There are no keys in the lamp, that’s obvious at your first glance.
On the other hand, a dusty note catches your eye. It’s been written hurriedly, the handwriting, red, sloping so diagonally down the rectangular paper that you think it might as well be falling off the page into your own hands. The paper is faded grey, and curled at the corners, from the over-exposure to artificial light, but the words seem as clear as ever.
They read: if you want to know more about this house, please hurry up to the roof-top tower of the mansion as soon as you read this message. I would explain, but it’s certainly not safe to write and leave, H. PS. I have your keys.
After wondering whether it is a practical joke, you begin to take those words seriously. You wonder at who ‘H’ is and what they might want with you, if this message is for you in the first place. You are the only one in this building, that is apparent, and, though it appears to be faded, you believe that the message is a fake with its appearance. Disturbingly, the knowledge that it has been planted there recently comes straight to your mind.
You switch off the light, leaving the room in horrible darkness. Strangely, the eerie music must have stopped, as you can no longer hear any thread of it. Without freaking yourself out, you manage to tell yourself that this room must be haunted by the ghost of some lonely musician, who is standing behind you, waiting for his pray. Perhaps he is H.
But you don’t let your imagination wander any further. After all, that’s what got you here in the first place.
Besides, whomever wrote this was being polite, with their ‘P’s and ‘Q’s. It’s obvious that it would be silly not to follow their advice. Or would it? The only way to the roof is up those bright stairs. H has your keys, and you refuse to take any more chances with the darkness hemming in.
“Who hides keys in a lamp anyway?” you remark to yourself before racing out.