The woods are even darker by night than they are by day. Shadows lurk among the trees, waiting for a foolish prey. No light, no peace can be found here, only fear and pain and everlasting darkness. Hellish screams fill the night, and the worst thing is, you are alone.
In these woods there is a house. The house is old, built in the time of the now dead, and left by men to be haunted by the harsh wind, the shadows from the world beyond, and the cold breaths of times long past. You find yourself in front of this house, and the worst thing is, you are alone.
As you enter the building, built of rotting wood and crumbling stone, the chill you feel is not from the cold. The once heavy curtains are now shreds of cloth, the glass windows no longer provide you with glimpses of the outside world, as dust and dirt have spoiled the view. What furniture there is left looks ready to fall apart, and you don’t dare touch it, afraid of what evil it will awaken. And the worst thing is, you are alone.
The air you breathe is heavy and thick. It sticks to your lungs and blurs your vision. It makes your mouth feel dry and turns your saliva into slime. It’s suffocating, and yet you walk on. The floor you walk on is grey with dust of old times. There where you can spot a rare area of dark wood, it makes you wonder what creatures came here before you to erase the dust once gathered there. Your feet are heavy and slow as you hardly dare to move, afraid of disturbing the shadows and the sleeping evils that dwell there. And the worst thing is, you are alone.
The walls are scratched and marked, and they give you the feeling of following your every move. A hand shaped mark is staring at you, and you realize it’s bloody past. Red stains on the lower part of the wall and the floor erase any doubts. And the worst thing is, you are alone.
You find yourself in front of the once grand staircase and see that the lower part is gone, destroyed by some unknown force. Long scratch marks greet you from the walls on the first floor. You walk past the demolished stairs, but not before you catch a glimpse of a shadow disappearing upstairs, around a dark corner. You shiver. And the worst thing is, you are alone.
Now there’s a wooden door in front of you. It’s slightly ajar, but it’s too dark for you to see what’s on the other side. You push against the door and it opens further without the slightest sound, something that bothers you in a house this old and decayed. And the worst thing is, you are alone.
There are stairs going down and you descend. There’s not a single light to guide you on your way, but you manage not to fall. There’s one step that creaks before you reach the bottom, and then you’re in a hallway, illuminated only by a lone candle on the floor some thirty feet away from you. You walk towards it, but just as you reach it, all light goes out. And the worst thing is, you are alone.
Frightened, you want to turn back. Go back upstairs, though the door, the rooms, the front door, back into the woods. But there’s no way back. You feel hot air against your neck and hear a low, ominous growl. There’s no way back. And the worst thing is, you are alone.
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