INTRUDER
You quiver with terror as you reach for the knob of the antique door five floors below the surface of the earth. As far as you know, there is not another living soul inside the building to hear you scream, unless some specter lives behind the door. Your palm is so sweaty as you try to turn the brass knob that your hand slips off, so you try again; this time with both hands, to try to keep yourself from shaking. The door swings open. You step inside automatically and regret it almost as quickly; the room is draped with black hangings trimmed with music notes that seem to dance as the gentle breeze created by the opening door hits them. Some kind of red material forms a canopy around a coffin near the center of the room. One entire wall is covered by a enormous organ. And at the organ sits a man dressed in black so that he looks like a shadow. When the door opened, the shadow turned and stood instantly. Terror is the first and only emotion you register. The man's face—or where the face should be—looks like a long dead skull, rotting flesh stretching eerily across creaking bones. The most terrible thing about the face is a gruesome lack of eyes or a nose, and in their place, sunken holes and not a glint of light from his eyes, just blackness… blackness… blackness… You are overwhelmed by terror and the man's stench of death. The terrible thing-that-is-a-face is twisted with rage as the shadow lunges across the room at you. As the bones of his fist make a slight cracking noise against your skull and the world swirls into blackness your last thought is that he will never let you go… ever…
You are as good as dead.