Lisa Morgan -- Front Room<br/><br/>It didn't take long for the group to split apart, and whether she wanted to or not Lisa quickly found herself alone in the foyer. The oppressive silence hung on the air like a funeral curtain, and the cloying smells of mold and fresh paint drifted to her nose. The lights were dim, and with the darkly painted walls there was precious little light to guide her footsteps. As she looked around, a creak, loud and impossibly long, sounded from behind a door ahead and to her left. From what she remembered about the house files, the door should have led to the parlor. A heavy *thump-thump-thump* drew her closer;<em>something</em>was behind that door...<br/><br/>Father Owen -- The Gardens<br/><br/>Raindrops spattered lightly on the ground as Owen wove his way through the garden. The wet grass was cold and stiff, like trying to wade through thousands of tiny, clutching hands. The rose bushes that had once lined the garden's perimeter had gone wild over the years, and now beautiful red and white petals dotted the landscape. Something was wrong, though, and Owen could smell it. The flowers had none of their trademark fragrance; in fact, the garden seemed infected with a pungent, meaty scent that defied description. Blossoms were hardly the only things that had flourished, however; thorny vines were wrapped around the grungy, once-white trellises and snaked along the overgrown pathways. The needle-pointed thorns crunched under Owen's feet with almost every step. As he reached the far edge of the garden he noticed several dark patches on the ground where the grass had died and turned brown, or in some cases had been utterly eradicated, leaving only bare patches of earth. Some were only a few inches wide, others several feet across. All were along the edge of the property. The wind slowly began to pick up, and the rain started to fall harder. Owen couldn't be certain, but it almost sounded like the wind was...<em>whispering</em>to him...<br/><br/>Jun Kawashiro -- First Floor Hallways<br/><br/>Jun's footsteps echoed softly down the hallways as he walked, exploring the house. Every door he tried stood firm, locked -- or jammed. The lights were brighter in the hallway than in other parts of the house, but they flickered on and off at random intervals, producing a slow, almost hypnotizing strobe effect. Some of the walls held artwork or portraits, although most were heavily faded or damaged by exposure. The patterned, pastel wallpaper seemed to go on forever, and the carpet squished wetly in places beneath Jun's shoes. A little brown spider swung from a thin strand of webbing, just below eye-level, and as he walked past it caught in his hair. Turning a corner, he took a few steps and walked past another water-logged painting, bumped against a wooden decor table, and stepped on an oddly familiar patch of soggy carpet. As he reached the next corner, another spider's web caught in his hair, and Jun began to suspect something was very wrong...