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This is one of the writing projects for our 10th Anniversary.


This one is based on a suggestion by James Crow.


It's an open RP (though interesting things may be placed before you), so have fun!




You awake and get ready for the day.


As you leave your house and the door closes behind you, you find yourself standing before a large and sinister looking mansion.


You spin around to go back into your house, only to find that it is no longer there!


A quick search of your surroundings reveal that the mansion sits upon an island only slightly bigger than the mansion itself.


The island rises hundreds of feet above, what appears to be, an endless ocean - with no sign of any other land as far as the eye can see.


As you approach the front of the mansion, you see a grave yard to your left and to your right, the mansion sits at the very edge of the island - with balconies overhanging the shear cliffs which surround the entire island.


You climb the steps to the front doors, which open as you approach them.


A voice speaks to you from within, "Welcome, you have been summoned for the reading of a Will. Others have also been summoned and may already be present. Enter and make yourself at home. All upon the island is open to you. The reading of the Will will be upon the morrow - to those who survive."


As you come closer to the opening doors, you see that the voice came from an empty doorway. . .

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Looking into the Mansion, many questions filled my mind.

How did I get here?

Who's Will is going to be read?

And how did they know I would be here?

I needed answers. And the only way to get them was in this building.

With nothing to lose, I went in...



Hardly noting the door behind me slamming shut, I headed upstairs. Following the faintest of melodies. Entering one of the many dark rooms, the door behind me shut.

Spinning around, I tried to turn the door handle, only to find that there was none. Trapped, trapped like a rat. As I looked at the door a hear a soft voice behind me, whisper in my ear.

"Welcome, stranger."

Edited by James Crow

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*Muse thinks this plot sounds strangely like Agatha Christie's "Ten little Indians", but will attempt to participate anyway*



A soft fog fills the room, and a sweet, musky smell. Eyes watering, I look aorund the dimly lit room. Scarlet covers drape heavily over everything, as if somone were planning to paint the ceilings with blood. Jet-black curtains on the walls hang to the carpeted floor, interspersed with intricate tapestries of hunting scenes. A chandelier overhead appears to be hung with blood-red crystals, giving the only light in the room.

I rush to the single large window and struggle to open it, feeling a shock when it slides up heavily but easily to let in a blustering breeze--and then a wave of disappointment when I try to put my head out and discover the nearly-invisible but sturdy screen, and silver bars cris-crossing the window, cutting me off from the outside...

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"Make yourself at home" is the worst thing a host can possibly say. Don't they _know_ the state of my home? This place is nice, if a bit heavy on the echo chambers--I can't do that to it! Then again, anyone who would tag "if you're still alive" onto the end of their greeting deserves to get their place trashed. Making myself at home it is. I opened doors, leaned in for a looksie, and shut them again. Not the kitchen. . .not the kitchen. . .still not the kitchen. . .what's a woman got to do to find a snack around here? . . .door to the stairs, down the stairs, shut the door, more doors, still not the kitchen. . .door, door, door. . .twenty doors. . .no kitchen, and no stairs. . .

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Let's be systematic about this. Open each door in turn, one at a time, do not shut doors again. First door, then: a living-room set pulled together around a coffee table and the lingering aroma of coffee gone stale, and a visitor that smoked. Second door: a portable camping bed, disheveled, jammed into the corner of a tiled room, smelling of half-cured pork. Third door: filled wall-to-wall with a pedal loom warped with brown hues, the tang of tannins and oil in the air. I'm suddenly not as hungry any more. Fourth door: piles, heaps, mountains of dirty laundry, and never mind that 'do not shut doors again' rule because I'll die of B.O. otherwise. Slam that door shut, almost break my wrist holding the reverberations under control, let _go_ of the doorknob and let it rattle to a halt. Third door, peek around the doorjamb at the set-up of bicycle pedals and chain heading under the loom to parts unknown, fat and rusty. Bicycle chains drink oil--eat oil--and the dumbest question ever pops up--what do houses eat?


I'm sure I _shut_ the fourth door. Dayum, it's ripe.

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A man walks the empty halls, out of breath. 'It has been a long time. A lot has happened, too much to believe, but it is all true. Now where to start...the begining, no....the voice! That is where I shall start.' Slowly the man's figure begins to fade. 'Unfortunately, it looks like I don't have much time.'


I was trapped in my room, I could hear sceaming and the sound of doors slamming, but it was faint. As if worlds where seperating us, but then came a voice. A sweet voice, one the lonely poet dreams about. I turned to face it, not knowing then what I know now, the secrect of the mansion, but I get ahead of myself. Back to the voice, it came from a full body sized mirror. I could see myself, but as the voice spoke more my figure vanished and a women stood in its place. And like any respectable man I checked her out, starting with the feet and going up. She was bare foot and wore a black lace gown. Most of her face was covered by he straight, crimson hair, all I could see was her smile. Her smile...I remember it so well, even now, it captivates me. It was sly and playful, full of hidden beauty, but closed by lonelyness.


"Come closer stanger."


Like a moth to a flame, I did not resist, but the results were horribly the same.....


The figure lept out of the mirror and I could feel her cold hands grasp my body in an embrace one would give only to their love. "You shall give me form, and I will take this land as my own." My eyes filled with horror, then I felt a sharp pain in my neck. Darkness clouded my vision, and as she released me I could hear her mainical laughter, and see her grin. Then the darkness consumed me.


I woke in the graveyard outside, a note pinned to my chest. It read....


Dear Mr. Crow,

I hope it is not to late.

For the evil in the house now wakes.

And you, like the others before,

must stop the evil once more.

The ever burning candle,and an old glass bell,

is what you shall need to send her back to hell.

Do this before the next day,

or you shall not be saved!

Edited by James Crow

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