Things are smooth sailing for a while after that, and for a mansion with TARDIS-like qualities (bigger on the inside) it's pretty boring. Well, except of course for the notes I keep finding everywhere from a guy (or gal? Who the heck knows?) with a weird obsession with romance.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging. After all, I have a weird obsession with elevators and revolving doors. But even though I think they're cool as heck, I don't talk about them in every other sentence. Now that's just annoying. I mean, is it possible to think someone's voice is annoying even though you've never heard it before? If so, that's how I feel about this person.
It got to the point where I would look and see if the note had the word "romance" or something similar and if it did I'd crumple it up, until I got to the one where they talk about a mysterious bottle of "red wine" that appeared while they were unconscious. That in and of itself is creepy in my opinion, but then they go on to say the taste is "strongly metallic."
"Yeah, that ain't wine, buddy." I say out loud, shuttering. I had so many questions about this. Who's blood was it? Who got it? There's no way you could bleed enough to fill a bottle and stay alive, right? Was the person who drew the blood the same one who brought it to them? I shiver again, this is not a very romantic thought process. Oh crap, now I'm doing it!
I put the note down and keep moving. A cardboard pumpkin jumps out at me, making a sound I've only heard once before: when my mom was stupid enough to allow my nieces to "play" the piano we randomly have in the guest room because there's nowhere else to put it. Normally these things had no effect on me, but this time I jumped, making a noise I'll never admit to anyone.
"Darn!" I mutter, hugging the cutout. I'd been doing this to every one that had jumped at me, not quite sure why. Maybe it's because they're cute? Or maybe I'm crazy? Probably a little of both ...
To reassure myself, I open up my backpack and dig in it. Sure enough, the many juice boxes I'd packed were still there. To calm my nerves I open one and drink it all down. The liquid is red, but thankfully it's most certainly not metallic tasting. It's not blood, just normal fruit punch. Nothing to worry about I'm not getting thirsty anytime soon. I drop the empty box on the floor (Spooky doesn't have a problem with people leaving notes so I doubt she'll mind this) and continue on.
Nothing else noteworthy (Badum tssss) happens until around room 51. I'd seen rooms with multiple doors before of course, but this one seemed different somehow. There was a door on the left, a short hall leading to a dead end on the right, and a long hallway leading into darkness in the middle.
This has to be a trap, it just has to be. There's probably something horrible waiting for me at the end of that hall. But the more I stare into it, the more I want to go down it. Is this why characters in horror media are so stupid? They're just curious?
Deciding on something, I reach into my backpack and pull out a pad of paper and some crayons. I decide on my favorite crayon, dandelion, for the job. I tare off a piece of paper and begin writing my note.
Dear Fellow Adventurer,
I'm about to do something dumb, and go into the long dark hallway up ahead. I advise you to not do the same. After all, I'll probably get traumatized at the very least. But I'm too curious not to go.
Zoe
I then take out more crayons and draw a cartoony picture of myself screaming and running the other direction out of the hallway, putting the note on the floor picture-side up. That'll surely get a potential readers attention. After all as every good author knows, most people judge your book by its cover. So, you need to be sure you've got a good one.
With one last look at the room, I take a deep breath and head into the hallway.