No light. No happiness. No sounds. Only the crickets living in the blood filled cracks, rubbing there little sound-makers together. There are no sights of fun filled happiness throughout the room of dark despair, just loneliness.
The blood-painted ceiling rules the lair, with the damp air filling it. Torches fill all four corners, but fog only inches off the water line makes it almost impossible to even see the light of that torch. So much fog that you can’t even see the floor that you’re walking on.
There’s just one, only one creepy part, a creature, appearing from the pitch black tunnels of death, walking slowly towards the organ, the organ hidden in a dark, lonely place. It was laying there, just as dark as the phantoms soul. The person walks up to the organ, sits down on the old, screechy chair, and starts to play.