Play@YSDC

Murray pauses, hearing something else, though he couldn't see anything.

There's a wet growling from behind the door, a low rumble that could've easily been missed, that sounds from around mid-chest high behind the door. It sounds wet, like there was blood or slobber being vibrated by its maw. Murray can even hear its paw steps as it paces back and forth behind the door.

Must be some kind of dog, thinks Murray, holding a finger to his lips to indicate that Craig should stay silent. Being as quiet as possible himself, he makes sure that the door is locked and reloads the empty chamber of his revolver with a fresh bullet. He puts the mop underneath the doorknob so that the handle keeps it jammed shut. He can't risk going out the way he came with that beast out there, so he checks the other exit instead, the one that leads to the stage.

The curtain control room door leads out onto the stage before the big white back drop, upon which plays grimy images in sepia, as though an old film reel were endlessly looping ... something. The stage itself is spattered with blood, beneath two dropped sandbags, with a few small white, upstanding cards displaying numbers as though it were some sort of crime scene. There's something about the imagery projected on the screen. What was it? Wait, was that his office?

Murray makes his way carefully across the stage, keeping an eye on his surroundings. He avoids the area with the sandbags in case any more drop, looking up to see where they're positioned. As he heads for the door on the other end of the stage, he can't help looking at the screen.

Murray hears everything there is to hear.

There's the creak of hinges somewhere behind the white cinema blind that divides the stage in half.

Murray tries to walk softly as he proceeds, but his footsteps resound loudly on the stage. He grips his revolver tightly as he makes his way to the door on the opposite end of the stage. The storage room on the other side should give him access to the part of the stage behind the curtain.

OOC,Did I take the keys from [b]Craig[/b]? I thought I did and meant to do it, but I don't see it in my previous posts. If I don't have them now, I'd like to duck back into the control room before I get anywhere and take them first. I also close and, if possible lock, the door behind me.

Murray attempts to open the door to the storage room. If it's locked, he tries Craig's keys.

The door is locked but there's one of the keys that unlocks it easily enough.

Murray opens the door as quietly as he can and peeks inside.

The wall on the inside of the room is spattered with red paint in the vague shapes of the words: 'Will You Catch Me When I Fall?' In the corner, crouched down amid old, faded photographs, is a woman crouched down with her knees against her chest, her long, dark hair hanging over her face and down her arms, right down to brush the blood-spattered floor. She weeps into her arms, her whole body trembling, and there seems to be something familiar about her to Murray though he can't quite tell who she is or from where he met her. The photographs themselves are faded, near blank, with vague architectural features glimpsed amongst the grainy blur.

Murray lowers his revolver. "Miss, what's wrong?" he asks softly. "Are you hurt?"

The thick strands of hair twitch toward him, as though lifted on invisible string, moving at the bottom-most edges in his direction. She shivers and struggles to her feet, hair still covering her face, her torso, and her brown mottled dress creases as she stands, arms still crossed in front of her, head lowered, and in the uncertain light that comes in through the stage, he can make out that her arms are sealed to her chest with flesh, though he can't make out her face. Her whimpering becomes louder as she takes a shuddering step toward him.

Murray hastily backs out of the room, slams the door shut, and locks it with the key he had just used to unlock it. "Whoa, stay back!" he says. "I don't know what's going on here, but if you're human, say something."

The creature stumbles toward him as he slams the door shut, but as he tries to jam the key into the lock, he finds resistance. One hand firmly against the door to keep it shut (I presume), he withdraws the key to find blood upon the brass. Blood now steadily dripping down through the key hole. Somewhere, amongst the chairs, a mobile phone is ringing in a nasal pattern.

Murray keeps holding the door shut by leaning on it with one hand, the other gripping the revolver. He looks around desperately for anything that could be used to jam the door and keep it closed.

The stage is clear of anything but the pair of dropped sand bags.