Curiosity

You walk through the covered forest path, the weeds and grass parting for you as the hem of your dress brushes against them, making sure to remove any of the remaining plants before you, so that you can press your scuffed boots onto the terrain bellow, without causing any harm. The trees murmur to each other, making sure to speak faintly so that the passing stranger wouldn't hear their thoughts, as she walks by. You finally reach the rusted Iron Gate, the rust seems to have destroyed the beauty of what laid before you, as if someone had come along, taken a paint brush, and carefully painted on the corruption. You gently lay your hand on the crisp iron, grasping and pushing forth as you waltz through, onto the haunted garden. You hover still for a couple of seconds, taking in the atmosphere from around you then, you step forward once more. You reach the wooden porch and examine it. The stands holding the roof up seem to have been eaten alive by the undead bugs which inhabit the area around you. The roof has been poked full of holes, ranging in size, from small to medium to large; making it certain it wouldn't come in help if shelter was needed. Without hesitation you tread forward, placing a foot onto the worn out, creaking boards, forming a staircase up to the floor of the porch. You keep walking until you reach the conclusion, only ten steps you had climbed, the time had flown past like a bird flying south for the winter. You turn around and face the towering door before you. Silence. Nothing is moving, there is no sound, it's as if you have been sucked into a black hole and these are your last fading memories, crumbling around you. You take a step back, for some reason the threatening door seems to have fazed you. You take the opportunity to examine the front of the grotesque building in front of you. It has four towers on each of its corners, each one only having three windows spread evenly across the moss-covered walls. In between lay the twelve-metre high curtain walls, these have seven windows evenly spread across them, making sure that they leave room for the ivory décor that likes to touch the stone walls with its allure. Behind the curtain walls, the macabre inner layer of the indescribable house stands, prodigious compared to you. You stumble backwards, feeling a wave of fear rush over you as you hit the wooden floor. The wooden planks seem to pull at you, begging for you to join them. You resist their tempting whispers, and pull yourself up. Suddenly, you hear the same decayed Iron door from before slam shut. Your hair starts to stand on end. Dread, horror, fear, finally reach your brain, as you become heated with anxiety. The only way is forward. You reach towards the engraved golden handle; gently pulling it down and stepping forward. It creaks, loudly, as loud as a lion roaring from a cage. You make your way in, reluctantly; the thought of whether it's too late to turn back runs through your mind, isn't it tired yet? You resist the urge and close the door behind you. You almost forgot, tugging the music box out from your coat pocket you frantically wind it up. You have until the music box ends, to scrutinize the place. You bring out your torch and flick it on. Your time starts now.