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The place looks to be over a century old, shrouded in a cluster of large oak trees. Threatening dark clouds and thunder signal that another rainstorm is going to hit, so you quickly make your way up the long gravel road to the front porch. A knock on the door reveals that there is no one home. The windows are boarded up; the roof and sides of the house are riddled with neglect.

Deserted.

Rain begins to fall. You circle around to the back and find the entrance to a cellar. A rush of warm air strikes your face as you pull the storm doors open and quickly descend the stairs. Squinting in the darkness, you fumble with your pockets for the matches. You almost jump as a large rat scurries across the floor and disappears into another room. Outside, the heavy rain is pounding the earth, but you feel little comfort in your refuge.

Using one match, you slowly venture forth to the opposite end of the room to try the light switch. Nothing. There is a small white candle sitting on a dusty shelf, so you light it. The cellar looks to be completely empty. You wander through, what seems like an endless maze of rooms, when something catches your eye. Carved into the very foundation is a doorway that doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the house. You approach it, holding the candle in front of you, and peer into the small passage. There is a steep, narrow stairway that spirals downward and out of sight. The ancient stone masonry gives you the impression that this was here long before the house was even built. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to investigate and slowly descend the stairs.
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