"And here," he continues conversationally, "we can also a few of our residents, painted as they appeared near the end of their existences in such...corruptible mortal states."
The paintings fully reveal themselves: the young lady is in a fraying tightrope above an alligator, one of the men is on the back of three in quicksand, another is (bizarrely) lacking pants on a barrel of dynamite ready to be lit, and the older woman is sitting on her husband's grave (which is complete with a bust and a hatchet in its head). The Ghost Host doubts the scurrying rat below is in the right mindset to appreciate it.
"Logic says that this must be mere hallucination. Yet you can feel it for yourself--there are no doors in this chamber. No matter how carefully you examine, there's absolutely nothing! How, then, are you to face the chilling challenge of getting out? Well..."
The Host sinks, settling in the dead center of the room.
"There's always my way!"
All at once, the candles blow out. The room is plunged into utter darkness, no door's outline appearing to give a single iota of light. The house stops groaning. There is, somewhere, the rain. Quiet.
Thunder shatters it, lightning splits through the darkness where no windows allow it--the ceiling is mysteriously missing. In the flashes a corpse, all bones and old rags, can be seen hanging from a taut rope beneath the rafters high above.
The lightning calms, the room goes back to being black as pitch.
Next comes a splintering snap of wood; the sickening thud of something heavy hitting the floor above.
The candles flicker back to life, one by one.
"...Oh, but we didn't mean to frighten you so prematurely. There are plenty more chills to come later. Step lively! This tour has only just begun."
No matter which way he finds himself facing at this point, the doorway reappears on the wall behind Noah's back.
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syntheid
ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
Date: 2018-12-17 10:03 am (UTC)The paintings fully reveal themselves: the young lady is in a fraying tightrope above an alligator, one of the men is on the back of three in quicksand, another is (bizarrely) lacking pants on a barrel of dynamite ready to be lit, and the older woman is sitting on her husband's grave (which is complete with a bust and a hatchet in its head). The Ghost Host doubts the scurrying rat below is in the right mindset to appreciate it.
"Logic says that this must be mere hallucination. Yet you can feel it for yourself--there are no doors in this chamber. No matter how carefully you examine, there's absolutely nothing! How, then, are you to face the chilling challenge of getting out? Well..."
The Host sinks, settling in the dead center of the room.
"There's always my way!"
All at once, the candles blow out. The room is plunged into utter darkness, no door's outline appearing to give a single iota of light. The house stops groaning. There is, somewhere, the rain. Quiet.
Thunder shatters it, lightning splits through the darkness where no windows allow it--the ceiling is mysteriously missing. In the flashes a corpse, all bones and old rags, can be seen hanging from a taut rope beneath the rafters high above.
The lightning calms, the room goes back to being black as pitch.
Next comes a splintering snap of wood; the sickening thud of something heavy hitting the floor above.
The candles flicker back to life, one by one.
"...Oh, but we didn't mean to frighten you so prematurely. There are plenty more chills to come later. Step lively! This tour has only just begun."
No matter which way he finds himself facing at this point, the doorway reappears on the wall behind Noah's back.