Tarabat was a city surrounded by hidden ancient wonders, and Taylor, a blonde elf guy with glasses, had always been fascinated by the discoveries made in the area. Colossal runestones under the nearby magic academy. An old settlement several days away built on top of a demon shrine. So many mysteries. So much to learn.
It was his first night in a hotel in Tarabat. Tomorrow, the rest of his team would arrive and prepare to visit the dig site thirty miles South.
Already, his perception of Tarabat felt... off. Although it was one of the towns with the highest population of elves by percentage, and he should have felt welcome, he still felt... a little too welcome. It was a strange feeling, but it was almost as if the land itself was an old friend greeting him.
He tried to put his fears aside as he settled into bed with a glass of water on his nightstand. He took a big gulp of water, then turned off the lights.
He had an easy time sleeping. Too easy...
~~~~~ ~~~~~
He knew it was a dream the moment he entered it, yet it felt so real. Him in a sunset autumn forest. A dirt road ahead. Fifty feet ahead, stone walls and wrought iron gates, and beyond, a mansion in disrepair, made from dark brown, dried out wood. The windows were impossible to see beyond; there was only darkness inside.
Something was wrong. He was never aware of his own dreams. And they never felt real. He crouched down and touched the dirt. The dry, packed earth was cool and not impossible to scratch.
Curious yet nervous, he stepped forward as a breeze picked up, blowing from his right to his left, and taking some of the autumn leaves with it.
He was still in his pajamas. Slippers, fuzzy pants, and a fuzzy shirt. How was he aware this was a dream? And what was going on?
Taylor prayed the answers would be found in the mansion, and he began walking forward. The wind died down, then picked up again in the opposite direction. Leaves twirled in miniature twists of invisible, crisp air.
He made it to the gates and saw no lock on them whatsoever. He placed his arms on the left gate and pushed it; the hefty iron budged, squeaking and groaning in metallic agony, as if it had been disturbed from centuries of slumber.
After the left of the two gates was open, Taylor wondered if anyone heard the gate move, and whether that would be good or bad. His sensitive elf ears heard nothing but the wind and the ever so faintest metal reverberations coming from the gate he just pushed, and the gate's sound was soon gone, leaving just the wind.
He stepped through into a small courtyard with leaf-smothered grass, a brick path to the front doors, and an empty, crumbled fountain. The pile of smashed rubble in the center could have been anything, but the arrangement of the chunks and the sharp edges made it clear that this wasn't natural weathering's work.
He steeled his resolve as he approached the front door. He was an archaeologist. Twenty years as an archaeologist, and thirty before that where he trained and learned. Fifty was young for an elf, but he reminded himself that he was a seasoned professional by human standards. And any standard that reassured him was what he needed.
He approached the imposing blackened double doors and knocked three times. There was no response, save for a sound from somewhere that could have been a squirrel or a maid with a cup of tea or a ravenous monster.
The doors slowly opened, and Taylor stepped back, expecting someone to greet him. But nobody did. Beyond was simply a dark mansion lit only by whatever sunlight managed to crawl in through the windows.
He cautiously stepped inside and looked around. He was in a large foyer, darkened with shadows and age, with many unlit hallways leading to the left, right, and ahead. Two staircases led up to a second story balcony, and more hallways. A grand, unlit chandelier hung from the ceiling on a tarnished chain.
The doors slammed behind him with a thud resembling a giggle. He jumped a few inches into the air and almost flailed his arms in panic, but he managed to get a hold of himself. He turned around and checked the doors. They weren't just closed, but locked.
He wondered if it was worth speaking. He summoned the archaeological courage to reach out and see if anyone was there...
"Hello? Is anyone in here?"
No response, then footsteps from the hallway on the right. He turned his head. There was a flash of something rounding a corner and moving out of view, but he didn't see what it was.
Fear gripped him as he cautiously followed. He went through the hallway lined with doors, making steps just loud enough to not startle anyone nearby, but just quiet enough to not draw attention to himself from far away.
He reached the corner and turned it. Another windowless hallway, lined with paintings rather than doors. He looked at the nearest painting and saw... himself, staring back at him. He recoiled upon having the realization.
The next painting was similar, yet something about his expression was off. His face looked like it was being tickled...
He felt fingers touch his sides.
"Whoooaoahahahaha..." he giggled out before managing to look down. Just as he looked down, the sensations stopped, and he saw nothing touching his sides. He looked around. Nothing was there.
He did an experimental, sudden poke at the air behind him to check for anyone invisible. Nobody was there.
A feeling of vulnerability started to fill him. Whoever was here was more than happy to play with him, and he had no idea who or what they were. An ancient spirit? A powerful mage? Or some dark beast that liked to play with its food before closing in for the kill?
He was afraid to look at the other paintings, but thankfully, there were only two more. He cautiously looked up at the next one. The painting was a full body portrait... of him being tickled several seconds ago, in this very hallway. A pair of white, feminine, translucent hands was doing the tickling, and they faded into nothingness past the wrists.
Taylor expected to be tickled again, yet it didn't happen. He was almost disappointed.
He looked at the final painting in dread, and what he saw was himself half-stuck in the floor with an oddly pleasured expression on his face.
The wooden floor shifted underneath his slippers, and it liquified before he could react. He started sinking into the quicksand-like wood, and he struggled to escape. Was this about to be the end? Was he about to be sucked into the floor and suffocated? Trapped for something to devour later? Would the floor itself chew him up? His ankles sank below the floor, then his knees, and then it accelerated. Soon, his thighs went, then his waist, then his hips, then his stomach...
...Then it stopped. The floor hardened again, and he was thoroughly stuck. His legs were frozen in not just the wood floor, but also the cold stone underneath it.
Then the tickles started again. Something unseen in the floor started tickling his embedded sides.
"Ah-hahaha... Ah... Oh..." he mumbled helplessly. His body shuddered as his stuck, immobile lower half was tormented. The ghostly hands moved dexterously, moving from his sensitive sides to the backs of his thighs and knees, penetrating through his clothes to get at his immobile body.
The hands moved towards his groin, and he shivered and mumbled out more laughter as a finger tickled his balls.
"Ah, not there, ahaha..." he mumbled.
It was oddly arousing. Was that this entity's intent? Or was it just a side effect of playing? Either way, his dick didn't have room to grow; it was surrounded by pajamas, then solid, cold stone.
More fingers groped his balls, toying with them and tickling them. At least it wasn't as agonizing as his sides...
Then the floor liquified again, unexpectedly drawing his hands and more of his torso into the floor before it re-solidified. He was up to his chest in ground.
The tickling stopped, and then something appeared in front of Taylor. A misty figure materialized out of thin air, perfectly white, save for the shadows cast on it and her long, black hair, which itself was just as translucent as she was. A curvy woman with bangs over her eyes, wearing a white robe, hovering just inches off the ground.
"Welcome," she said in a wispy voice.
"Who are you? And why do you love tickling so much?"
