The streets were dark, only the scattered lamplights breaking the moonless night; Gina paced up and down, in front of the abandoned mansion. Her head filled with memories and thoughts, all connected to her previous visit, to the ghost-resident of the mansion of horrors (and pleasures).
Dressed only in a mini-dress and athletic footwear, she kept toying with the camera in her hand, twirling her hair; determined to go in, yet terrified at the idea of doing it alone. How could she, though, have asked her friends to join her? It was her mission, it felt, and, besides, after last time Dana avoided like the plague the mansion's neighborhood.
One last, deep breath, a final drag from the cigarette; Gina, walking steadily despite her palpitating heart, crossed the threshold of the mansion and found herself back in the now-familiar dusty living room.
It all came back vividly; confidently, she climbed the stairs, ignored the creaking of the rotting wood under her slim frame.
She found the room wherein she discovered unprecedented enthrallment, sat on the edge of the metal bed; examined the unchanged room.
Gina hung the camera on the wall, next to a spiked baseball bat; what the bat was for, or how it had been used in the past, were thoughts that involuntarily crossed her mind and were instantly evicted, Gina willing only to accept as facts what she knew firsthand.
She sat on the metal table, crossing and uncrossing her exposed legs, caressing softly her thighs, her breasts; growing impatient, hungry for another round. Nothing happened; it was all too quiet, too...dead.
She lit a cigarette, the smoke had no way out and quickly the room was engulfed in a thin mist. Gina desperately sought for the shadow inside the smoke, but, there was nothing; a small grey cloud of ancient dust and ashes rose, when she stepped outside the room.
She wandered into the other rooms, spending a few minutes in each, hoping for the reemergence of the ghost; nothing happened. Another cigarette smoked, more minutes wasted; with disappointment filling her heart, she descended heavily the stairs.
Ready to go out, hit the bars; find excitement someplace else, just so her anticipation would not go completely to waste. Alas, she took her dress off, folded it, and placed it on a small table near the front door. She investigated the other rooms, opened closed doors; she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Merely abandoned rooms of a former household; a faint music echoed within the dead walls.
She raised her head, listened attentively; the dark was complete, she could hardly see in front of her nose, yet, she followed the music through the rooms, the corridors, believing it to be a call from the ghost.
She walked through the half-open door, whence a faint yellow light emitted, without second thoughts. She descended the stone staircase, holding on to the moldy wall; she stepped into the basement and gasped.
All alone, yet the instruments covering the vast space were numerous; each more horrifying and mysterious than the other.
She walked past the machines resembling Inquisition torture instruments, her breath growing heavier with every passing second, her head throbbing. She placed the camera on one of the instruments in the corner, turned it on.
