The hallway is quiet, save for the snowstorm howling outside. There’s a narrow, unmarked door at the very end, almost hidden by shadows in the dim light.
(live: 2s)[Cautiously, you twist the doorknob and peer inside as the door creaks open. A small cloud of dust billows out, and you catch the faint scent of musk, and dirt, and …something else you can’t recognize.]
(live: 4s)[[[Go inside?->inside-closet]]]The door creaks open further to reveal a small, dark room.
(live: 2s)[All sorts of shoes are scattered around the floor: rain boots with worn, scratched leather, broken heels with ripped padding, sneakers with missing laces, their soles peeling off.]
(live: 4.5s)[Leaning by the doorway is a tall, dusty mirror that bears deep cracks down what must have previously been a smooth, reflective face. It’s so fragmented now that you can only catch glimpses of your reflection as you shift away from it. Not that there’s enough light in here to see, anyway.]
(live: 8s)[Lining the walls of the room are rows upon rows of compact shelves, filled to the brim with what must be old shoeboxes. Most of their labels seem to have been ripped away or scratched off. You catch a few letters here and there in the dim light, and you pull curiously at the closest box to you to get a (link:'closer look--')[closer look-- (link:'‘m’ --')['m'-- (link:'‘o’ --')['o'-- (link:'‘r’ --')['r'-- [[‘t’--]]]]]]]The shoebox slips from your grip, and another cloud of dust rises from your fingertips. You cough and step backwards, startled. You crash into the shelf behind you and you stumble, lightheaded, trying to grab at the shelves for balance.
(live: 4.5s)[There’s a sudden, heavy pressure on the back of your head, followed by the sound of two successive slams emanating from the ground.]
(live: 8s)[The first slam must have been the shoebox that slipped from your grasp.]
(live: 11.5s)[The second, you think distantly, belatedly, was probably yourself.]
(live: 14s)[It’s the last thing you think before you (link: "black out")[(goto-url: 'Mortys.html')].]