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As the day begins to wane, the clock in the Parlor tracks the hours. The time between daylight and nightfall dwindle to minutes and the sound becomes impossible loud, spreading through the house.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
For those who have touched the Sundial in the Greenhouse the heartbeat of the house becomes almost soothing, relaxing their minds and calming their nerves. For them alone, the sound speaks of protection, of hope, of a sense of home. The closer they stand to the clock, the safer they feel.
As the clock begins to chime the feeling of safety cements itself in their minds, carrying with it a palpable protection as night overtakes the house. For them, the night holds no fear, no threat. The monsters will not harm them, and the ghosts will leave them alone.
As the last chime echoes through the house those who reside within it will find themselves sleeping. The sleep is deep, though dreamless -- unmarked by the nightmares that so often plague them. When they wake, any who have not yet been marked by the owners of the house will find that their forearms have been etched with a strange, twisting tattoo. The mark is written in a language they do not know, the ink dark against their skin. It trails from wrist to elbow, and is impossible to remove.
As those who said yes to the Stalker Plot (Night 008) wake, they are left with a feeling of general contentment, as if-- in spite of no memory of one-- they have awoken from a pleasant dream. The feeling continues coming to them in waves, and there is the faintest tugging on their strings. Curiously, they feel they have not rested at all and are, in fact, left quite exhausted from the rest.
Those who said no feel a vague feeling of displeasure, but they are well rested enough to face the beginning of the night.
For the rest of the house-guests, the night hangs heavy and full of peril. Gone are the Unnatural Servants and their macabre games. In their place, the ticking of the clock is a constant reminder of the threat the night brings.
As night arrives the Frogs grow agitated. Something about the evening seems to put them more on edge than usual, and they will not settle with being held or carried for long. Eventually they will strive to escape, swelling up in size to ward off predators. Monsters will avoid them in this state, though ghosts seem unperturbed. The frogs will not move far tonight, which may make carrying them around problematic.
In the Greenhouse the fog is broken by the presence of a ghastly carriage, empty of passengers. The driver sits quietly in the cab, seemingly waiting for his passengers. He cradles a bundle carefully in his arms, his lantern the only light in the darkness. It travels far further than it should, brightening from one edge of the path to the other. It stops, quite confusingly, at either edge of the path -- though the carriage stands nearer to one side than the other. Though the path is soft, and the dirt takes the track of any who walk upon it, the carriage has left no marks of passage.
It is as though it has simply appeared.
Jacob climbs to his feet, walking slowly to the doorway of the room he occupies. As he passes through the threshold, he vanishes from sight, and no trace of him can be found.
The woman, Ed, seems to shudder as night falls, closing her eyes for a moment before she sighs in resignation. Silently, she drifts away, into the nearest unoccupied room to close herself in. She is gone by the time the next person enters.
For any sensitive of medium level or above the night has brought something they would rather forget: the smell of rancid, rotting meat.
Though their stomachs still cry for food, there seems to be no sign of the foulness, or of any food in the Blue, Rough, or Professional Kitchens. Luckily for the houseguests, the Small and Plain kitchens have been restocked, giving them food enough to survive, though it is perhaps less grand than the fare they are used to consuming.
The Organ in the Ballroom seems to have taken a liking to the tune from earlier in the day; though no player has settled at the chair, the song plays over and over again. For the sensitive it becomes a living thing, taking a life of its own within them. When they do not speak, or focus, they will find themselves humming, rocking in time with the song.
Any near the Artist, Don, will see him start shudder and shake as night falls. Body convulsing in pain and face twisting in agony, he seems unable to hold himself upright. Though it looks like he will resume his nightly form, at first, he does not change in any way. He braces himself against the floor for a few long moments and finally stands as the houseguests start to wake, looking around in wary confusion, half hugging himself as he recovers from the tremors.
Someone is pounding on the wall in the Attic, the sound of unrelenting, though almost completely covered by the sound of the music from the Ballroom. Only those standing within the Attic will be able to hear it. The sound of a muffled female voice can be heard from the other side.
In the Study someone has lifted the lily from the table and placed it within a vase. The sound of the music seems oddly muffled here, and the Sensitive will find their thoughts and noses clear of any unpleasantness so long as they remain within the rooms.
The mobile in the Nursery is spinning over the crib, though no one stands near to turn it. The rocking chair rocks, slowly but surely, as though someone within it is soothing a troubled child.
Any who put their ears to the wall of the Closed Closet will hear soft humming, though the tune is different from the song that seems to permeate so much of the rest of the house.
The Hunters have returned to the house, crawling through the hallways and dropping on anyone who is traveling alone tonight. They are incredibly strong, and would be difficult for even a powered individual to take on alone.
They are joined by the Wallcrawlers, returned to their blind haunts, more than willing to take care of a weakened victim left by one of the other monsters. They are equally strong, though their blindness inhibits them from following far.
One of these Wallcrawlers appears to be behaving quite strangely. It travels alone, and seems almost confused and lost in his travels. Trailing quietly along, it still hunts from time to time, but appears intent on particular prey. It follows after The Eighth Doctor, and some that are close to him, as if it might be able to sense him in spite of its unseeing eyes. It never quite attacks, apparently uncertain if it should, but the connection remains strong. It makes an effort to ward off other monsters near him, as if possessive of its quarry.
Though it may take a moment to spot him, another familiar face has returned to the house, slinking through the shadows as though looking for someone. Spider is difficult to see, and will help or ignore any he has marked in the past, though he is quick to attack those who he has no reason to avoid or look after.
As day takes its leave of the house, a new creature makes a short appearance at the top of the Basement stairs. A tiny fox sits for a moment, a most troublesome Lantern by her feet. Her gaze is wary, and the moment any approach her she takes her prize in her jaws and darts out of reach. Whatever she means to do with the lantern is not revealed, she quickly makes her way to the Greenhouse and vanishes into the fog.
In the Stables, Horses have appeared in each stall. The creatures are slightly translucent, and anyone who attempts to touch them will encounter only cold air where there should be a horse. They seem oblivious to this, nuzzling pockets and trying for treats from any who come near. They do not seem at all harmful, strange though they are.
In the Small Stall, something else has appeared, a woman curled in a small ball. She is covered in a heavy, white cloak, shielding all but her hands from view. She shivers constantly, and the straw around her is covered in frost. Anyone who attempts to touch her will find that her chill can easily harm them. Even the smallest brush is likely to result in frostbite for those who get too close. To make matters worse, she seems fully conscious of the cold, and the warmth that the house-guests can provide, eagerly pressing closer to anyone who gets near. The Frozen Woman is a trap, but one the guests make for themselves.
The Hellhounds have returned to the halls of the houses, stalking between the rooms. They appear calm, alert, and almost passive, though they are as dangerous always to the injured. They seem slightly more friendly to those who have been involved in the Experiments, but they do not linger long with their friends, seeming drawn to other tasks.
One of the females has broken away from the packs roaming the halls, settling in the Day Room with the pups. She seems quite protective of her young charges, though is easily approached by any who have interacted favourably with the Hellhounds in the past.
In the Velvet Bedroom the doll has come to life, hands moving carefully over the glass walls of the cell he finds himself trapped within. He seems surprisingly calm, despite the situation, attempting to communicate with anyone who approaches. Though the glass is too thick for any sound to pass, he is nonetheless able to make himself understood, even if he must resort to blowing on the glass and writing.
His companion in Silk is as still as ever, though she seems calmer, almost smiling within her prison.
The doll from the Wax Room is gone, though anyone who searches very far will find him standing in the middle of the Husk Bedroom. His ravaged face is uncovered, cloudy blue eyes searching the room as though expecting to find something. His hands are dripping with blood, leaving a trail in his wake. His face is also bloody, though it is difficult to tell if the blood comes from the injuries or the brush of his hands. Any who attempt to touch him will find that he seems strangely warm, as though fevered, and the press of his hands can raise blisters on unprotected skin.
In the ash on the floor, someone has drawn the profile of a little girl wearing a sun hat.
In the Sewing Room the Electric Ghost has reappeared, sitting at one of the sewing tables. The sad creature sparks like a live wire, making the room dangerous to enter for anyone who cannot survive a lightening bolt. The ghost does not follow anyone, it simply remains where it sits -- head lolling uselessly to the side. Nothing can be taken from this room tonight.
The Photographer has returned, this time to the Parlour. He stands in the centre of the room, looking toward the doors that lead to the Ballroom. While his gaze does not seem particularly focused, it drifts from time to time, as if he is lost in thought, traveling around the circumference of the room but never setting on anything in particular. In spite of the lack of subject for his observation, he seems intent to focus his perhaps unseeing gaze elsewhere. He does not take kindly to being disturbed, though he will ignore any who pass by without paying him mind.
Lock seems to suffer some discomfort as the night falls, gripping his arm and biting his lip as the chimes wind their caustic way through the house. He seems to settle as the clock silences -- although any who remain close to him might notice that something seems to be moving beneath his sleeve, wiggling beneath the fabric. From the occasional brush of his hand, the movement seems to be bothering him, despite his attempts to keep it hidden. He avoids all attempts to question what has happened, instead keeping his attention focused on the night.
As the monsters begin to scatter around the house the Radios come to life; a quiet, female voice sounding through the house. The voice is incredibly calm, and the radio quality for once seems strong. "This is Specialist Harris, calling on all frequencies. This is not a secure channel, please do not respond with vital information that our enemies might use against you. I realize that this place is alarming, and most of you have no experience with the creatures within it. Remember that you are not alone, and whatever you do, don't die. Doors open both ways. Any friendlies please respond."
The Red Bedroom is on fire, the flames sending waves of heat into the hallway. Lingering within the flames is a familiar face, the Burning Man has left his fireplace for the night, remaining within the flame. He will not leave the room for the night, not even for a fresh flame.
The Trophy Room walls are bleeding. The blood is thick, and smells incredibly fresh, running down the walls in thick, vicious trails. The blood pulls on the floor, leaving slippery puddles to catch the unwary. The Dragoon is sitting in one of the chairs, his sword lays across his lap, his helmet cast to the side for the moment. His hair is close cropped, barely the suggestion of color on his head, and his eyes are intensely blue, staring at the doorway. He seems to be cleaning the blade. Any Normal Human with no sensitivity will be attacked upon entering the room. Any sensitive or non-humans will be safe.
Any Mirrored surface in the house has darkened. The shadow seems to move within the frame, swirling and at times resembling faces and hands pressed against it. Anyone who touches the mirror will feel cold and numb. Entering the Mirror Bedroom is instantly deadly.
In the Basement the Nurses are active once more, waiting for patients to appear. The Doctor is in, and taking patients.
The Surgery Ghost sits in one of the Waiting Room chairs, hands drawn into his lap.
The safe rooms tonight are the Study, The Nursery, the Chapel, and the Yellow Bedroom.
( Threat Down )
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
For those who have touched the Sundial in the Greenhouse the heartbeat of the house becomes almost soothing, relaxing their minds and calming their nerves. For them alone, the sound speaks of protection, of hope, of a sense of home. The closer they stand to the clock, the safer they feel.
As the clock begins to chime the feeling of safety cements itself in their minds, carrying with it a palpable protection as night overtakes the house. For them, the night holds no fear, no threat. The monsters will not harm them, and the ghosts will leave them alone.
As the last chime echoes through the house those who reside within it will find themselves sleeping. The sleep is deep, though dreamless -- unmarked by the nightmares that so often plague them. When they wake, any who have not yet been marked by the owners of the house will find that their forearms have been etched with a strange, twisting tattoo. The mark is written in a language they do not know, the ink dark against their skin. It trails from wrist to elbow, and is impossible to remove.
As those who said yes to the Stalker Plot (Night 008) wake, they are left with a feeling of general contentment, as if-- in spite of no memory of one-- they have awoken from a pleasant dream. The feeling continues coming to them in waves, and there is the faintest tugging on their strings. Curiously, they feel they have not rested at all and are, in fact, left quite exhausted from the rest.
Those who said no feel a vague feeling of displeasure, but they are well rested enough to face the beginning of the night.
For the rest of the house-guests, the night hangs heavy and full of peril. Gone are the Unnatural Servants and their macabre games. In their place, the ticking of the clock is a constant reminder of the threat the night brings.
As night arrives the Frogs grow agitated. Something about the evening seems to put them more on edge than usual, and they will not settle with being held or carried for long. Eventually they will strive to escape, swelling up in size to ward off predators. Monsters will avoid them in this state, though ghosts seem unperturbed. The frogs will not move far tonight, which may make carrying them around problematic.
In the Greenhouse the fog is broken by the presence of a ghastly carriage, empty of passengers. The driver sits quietly in the cab, seemingly waiting for his passengers. He cradles a bundle carefully in his arms, his lantern the only light in the darkness. It travels far further than it should, brightening from one edge of the path to the other. It stops, quite confusingly, at either edge of the path -- though the carriage stands nearer to one side than the other. Though the path is soft, and the dirt takes the track of any who walk upon it, the carriage has left no marks of passage.
It is as though it has simply appeared.
Jacob climbs to his feet, walking slowly to the doorway of the room he occupies. As he passes through the threshold, he vanishes from sight, and no trace of him can be found.
The woman, Ed, seems to shudder as night falls, closing her eyes for a moment before she sighs in resignation. Silently, she drifts away, into the nearest unoccupied room to close herself in. She is gone by the time the next person enters.
For any sensitive of medium level or above the night has brought something they would rather forget: the smell of rancid, rotting meat.
Though their stomachs still cry for food, there seems to be no sign of the foulness, or of any food in the Blue, Rough, or Professional Kitchens. Luckily for the houseguests, the Small and Plain kitchens have been restocked, giving them food enough to survive, though it is perhaps less grand than the fare they are used to consuming.
The Organ in the Ballroom seems to have taken a liking to the tune from earlier in the day; though no player has settled at the chair, the song plays over and over again. For the sensitive it becomes a living thing, taking a life of its own within them. When they do not speak, or focus, they will find themselves humming, rocking in time with the song.
Any near the Artist, Don, will see him start shudder and shake as night falls. Body convulsing in pain and face twisting in agony, he seems unable to hold himself upright. Though it looks like he will resume his nightly form, at first, he does not change in any way. He braces himself against the floor for a few long moments and finally stands as the houseguests start to wake, looking around in wary confusion, half hugging himself as he recovers from the tremors.
Someone is pounding on the wall in the Attic, the sound of unrelenting, though almost completely covered by the sound of the music from the Ballroom. Only those standing within the Attic will be able to hear it. The sound of a muffled female voice can be heard from the other side.
In the Study someone has lifted the lily from the table and placed it within a vase. The sound of the music seems oddly muffled here, and the Sensitive will find their thoughts and noses clear of any unpleasantness so long as they remain within the rooms.
The mobile in the Nursery is spinning over the crib, though no one stands near to turn it. The rocking chair rocks, slowly but surely, as though someone within it is soothing a troubled child.
Any who put their ears to the wall of the Closed Closet will hear soft humming, though the tune is different from the song that seems to permeate so much of the rest of the house.
The Hunters have returned to the house, crawling through the hallways and dropping on anyone who is traveling alone tonight. They are incredibly strong, and would be difficult for even a powered individual to take on alone.
They are joined by the Wallcrawlers, returned to their blind haunts, more than willing to take care of a weakened victim left by one of the other monsters. They are equally strong, though their blindness inhibits them from following far.
One of these Wallcrawlers appears to be behaving quite strangely. It travels alone, and seems almost confused and lost in his travels. Trailing quietly along, it still hunts from time to time, but appears intent on particular prey. It follows after The Eighth Doctor, and some that are close to him, as if it might be able to sense him in spite of its unseeing eyes. It never quite attacks, apparently uncertain if it should, but the connection remains strong. It makes an effort to ward off other monsters near him, as if possessive of its quarry.
Though it may take a moment to spot him, another familiar face has returned to the house, slinking through the shadows as though looking for someone. Spider is difficult to see, and will help or ignore any he has marked in the past, though he is quick to attack those who he has no reason to avoid or look after.
As day takes its leave of the house, a new creature makes a short appearance at the top of the Basement stairs. A tiny fox sits for a moment, a most troublesome Lantern by her feet. Her gaze is wary, and the moment any approach her she takes her prize in her jaws and darts out of reach. Whatever she means to do with the lantern is not revealed, she quickly makes her way to the Greenhouse and vanishes into the fog.
In the Stables, Horses have appeared in each stall. The creatures are slightly translucent, and anyone who attempts to touch them will encounter only cold air where there should be a horse. They seem oblivious to this, nuzzling pockets and trying for treats from any who come near. They do not seem at all harmful, strange though they are.
In the Small Stall, something else has appeared, a woman curled in a small ball. She is covered in a heavy, white cloak, shielding all but her hands from view. She shivers constantly, and the straw around her is covered in frost. Anyone who attempts to touch her will find that her chill can easily harm them. Even the smallest brush is likely to result in frostbite for those who get too close. To make matters worse, she seems fully conscious of the cold, and the warmth that the house-guests can provide, eagerly pressing closer to anyone who gets near. The Frozen Woman is a trap, but one the guests make for themselves.
The Hellhounds have returned to the halls of the houses, stalking between the rooms. They appear calm, alert, and almost passive, though they are as dangerous always to the injured. They seem slightly more friendly to those who have been involved in the Experiments, but they do not linger long with their friends, seeming drawn to other tasks.
One of the females has broken away from the packs roaming the halls, settling in the Day Room with the pups. She seems quite protective of her young charges, though is easily approached by any who have interacted favourably with the Hellhounds in the past.
In the Velvet Bedroom the doll has come to life, hands moving carefully over the glass walls of the cell he finds himself trapped within. He seems surprisingly calm, despite the situation, attempting to communicate with anyone who approaches. Though the glass is too thick for any sound to pass, he is nonetheless able to make himself understood, even if he must resort to blowing on the glass and writing.
His companion in Silk is as still as ever, though she seems calmer, almost smiling within her prison.
The doll from the Wax Room is gone, though anyone who searches very far will find him standing in the middle of the Husk Bedroom. His ravaged face is uncovered, cloudy blue eyes searching the room as though expecting to find something. His hands are dripping with blood, leaving a trail in his wake. His face is also bloody, though it is difficult to tell if the blood comes from the injuries or the brush of his hands. Any who attempt to touch him will find that he seems strangely warm, as though fevered, and the press of his hands can raise blisters on unprotected skin.
In the ash on the floor, someone has drawn the profile of a little girl wearing a sun hat.
In the Sewing Room the Electric Ghost has reappeared, sitting at one of the sewing tables. The sad creature sparks like a live wire, making the room dangerous to enter for anyone who cannot survive a lightening bolt. The ghost does not follow anyone, it simply remains where it sits -- head lolling uselessly to the side. Nothing can be taken from this room tonight.
The Photographer has returned, this time to the Parlour. He stands in the centre of the room, looking toward the doors that lead to the Ballroom. While his gaze does not seem particularly focused, it drifts from time to time, as if he is lost in thought, traveling around the circumference of the room but never setting on anything in particular. In spite of the lack of subject for his observation, he seems intent to focus his perhaps unseeing gaze elsewhere. He does not take kindly to being disturbed, though he will ignore any who pass by without paying him mind.
Lock seems to suffer some discomfort as the night falls, gripping his arm and biting his lip as the chimes wind their caustic way through the house. He seems to settle as the clock silences -- although any who remain close to him might notice that something seems to be moving beneath his sleeve, wiggling beneath the fabric. From the occasional brush of his hand, the movement seems to be bothering him, despite his attempts to keep it hidden. He avoids all attempts to question what has happened, instead keeping his attention focused on the night.
As the monsters begin to scatter around the house the Radios come to life; a quiet, female voice sounding through the house. The voice is incredibly calm, and the radio quality for once seems strong. "This is Specialist Harris, calling on all frequencies. This is not a secure channel, please do not respond with vital information that our enemies might use against you. I realize that this place is alarming, and most of you have no experience with the creatures within it. Remember that you are not alone, and whatever you do, don't die. Doors open both ways. Any friendlies please respond."
The Red Bedroom is on fire, the flames sending waves of heat into the hallway. Lingering within the flames is a familiar face, the Burning Man has left his fireplace for the night, remaining within the flame. He will not leave the room for the night, not even for a fresh flame.
The Trophy Room walls are bleeding. The blood is thick, and smells incredibly fresh, running down the walls in thick, vicious trails. The blood pulls on the floor, leaving slippery puddles to catch the unwary. The Dragoon is sitting in one of the chairs, his sword lays across his lap, his helmet cast to the side for the moment. His hair is close cropped, barely the suggestion of color on his head, and his eyes are intensely blue, staring at the doorway. He seems to be cleaning the blade. Any Normal Human with no sensitivity will be attacked upon entering the room. Any sensitive or non-humans will be safe.
Any Mirrored surface in the house has darkened. The shadow seems to move within the frame, swirling and at times resembling faces and hands pressed against it. Anyone who touches the mirror will feel cold and numb. Entering the Mirror Bedroom is instantly deadly.
In the Basement the Nurses are active once more, waiting for patients to appear. The Doctor is in, and taking patients.
The Surgery Ghost sits in one of the Waiting Room chairs, hands drawn into his lap.
The safe rooms tonight are the Study, The Nursery, the Chapel, and the Yellow Bedroom.
( Threat Down )
