Malik let the door fall open, illuminating the room that he had spent the night lying down in, believing that it was safe.
The wallpaper, once black and white with the swirls and patterns ornate and delicate, was now peeling and fading, looking old and dry, feeble enough to crack under the slightest pressure and disintegrate in the smallest of breezes, only saved by the seemingly unbreakable glass and the locked doors, keeping any potential dangers away.
The floor had a giant whole in the middle, the floorboards looking paper thin and frail. It looked as if the wood had collapsed under its own weight, into the darkness beneath, where there would be the remains of all the fallen splinters that had not rotted away. The remaining standing space seemed to creek by its own volition, and Malik threw himself into the corridor, onto the once plush carpet, to save himself from potentially falling.
He looked over to the old fireplace, using coal to burn, and saw that it was completely empty, the bottom of it coated in a swathe of uncleaned ash and black coal dust, dirt mixed into some places. The metal had rusted in a few corners, and warped in the centre, presumably melted under the stress of years of use.
Malik forced himself to look at the empty armchair, where the old woman had been sat through the night, until the fire had probably extinguished itself. The leather was peeling off of the wooden frame, with some stuffing bursting out from between the seams. The middle portion had sunken down, an oval shape looking as if it had been stamped onto the seat, and the back was bowed and hunched over, with the headrest sticking out jarringly, its creases almost forming a face.
Everything in the room was coated in a fine layer of dust, the greyness inescapable for all that existed within the space. It sat like a sheet would over bodies in a morgue, with a strange solidness and finality, absorbing all the noise, and leaving only silence.
There was no trace of the smooth, lacquered floor that Malik had spent the night on. There was no trace of the tightly made, high quality furniture that had sat in the room, as if they had owned the place. There was no trace of the cheerful fire that Malik had stuck his hand in.
It was if the mansion had transformed itself, during the sunrise, to become a hollow, decrepit imitation of itself, looking as if it were simply another abandoned building To Malik, hundreds of years of aging had happened in a few short minutes.
He looked down at the carpet that he sat on, running his fingers through the matted, dust covered fibres and looked back into the room, noting his complete lack of footprints. He removed his hands from the carpet, and watched the dust particles, that he had disturbed, move backwards in time, to their homes before his destruction of them.
He stood up, and decided that he wanted to try and take another chance of opening the front doors, before waving his hands around like a hooligan. But to do that, he would have to move past one of the holes in the wall where the monsters had crawled out from.
Malik backed himself away from the door, further away from the supposedly safe room, and into the corner where he could see both corridors. If he had to walk down one of the paths, he would take the one with the least distance. It would be easier on his mind, and on his legs.
As the sight around the corner came into view, Malik flinched, his entire body going still, and a shiver rattled through him shaking his bones and making him sick to his stomach. He forced himself to move, turning away to walk at an angle, letting him bolt back to where he had been told was safe, if need be, and continued walking, albeit slower.
The windows were thin at the top, and much thicker at the bottom, the glass old and rolling slowly down within the confines of its frame, unable to resist the pull of gravity as it weakened with age. The window sills were also buried in dust, and bleached by decades of sunlight. The wall paper here fared no better, suffering worse in places under the sun's colour leaching properties.
Malik flinched and held still, every single time the carpet gave a creek, under his weight, as he tried his hardest to lighten his footsteps, as he moved.
Dust fell from the ceiling, creating temporary walls of beige silt that fell like curtains, onto the floor, the result of structural weakness, exposed by age and decay, the bones of the manor being exposed as it continued to die, as it slumbered alone and without proper care and aid.
Malik stopped once more, just before the wall, where the beast had crawled out from, smashing its way through to erupt into the world, became visible.
He forced his racing heartbeat to calm, and wiped the sweat on his face away with his shirt. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times, preparing himself, before lifting one leg up at a time to shake them slightly, ensuring that he was in prime running condition.
He knew that it was something that he needed to do. He had no weapons and nothing to protect himself with. The corridor was completely silent, save for the noise that he, himself, had made. It wasn't likely that the monster was still there.
The other one wasn't, judging by sound, so there was no reason for this one to be either.
He needed to do this - one quick check, then it would be all over.
Malik clenched his eyes shut, before snapping them open once more, darting his head to look around the corridor. His heart stopped as he saw a single, glaring hole in the wall, exactly where the monster had crawled out from.