A/N: INCONSISTENT VOICE YAY THIS IS DUMB AND AND A GR9 EXAMPLE OF MY CRAPPY WRITER'S BLOCK WRITING. ENJOY IF YOU CAN.
The shadows end at another wall, and another door. This door is smaller then any other Hayley has seen so far, and she hesitates again. Then she opens the door with a creak and ducks through the doorway. She straightens up and glances around, nibbling on her finger nails apprehensively. This room is slightly smaller then the one she has just left, but it's still large. Still has shadows at its back.
Inside this room are six pool tables, three on each side of the room. A single pool ball rests in the faded green centers- eight balls, painted messy gold and emblazoned with a triangle where the eight should have been. The walls are smeared with a dark, slightly squishy liquid; when Hayley pulls her hand away from the substance, her fingers pull a little with them. There are no skeletons in this room, but for a moment, in the corner of her eyes, a pair of red dots fade in from the shadows and then fade out. She shivers as she begins to walk again. The pool balls suddenly begin to shake as she passes them, and she shrieks, scrambling away. They stop when she leaves their midst. Hayley swallows and walks forward again, trying to ignore the shaking on the tables and the louder click of the fan.
The path leads her to the back wall, where a small door -only the size of her head- is installed. It is slightly ajar, and a faint ticking noise emits from its depths. This wall has no strange liquid on it. She stares at the compartment with a expressionless face. The ticking seems to go in time with the fan; tick, whir, tick, whir. Hayley takes a breath, and with a yell and shaking hand throws open the little door. There is a mass of something made out of the same liquid that coated the three other walls. It's the same size as a small softball. The ticking sounds from the interior of the black, squirming mass. Hayley takes another breath, and picks up the thing. It is like consistent jelly in her hands, and she grits her teeth in disgust as she roots around inside of it with groping fingers. Her fingers latch onto something solid, something circular. She rips it from the squirming mass and tosses the remaining intact thing back into its container. Then she inspects the item she's recovered.
It's a sealed box. Hayley wipes away the remaining grime on its surface with her shirt, and it reveals itself to be made of a semitransparent material. Nestled inside is a beating heart -a real human heart, she realizes- that's ticking. She presses an ear against the box to make sure she's hearing right. Yes, it's this heart is ticking. Hayley licks her suddenly dry lips as she pockets the 's never seen anything like this. Nothing.
A thunderous and repetitive thumping sounds above her and she looks up, startled. She hadn't noticed before, but there are glass panels in the ceiling. She feels a smile play in her lips as she recognizes the faces looking down at her: the smoke dogs. Purple Dog paws at the glass and barks soundlessly. Gold Dog just presses its nose against the glass and pants. With a snarl on its face, Purple Dog lets itself slowly sink through the glass and land in the ground below. Gold Dog watches it descend motionless. Purple Dog looks at the halfway concealed heart-in-the-box in Hayley's pocket and snarls softly.
It gently wrestles the box out of her pocket and carries it in its mouth as it walks over to the darkest corner of the room. There is a soft, almost inaudible click. Something inside the wall crumbles and dies. Sunlight and sand floods the corner as it self destructs, leaving behind a climbable but high incline. Purple Dog scrambles up it and Hayley follows. She looks back with a gasp as something rolls against her foot. One of the eight balls. She picks it up slowly, swearing she sees another pair of eyes looking back at her from the darkness of the building she's left behind. There is a note taped to the ball, one that had never been there before.
Beware the smiling gods, it says in messy, panicked scrawl. Beware the friendly dogs. Beware. Be ware. Be a ware. Be aware. Beaware. You have been warned. Hayley blinks and shakes her head, pockets the ball, and climbs the rest of the steep embankment to lay on the warm and forgiving sand next to Purple Dog's watchful form.
Somewhere, deep in the building, the false heartbeat of the fan creaks to a stop.
A/N: lookit me im trying to be dark and edgy am i cool yet? *cries because writing is hard*
