I watched the zombies intently as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. They milled about, but showed no sign of crossing the porch threshold. Turning away from the zombies, I studied the green lights. They looked like normal gaslamps, but why would an abandoned building have running gas?

Cautiously, I tapped the glass containing the flickering green flame. It was cool to the touch, cold even. Definitely not normal fire then. Must be some sort of magic. Something the Decoction Killer put up to ward off the zombies maybe?

I tried the door handle. To my surprise it was unlocked. I opened the door slowly, prepared for an ambush.

So I was ready when the vase flew at my head. I quickly ducked behind the door and the blue and white pottery crashed into the sturdy wood, spraying the porch with sharp fragments.

I peeked around the door, readying my push spell to slap down the next projectile. No second vase came, however, so I edged into the building with my head on a swivel. As I entered, more gaslamps burst to life, illuminating a large foyer.

Even with the room lit up, I saw no sign of who had thrown the vase. The likely candidates were either the Decoction Killer, or a milladen. They probably used the vase as a distraction and ran deeper into the building.

The foyer had clearly been designed to impress, with paintings, vases, and dark hardwood floors. The four years of abandonment had added a coating of dust and discoloration, but overall the building had held up fairly well. Hallways stretched out in either direction, and a pair of grand staircases, just behind the front desk, led to an open second floor.

I started for the front desk, but stopped and eyed the chandelier hanging overhead. The wrought iron and glass monstrosity looked like it could crush me flat. Better not to trust anything in an enemy safehouse. The floor creaked ominously as I edged around the chandelier and over to the desk.

The solid wood counter was empty, save a thick layer of dust, and an empty picture frame. There were rows of hooks where keys would have hung, but they were all vacant. Frowning, I turned to the staircases. Should I go up, or explore the first floor? Where would the Decoction Killer hide out? I had no way of knowing.

A rattling noise came from behind me, and I spun, shamshir raised. I scanned the room, bathed in the eerie green light, but nothing moved. The empty picture frame still sat on the desk, and I nudged it with the tip of my sword. It fell to the floor with a sad clatter.

With a sigh, I shook my head and started exploring the first floor. I checked doors as I made my way down the hallway, but they were all locked. I could try and break them down, but I would save that for a last resort. It would be loud and tiring. Without knowing exactly where the killer was hiding, it just wasn't worth tearing down every door.

The hallway ran the length of the building and continued around the corner before dead-ending in a thick door. I expected this door to be locked too, but it opened a few inches before getting stuck. Peeking through the crack, I could just make out the drawers of a wardrobe and what could have been a bed frame.

Barricaded, interesting. The gap was too small to squeeze through and would make breaking down the barricade difficult. Easier to just go back to the foyer and take the stairs there. Decision made, I turned around.

And came face to face with a figure only inches away. With a yelp, I jumped back and slashed wildly with my shamshir. The sword cut straight through the misty figure, pulling and distorting the image like a finger dragged through paint.

The silhouette didn't respond, just slowly faded into nothing. When it was fully gone and my heartbeat started to even out, I shook myself and started walking. “Fucking jumpscares,” I muttered to myself.

Well, if it wasn't certain before, it sure was now. Something weird was up with this hotel. I had yet to run into any ghosts in this game, but this definitely struck me as haunted house material. I wasn’t sure how effective my weapons would be against ghosts, but so far things had just been creepy, not actively trying to kill me.

Entering the foyer, I was too lost in thought and forgot about the chandelier. With a rattle and ping of snapping metal, it fell straight for me. I dove out of the way, just managing to get clear before it slammed into the hardwood floor. Shards of glass sprayed in every direction, cutting a line across my cheek and embedding a finger width of glass into the meat of my sword hand.

Considering the ocean of glass covering the floor, the minor wounds were getting off easy. I stood carefully, glass shards sliding off me in a rain. Thank God for armor and thick boots.

I managed to get the glass out and bandage my hand. It hurt like hell, but shouldn’t affect my fighting ability too much. Well, if the Decoction Killer didn’t know I was here before, he probably did now. The chandelier crashing hadn’t exactly been subtle.

The barricade at the back staircase implied that the killer was limiting ways to get upstairs, giving him a single front to defend. Unless it was some kind of reverse psychology, that meant he was above. I hurried up the left side of the double staircase.

Blame either my haste, or terrible perception stat, but I completely missed the tripline on the fifth stair. I had just enough time to register my boot snagging the thin metal cord, before I was falling.

I fell a dozen feet and hit my side, hard. Rotten wood and carpet fragments rained down around me. I groaned and rolled off my aching hip. Nothing felt broken, but I was covered in scrapes and bruises.

I was in some kind of basement hallway that stretched out in either direction, but I couldn't see very far. The green light pouring in from above was the only source of illumination.

As I lay on my back, recovering, the hole far above slowly closed. Mist swirled in a vortex over the collapsed section of stairs before coalescing into wooden boards. The boards snapped into place with finality, slowly blocking out the green light.

I scrambled to my feet, desperate to escape before I got sealed in. The wall was solid brick, the mortar leaving only thin grooves for handholds. I drove my battered fingers at the grooves, but couldn't support my weight.

After a few minutes of desperate scrambling, the final board clicked into place and I was plunged into darkness.

I stared, unseeing, at where the hole had been, breathing hard. Where was the lantern I had gotten from the ferryman? With a feeling of dread, I realized I had left it on the porch when I entered the building. The gaslamps had been so bright I had entirely forgotten about needing a lightsource.

Seemed like one mistake after another in this nightmarish place. I was pushing myself too hard, getting sloppy. How long had it been since I slept? Infiltrating the milladen base, twice, chasing the Decoction Killer, fighting at the Bitter Flagon; this morning felt like a lifetime ago. I needed to start being more careful and paying better attention if I wanted any hope of catching the Decoction Killer and getting the hell out of this game.

But first, I needed to figure out how to get out of this basement. From the glimpse I had gotten before the light had been sealed off, I was in a hallway. It had to lead somewhere. Hopefully to some stairs that would take me back to the ground floor.

I put one hand on the wall and kept the other in front as I slowly felt my way down the hallway. Why would a place like this have a basement anyway? This part of the city was practically swampland, and keeping the basement from flooding would be near impossible.

The hallway came to an end eventually at what felt like a door. After some fumbling, I managed to get it open. The room beyond was still dark, but a faint red glow came from somewhere further in. It wasn’t bright enough to really see anything, but at least it gave me a direction to go in.

As I stepped forward, my foot crunched on something. I knelt to check it, and found a line of what felt like sand across the doorway. Odd. I stood and moved further into the dark room.

My searching arms hit something hard and metal, knocking it over. I winced as the object hit the ground in a series of bangs and crashes.

Green light flared to life in a whoosh. The light revealed a large kitchen and the pot I had just knocked off the center table. I stepped around the prep table, and saw another door at the end of the room. I started towards it, but stopped as a cold wind hit my back.

I turned slowly, braced for another jumpscare. The air was distorted and mist swirled only a few feet away. I edged away, not taking my eyes off the distortion.

“Clumsy!” A voice boomed from right in front of me. I nearly jumped out of my skin, braced or not. “Incompetent! Lazy! Thick!” The words spit out, rapidfire, as the distortion advanced. I fell back, not wanting to get anywhere near the thing.

A chef knife zipped out of a knife block and slowly circled in the air over the figure. It was soon joined by a cleaver, a paring knife, and a few steak knives. The distortion, and its collection of floating blades, stopped at the pot I had knocked over.

“For five years I have put up with your failure. Cleaning up your messes.” The pot rose to head height. “But. You. Never. Learn.” Each word was punctuated by a knife making a stabbing gesture.

The pot slammed onto the table with a bang, rattling dozens of pans and utensils. “Well no more!” A translucent hand formed out to the mist and grabbed the chief knife before whipping it forward.

I just barely got my buckler up in time. The knife slammed into the shield, burying itself half an inch into the thick wood. The disembodied hand was already grabbing another weapon from its floating armory. Again, I moved my shield to block, but this time my movement was met with resistance.

A second hand had formed on the hilt of the chief knife, still embedded in my buckler. It tugged aggressively. Not hard enough to pull the shield out of my whiteknuckled grip, but it was distracting enough to prevent me from blocking the next knife.

The paring knife hit me center of mass, point first. Luckily, it didn’t have enough weight to pierce the chainmail and clattered harmlessly to the ground. I pulled hard at my shield, playing a deadly version of tug of war with a ghost.

The first spectral hand reached up and grabbed the clever. That would hurt, even if it couldn't punch through the mail. The hand threw, and I dropped to the ground. The chief knife, through my buckler, held my weight for just a moment, before pulling free and spinning back to the whirlwind of ghost flesh and metal.

I hit the ground like a sack of bricks, and the cleaver took a chunk out of the door behind me. I scrambled to my feet and hit the whirlwind with an unfocused push. It was more effective than I dared hope, pushing the ghost back a half dozen feet.

I took the moment of distraction to make for the door. Trying to slug it out with an incorporeal opponent seemed like a bad idea. I got the door open just before the frying pan slammed into the back of my head.

I stumbled forward and fell to my knees, head swimming. Pain radiated from the back of my skull in throbbing waves. It was all I could do to roll onto my back and get my shield up for the next attack.

But the next attack didn’t come. The distortion just hovered at the doorway, standing silently as a ladle and assorted cutlery floated around its head. I just stared at it for a heartbeat, unsure what was happening.

Then I noticed the line of white grains mounded in the doorway. Not sand, like I had thought, salt. A line of salt to prevent entrance by unwanted spirits, classic. I slowly let out a breath and rested my head against the stone floor. If the ghost hadn’t attacked yet, odds were it couldn’t. I doubted the salt would stop a thrown knife, but it seemed the ghost couldn't see past the line. I had a moment’s reprieve at least.

“And here I thought this mission was going to be boring,” a mocking voice came from behind me.