Someone was in this wreched place, and whoever it was couldn't have been worse than the beast lumbering towards this awful place. If Edgar Allen Poe had been an architect he may well have designed this very house around the time he wrote 'The Fall Of The House Of Usher'. Such was the sense of dread, rather than relief, that Drew felt in this awful, awful place.
With nowhere better to go (and there were many better places he could think of) Drew made his way up the grand stairwell. The fine artwork and sculpturures he passed paled in significance to the terror he felt at the slow but harrowing scraping at the large oak door. At the top of the stairs he found a selection of doors, the first of which seemed the obvious sanctuary.
The door swung open, and Drews pupils dilated at the intensity of the light. Far from the tranquility Drew had expected he found a room that was full. Several dozen faces stared at him from the deceptively large room. Gentlemen aroung the bar, their lady friends sharing conversation around small tables. Drew went to declare his troubles but was stopped by a soft yet firm hand