The room has an oddly stiff feel to it, the air crisp, dank and still. I can smell that familiar smell of books and slightly moldy pages, and I realise I must be in a library of some sort.

The room is dark, but I cannot find a light switch. Like the rest of the house, it seems, the lighting must be powered by gas fixtures on the walls, more historical than your modern house.

There is a flame to light a small portion of the room; a small, flickering flame on the end of a long, thin plain candle fixed to a candlestick. I walk over to it, picking it up.

I turn my attention to a bookshelf on the furthest left. There are books in the shelves, and I realise immediately that some are covered in less dust than others, pulled out slightly more than those surrounding them on their shelves.

I pick the first one out. I can’t make out the title, however I can read at the bottom of the front cover ‘Volume One’, written in golden lettering that seems worn and old.

A page is marked, so I flick across to it. It seems blank, however on careful inspection, there are words in the centre, small words that if you didn’t look close enough you could miss entirely.

Keys do not open doors in the wizard’s house. Something else must serve as a key.

Understandable. If what I’ve been through so far is not just a figment of my twisted imagination, then this statement is correct.

I spot another book across on the other shelf, similar in its deep green colour with gold lettering. This seems more worn than the first, the lettering even harder to make out on the cover. After straining my eyes a little, I spot it. ‘Volume Two’.

The form of the house changes based upon the wizard’s magic.

This would explain why the rooms seem to move.

I see a glint, and I notice another book on the shelf, just underneath where ‘Volume Two’ sat previously.

“Funny story?”

Once upon a time, there was a rich man pulling along a cart full of treasure.

His cart had broken down in the woods, but there came a passing hunter and his dog.

The rich man pleaded to the hunter to keep a close eye on his cart, to which the hunter agreed.

The rich man went to get a new cart. Meanwhile, the hunter kept watch.

Night soon fell, and the hunter grew worried for his elderly mother still at home. So the hunter told the dog to watch the cart and went home to check on his mother.

When the rich man returned, he saw the dog on guard.

So he gave the dog a reward for his master, a silver coin, to carry in his mouth.

The dog ran all the way home and brought his master the coin. But the hunter flew into a rage.

“I told you to watch the cart, and what did you do? You stole from it!” cried the master.

So the master killed the dog.

I slam the cover closed with a thud and replace it on the shelf, breathing heavily. A reading chair next to me rocks back and forth, and it takes all my willpower not to scream as I hear a deep, dark chuckle.

I move along quicker now, scared that this figure, as invisible as the last, could try and catch me. And judging by its sense of humour, this was not something that I would want to happen.

I spot a newspaper clipping sitting on a bench, and I pick it up, holding the candlelight to it carefully.

RESIDENCE BURNS DOWN

Master and his wife found dead in the wreckage. Their bodies were found to have stab wounds, so it is suspected foul play was involved in their deaths. Police say that they were murdered and the building set aflame to cover it up.
Additionally, the master and his wife leave behind a son, currently twelve. The son has been missing since the fire, the local police urge anyone with knowledge of the child’s whereabouts to come forward.

I shiver involuntarily.

I head over to the only part of the room that I haven’t yet explored, seemingly a child’s area, with smaller shelves surrounded by a brightly colourful rug with train track patterns on it. Books seem to be hanging in the air, and I realise that, again, there is someone here. A presence I can’t see.

“Sorting books is hard work,” a feminine voice says, not unkindly.

“I need something to bind the books together…”

This must be the next puzzle, I realise.


There seems to be nothing else in this room, so I take my chances heading back, and I try the door to the left. Locked. The door directly opposite the one I had just entered seems to be open, so I head inside.

The room is darker than the last, though more eerie as the walls are not a warm colour; rather, they are a dark grey-blue and heavily cobwebbed. There seem to be no windows, so the place has an odd smell of moth balls mixed in with something else.

I scan the walls, taking in my surroundings. There seem to be portraits littered here and there, so I think this must be some sort of private family gallery. However, this place doesn’t look particularly well looked after.

The first painting I pass is a white cat, seeming to be made of white wool that juts out of the frame. Next to it, a painting of a lady in a flowing white skirt in a forest clearing by a lake, holding her parasol proudly.

There’s a bookshelf, and I notice a book missing. It could be in the library?

I continue up and down the halls, noticing a worn, wooden cabinet up to the side of the room. I see a small piece of paper jutting out one of the shelves. I pick it up and read it aloud.

“Rope in a… barrel?”

I realise that I must find the rope, I must take it from the barrel if I want to pass further through this odd house.

I spot a set of glass cabinets off beyond the portraiture, and I see insects of all kinds placed within them, with pins sticking into their abdomens. There’s a blue butterfly. Something about it catches my eye, and I feel drawn to it. I run my fingers along the glass casing, but quickly I realise it won’t budge.

Resigned, I let out a sigh and return to the previous corridor. The cat is still sitting underneath the suit of armor, watching me carefully.

“You didn’t try that room,” it tells me with a wag of its tail.

“Oh?”

The cat points its tail across to the door covered in cobwebs. I don’t know if I want to even go in there, however if it's the only way…

“OK.”

The cat seems to nod, and as it rests its head on the black paws before it, it lets out a soft purr.

I walk over to the door, pushing it forward to reveal what looks like a cellar. But it’s on the second floor?

The room is dark and dank, the ground below me some sort of cobblestone laced with dirt and other dark substances I can’t identify. There are barrels scattered here and there, so I look through each of them in turn. I don't want to reach in in case there is something else occupying the barrels, however I take my chances.

“Rope!” I exclaim loudly as I turn back to the door. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.

I can’t help to spot something in the corner, a massive spider web with a small yellow butterfly caught in it. The butterfly beats its wings, trying to escape.

But there is no escape. Like the butterfly, I am caught in a strange and unfamiliar web. Like the butterfly, there is a predator lying in wait, ready to catch me.

I don't trust myself in taking the butterfly out of the web, thinking I may become ensnared myself. I leave it there, returning to the library room. On my way, I think I see the suit of armour shuffle a little, but I ignore it.

It must be my imagination.

“Ah, you’re giving me this?” the invisible figure asks as I hold out the rope.

“Thank you! Please, take this!”

I am handed a book, and I almost immediately know what to do with it. I turn it over so that I can study the cover.

“Book of Death,” I breathe.

I return back to the library door, hoping this is the last time I have to go in here. I let out a small scream when I notice blood seeping up through the floor, smudging across the yellowed carpet.

I quickly run and close the door behind me, back in the corridor. The cat is gone, and I let out a yell of surprise as I notice the statue jump from its place, running down the hallway in the opposite direction to me.

Like it’s scared of the book…

I shake my head, turning my attention back to the door before me. I head back into the gallery room, taking the book in my hand and reaching down for the gap in the bookshelf.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I open the book up a fraction, immediately regretting my decision. My hand is drawn to my face, and I itch, scratch, run my fingers along the soft skin repeatedly until there’s a gush in my face.  I scream when I realise I cannot control my actions anymore, my fingers reaching for my eyes to scratch them out…

“NO!” I yelp.

I throw the book across the room, and as it hits the wall the cover slams shut. Just as the feeling began, it ends. I no longer reach for my face, instead I rip a tissue out of my pocket, running it along the cuts and scrapes that I have made on my face; self-inflicted.

I think I am crying again, but I am too fearful to reach up and touch under my eyes, flick away the tears with my fingers.

It could be blood again.

I don’t want to see any more blood.

I walk over to the book, careful not to open it. I push it onto the shelf, and gasp as I hear a click. But it’s not the sound of a door clicking; it's the sound of the glass cabinet opening, I see it clearly from my place on the cold ground.

There’s a shuffling sound, and I scream as a skull comes hurdling towards me. Not just any skull, a large statue of a skull. It makes an odd scraping sound against the tiles, and I run, as fast as I can, for the door. I slam it shut and hear a repetitive thud against it. I press my back to the door, screaming profanities as the skull continues to bash against me.

Once the sound stops, I carefully re-open the door. I head over to the cabinet quickly, yanking out the blue butterfly. I run quickly back to the previous corridor, noticing that the suit of armour and the cat have returned. I take a deep breath and slump down next to it, wiping the sweat from my forehead as I try to steady myself.

If my problem solving is right, I need to take this false butterfly and swap it with the yellow butterfly caught in the web. As much as I dislike this concept, as much as I am fearful of getting trapped in the web myself, I realise it has to be done, otherwise I’ll never get out of here.

I gingerly curl my fingers around the yellow butterfly, careful not to hurt its beating wings. I take the blue out of my pocket, placing it in the exact space in the web the yellow had occupied.

I return to the main corridor, hoping I’m done in this section of the house. I let out a sigh as the yellow butterfly slips through my fingers, fluttering across the room until it slips into a gap in the wall.

There is an unlocking ‘click’, and I realise that the door previously locked is now opened. The cat is nowhere in sight, however the suit of armour remains.

It’s time to move on.

So you want to know who the cat is? Find out next chapter!! :)