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Before my hand could touch the door, it swung open with a great groan, revealing a brightly painted house. The furniture was old and dusty, but colorful. The paint was chipping, and the floorboards appeared rotten, yet the house may have been cheerful when it was new, but at dusk, the dust floating in the air lazily, the dust covering everything, the spider webs stretching across the room, it all appeared sinister. I glanced around, becoming more aware of my breathing patterns and the sounds my feet made on the floor as I took several tentative steps into what appeared to be a small sitting room where guests could have been greeted. I frowned as I noticed a painting made to appear as though the eyes were following me. It seemed to be the only thing in the room that did not have a thick cover of grime from lack of use on it. I cautiously walked up to the painting, studying it, when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I could hear someone, or something, moving above me. I immediately jerked my head upwards, but I saw nothing more than the yellowed ceiling. Groaning in frustration, I shook my head, now a bundle of nerves. Who would be up there? I wondered, frowning thoughtfully to myself. Certainly not Mr. Henrys; He would consider himself above being in such a place as this. I turned, and began to walk towards the staircase, intent upon seeing what would be in there, when my foot suddenly dropped, and I was pitched into darkness.