A thick, heavy mist shrouds the room from my sight. The fog is moist as it begins to fade. A tall, carved arc swoops across the cavern entrance. it is engraved with strange markings of skulls and roses. My eyes refuse to adjust to the darkness. I feel a sharp grip on my wrist. His fingers are like frozen bones crafted of ice, but the touch is light, like the gentle caress of your cheek. He guides me, his fingers intertwining with mine. As my hands tingle with the cold of his bones, I struggle to get away. Yanking away from his grasp, his bony fingers tighten and his pace quickens. I stumble blindly across the slippery tiling. Suddenly I am shoved sharply to the ground. He releases me and hisses into my ear. “Beware…” His dry whisper echoes throughout the hollow cavern, and with a mighty sweep of his midnight-velvet cape, he disappears into blackness.

I am left stunned with a cloud of dirt cluttering and cramming its way into my nose. I let out a dusty, raspy cough and bolt to my feet. Gone. He was just there, in front of me. He was just there! But now…

He’s gone.

I brush my hands off on my dress, a dusty grey mark stains the fragile fabric. Rubbing my eyes, I glance around to see if there is any sign of HIM… The whole room is old-style. Beautifully romantic, yet tragically dark. The cavern is mysterious, with a thin fog flowing along the ground, and darkness spilling into every crack and crevice. Furniture is usually plenty in many normal homes.

and this home is anything BUT normal…

In this horrible labyrinth, the furniture is minimal, only adding to the discomfort. Hiding in a corner, I peer around and spot a vast, broad bookcase. The carved wood is grand, with swirling curls and markings that match the arc in the entrance. I envision the wonderful case sporting hundreds of books in the library. My vision is shattered when I realize that only one lonely book sits upon the crooked shelf. I can tell it used to be a clean, pearly white with fancy gold lettering. Now the spine is tattered, the cover is worn and grubby, the letters are peeling and dull. The words spell something I can’t recognize. French maybe? I turn away and grit my teeth.

I step over to a shadowed table, draped in a blood-red cloth. Gingerly, I take the fabric between my fingers, it is soft and heavy. Velvet. White rose petals are strewn about, and a piece of paper flutters from the wind blowing from a window. Light streams in gently, it is darkening into a soft grey outside and I observe that the window is taped over. I turn back to the piece of artwork. The paper is crackly at the edges and is blackened. I lift the paper from the table and stare at the sketch. It is filled in black with only a perfect white rose in the middle.

A voice pops into my mind and startles me. “I drew it myself…” The deep voice echoes through the hall. I drop the sketch onto the tabletop and fling my head around to face him. I see a dark, shadowed figure, he stands in front of a long wooden case. The case isn’t very tall, maybe two feet high. It is lined with shimmering white candles, perched in gold carved holders. All of them are lit, the flames flicker in the dark, sending bits of light sparkling across this mask. Cracked white ceramic appears to be what the mask is made of. He glides forward soundlessly. He seems to float towards me silently without his feet even skimming the floor. The masked figure stops abruptly, right in front of my face! My throat weaves knots across my vocal cords, making it feel tight. His bony, pale arms shoots out without warning to the side and all the candles disappear into wispy swirls of smoke. His arm quickly tucks back into his cloak. My heart is racing. He smoothly draws back his hood and extends his arm, reaching out to my face. His long, slender fingers just barely brush my cheek.

I try to scream but no sound comes out.

Then, I peel off his mask.

This time, when I scream, the sound is clear and shrill. My vision begins to blur as I hear maniacal cackling spurting from his mouth. His shrieking laughter rings throughout the cave bitterly as the last thing I see is, He evaporates into thin air. All that’s left is a pale swirl of smoke, and a white rose… laying gently at my feet.

That is when I collapse onto the crimson carpet and black out.