Outlast

Chapter Two

I step into the room. In front of me was a room no bigger than a wardrobe, a spiral metal staircase leading up to the next floor which I guessed was an attic as I climbed to a high window. Darkness surrounded me, pulling me in. I felt watched, but that is impossible, such a tiny room there couldn't of been someone in here with me. 

Eyes focused on the staircase, I clamber it, like a small child running to their presents on Christmas morning. I made a mistake, it started to violently shake side to side. Being so old I wasn't surprised. I leap, and make it to the top without a scratch. What i see next is what shocked me the most.

Children's beds. Toys. Doll heads ripped off most of them, the mattresses flipped off the bed and covered with dark stains, I tried my hardest not to think about what occurred and if the children are safe. 

The scratch marks, they're back. But what caused them? Whoever caused them, did they harm the people here? Now this is the story I needed. I creep into the room, slow and steady steps, God knows how old that wooden oak flooring has been there for. Inspecting a china doll, plaited brown hair with a black pinafore dress. A girls name is written on the arm.  

"Nicole"

In thin squiggly writing a child learning to write would produce. My heart filled with sadness thinking about what has happened to dear Nicole, and what she was doing locked in this tiny room with many other children. I place it back down carefully. Looking around the room, the walls were ruined with damp, the baby pink wallpaper now turned to a green tint. 

I look to my left, what looked to be a wooden box, however upon further inspection, it was in fact an old set of drawers;  Caked in dust, representing the years it has been untouched. The middle draw, hanging on by a single hinge but still intact. A loose paper hanging out of it, almost beckoning my name to give it the attention it longed for. On that paper, a crayon drawing of a tall man with dagger like teeth holding a needle. What were these kids thinking? They must of viewed those who worked here as monsters. Underneath the drawing, scribbles of letters spelt out:

"The bad man, he wont let us rest. I want to go home"

I felt so bad for those children, God only knows what happened inside these walls. I wondered how old the drawing was. How long were they living in these conditions for? There is still a lot to discover but I did not have enough time to find everything I needed. 

Dear Nicole, I hope you're safe.