Unfinished Stairs 19. Workman's Room 20. Guest Bedroom 21. Lily Bedroom 1. Leaky Basement 2. Ruined Apartment 3. Drained Parlour 4. Decaying Bathroom 5. Jammed Door