Encounterlogs
Alexanders Odd Encounter Sr Lilah 240401
Alexander's ordeal began on a typical Easter morning when an odd, sweet-smelling chemical acted as a precursor to his kidnapping, leaving him unconscious and subsequently locked in an unfamiliar room. Upon waking, he found himself in a white-painted room with bare essentials and a minimal attempt at hospitality, including a bookshelf stocked with unobjectionable novels and some fresh fruit with water. The room's door, solid steel with a high-tech security pad, and the note that greeted him hinted at a captor with peculiar intentions. Alexander wasn't stripped of all his belongings but found his weapons, armor, and nightmare charm missing, which pushed him to investigate his surroundings further. The note provided cryptic interactions, morphing its message to communicate directly with him, hinting at the presence of a master behind the scenes and Alexander's significance to the mysterious entity controlling the house.
Determined to not be a passive prisoner, Alexander attempted to communicate with the controlling entity of the house, which revealed itself to be strangely accommodating, providing him with items upon request yet remaining coy about its nature and intentions. Utilizing the few resources he was given, including children’s chalk and a couple of rusty nails, Alexander began to craft a ritual in hopes of either sending a signal for help or protecting himself against further unexpected incidents. This peculiar interaction between captor and captive continued, with the house providing bandaids for his self-inflicted ritual markings and even a minuscule birthday candle to light the darkness after he inadvertently caused an electronic malfunction. Alexander's wit and the entity's curious amusement at his predicaments led to a tense but oddly cooperative dynamic, culminating in his discovery of an escape route and the restoration of his possessions alongside a note implying he had somehow passed a test or shown potential. With a mix of relief and determination, Alexander exited the eerie house, marking the location in his mind for a future confrontation, and perhaps, investigation into the other names he discovered linked to this strange abode.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRLilah):SRLilah)
[Sun Mar 31 2024]
In a cozy little bedroom
Decorated and draped in a colorful array of fabrics, this bohemian room looks rich with it's jewel-toned hues. Though cramped, the room feels cozy, with walls painted a muted marigold and the cool tiled floor warmed by a thick, dark blue rug. While sparse, the furniture (comprised of a bed, a dresser and a mirrored vanity), is dark cherry wood and in good, but thrifted, condition. Each piece has been restored to reveal its original luster. The bed is only a double, but any larger and there would be only a sliver of walking space.
It is afternoon, about 45F(7C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Lucky Alex! He needed his week to get harder, didn't he? Now not only are the people closest to him trying to get him to leave town, but someone has taken the matter into their own hands. While he relaxes, on this quiet Easter morning, a strange smell begins to catch on the air circulating through his home. It's slightly sweet, but not an entirely natural smell, there's a chemical tinge behind it. By the time he realizes that though, it's already too late! Lethargy begins to take over, and soon he's soundly asleep again.
Waking will be no easy feat, but eventually he will, with the throbbing headache that comes with chemical incapacitation. And a first look around will show him to be in a room that's definitely, definitely, not his own.
Alexander sniffs the air curiously then he shifts. "Oh...nnn..." When the next time his eyes blink, he's somewhere else entirely. A heart pounding moment where he stomachs his anxiety, the pounding in his head is a good distraction. "Urgh...uh..." He shifts, trying to climb.
He's not bound. He can get out of bed - though it's not his bed. It's a simple, sturdy cot in a room that has white painted walls and a concrete floor. It doesn't appear, at first glance anyway, to be a murder hole; while there's no windows, there's no weird drain in the center of the floor, and along with the bed there is a small bookshelf and a few other pieces of furniture.
Alexander sits a moment, holding his pounding head. "Well, they don't wanna waste all that yummy blood," he muses gazing at the drain. Eventually he stands, a slow inspection of the bookshelf, the furniture and then the door.
There is no drain! It's just a room, a room that looks like a furnished basement room, all in all. As Alexander starts to explore, he'll find not only a shelf of novels that range from the classics of Oliver Twist to Agatha Christie and a few other authors. Mysteries, intense stories, but nothing that would be considered controversial at all. Eventually, on a little side table, he'll find a note that simply reads: "Welcome home! Make yourself comfortable. Sitting near it are a couple of bottles of water, all of which appear to be properly sealed, and some fruit. Apples and a banana, again, nothing out of the ordinary."
Alexander was pointing at the no drain of course. The novels really strike him as confusing, then it begins to dawn this isn't a hyper sterile torture chamber? He inspects the door briefly then frowns. He moves to sniff the water, then drink some
As Alexander drinks from that bottle of water he'll notice it quickly enough. Or rather the lack of it. There's no chemical aftertaste, nothing to suggest the water's been tampered with. Nope. It's just plain old water.
On the other hand, the door is anything but plain. It is solid steel and reinforced, with no handle in sight. There's a pad next to the door that looks to be for a handprint. Very high tech, considering the outdated furnishings and literature the room does offer.
Alexander checks his possessions, nightmare charm, magical focus, weapons, armor. He Just clothes on his back? He takes a moment to snag a banana. Food and water for a hangover. Even if that hangover is from a powerful chemical sedative.
Clothes, absolutely. Weapons and armor? Nope. No nightmare charm, either, though the rest of whatever gear he'd had with him is still there. None of it appears to be messed with either.
After a moment of this investigation of his own person, the note on the table rustles, almost like someone has begun to move it around. It lays where he left it, however a quick look at it will reveal something different, now. It no longer reads 'Welcome home.' Instead, now it says, "What's wrong? Are the furnishings not to your liking, Mr. Murphy? What would you like changed?"
Alexander grimaces. He looks to the note curiously. "Information. Where I am, who you are, what you wish from me?" He asks, moving to sit on the bed.
The note shimmers. It's barely noticeable, but Alexander's magical nature will probably make that more noticeable. "I'm afraid I can't answer much of that," it says, as the ink simply rearranges itself on the page. Such a long piece of writing sees it grow fainter, as if the molecules are stretching themselves out. "I am a part of this house. I want nothing."
With that helpful claim, the note shimmers slightly again. However, for what little that's worth, there is at least a conduit for conversation.
Alexander says "Oh... "
Alexander humms a moment. "A Genius loci?" he asks. "Who is your master?" he probes, curiously, eyes scanning about.
The paper rustles, and there's something of a sense of satisfaction, though it's external to Alexander's being. Like he's sensing something else, altogether. "I cannot say," the note responds in another shimmer of ink. "Is there anything you need?" Then, underneath in ink gone even fainter with the stretch, it reads: "She will be home soon." Something about that claim feels like a warning.
Alexander nods softly. "Thank you, are you able to contact others or only me?" he asks the paper. The house? He stands up. "I could use some...chalk. For amusement," he explains. "Iron filings if you have them?"
"You are the only one that matters to you." What kind of answer is that? But with that, there's a brief rustle of paper and shimmer of ink and something seems to change. Only briefly, perhaps, but the room feels somewhat emptier and the paper has gone blank.
There's some time for Alexander to be alone, truly alone, with his thoughts and then, with a little thunk, a box of Crayola brand children's colored chalk a couple of rusty iron nails that are bent and look to have been pulled out of some sort of building project, and a metal nail file land on the little table.
Alexander exhales and nods, message out, or protect himself? He doesn't know his target so he can't perform against her. He snags the items and moves to hide them somewhere out of sight in case they enter abruptly. Then he begins to look for a spot, under a chair or desk, where he can begin to work on a circle carefully. Set the ground, learn the enemy, then maybe a ritual? He does his best to swallow his anxiety focusing instead on something productive
Clearly whatever being this is has no idea what Alexander might want such things for, but it doesn't seem to be hovering around. Perhaps it merely listens on the air, or something of that nature, for once the man stops talking, the notes stop coming. He'll find plenty of out of the way spots, depending on what he's looking for, for the room is furnished in outdated, but very typical bedroom furniture.
Alexander is looking for a table he can move back easily to cover up his work. Still, he seems somewhat intent on meeting his captor, though if he has enough time, he'll try to signal for help through a simple compulsion of an ally.
The little table that the note, water, and fruit had been sitting on might do beautifully for Alexander's purposes. Right now, it's in a corner of the room, but he could always move it if he wanted. Nothing seems to be fastened down. Other than the door, everything about this room looks as if it were a normal bedroom. As for his captor? There's no sign of her yet.
Alexander has definitely realized the value of a proper shadow walk ritual.
Alexander oh's, gazing at the door a moment and shakes his head. Well.
Alexander says "How long until the Lady is home?"
Alexander studies the pad, if he can lift a print with some tape, he'll ask the note for tape, but if it looks cleaned, he'll go with his next plan. A simple ritual that he's enjoyed pranking others with, a self-focused tech-hex
It doesn't look like there's a lot of prints on the handprint near the door, at least nothing clean enough to lift. But the ritual might work, indeed. As Alexander starts that up, the paper rustles for his attention nearby, but it only reads one word: "Soon."
Alexander exhales, and works quick, using the nail to drag a circle around himself. He uses his own nails to tear and draw blood to dot and detail the circle he's working on, chanting low in a language he barely understands, and cannot name.
There's a hint of curiosity, outside of Alexander, as he starts to work his ritual magic. It definitely feels like something, or someone, is watching him rather intently. A little box of bandaids suddenly appears in mid-air and drops to his lap as he starts to open his own skin.
Alexander lets out a little laugh, giving a wink to the air around him. He ignores the bandaids for now, he has need yet of his blood still as he works his ritual. "Hide not the raw truth of the arcane, technology is not a replacement, it is a crutch. Let its weakness shine clear, born against the weight of my blood," he intones, making clear his demand and forming the contract to carry out the ritual.
Interest and curiosity turn to amusement. The bandaids jostle in Alexander's lap like they're about to be taken away, but they don't disappear into the air again. Instead, the incorporeal mirth lingers as Alexander's words make clear what he intends. There's a pop and a fizzle and the lights go dark. Perhaps that's a good sign? It does seem to come with some sort of pneumatic hiss.
Alexander stands, "Please don't lock," he murmurs, trying for the door as he snags a bandaid, trying to apply it to her wound
Bandaid acquired! As for the door? Well, its rather dark, but perhaps Alexander can find his way and figure it out. The lingering presence doesn't seem to have changed its attitude in any way, though it remains quiet, just sort of hovering, and the paper on the table - where was that table? Well, it can't
It can't be read in the dark, anyway.
Alexander pauses. "A- uhm. A flashlight would not go amiss," he insists to...the air around him. Fuck, he gropes about in the dark
Alexander says "Wait...electronic...a uhm, candle? A lit candle...?"
There's a thump of something hitting the floor. At first it seems that it's all Alexander is going to get, that formless, nameless something. But a moment later, with another flicker of enjoyment, a light flares, the tiniest flame on the littlest candle sparking to life. It's no more than a birthday candle, but should burn for a while at least.
Alexander snorts. "Thank you, oh friendly home-" he insists, snagging the little candle to peer at the note. Trying to see if he can find the thump. Hopefully it won't effect something as simple as a flashlight will still work.
There is a flashlight, sitting neatly on the bookshelf, just barely visible in the tiny candle's flame. Perhaps it was always there and just went unnoticed before, in the bright light of the room. There's no response, however, from the house, or whatever it is that seems to be controlling all of this.
Alexander snags it, and tries to operate it, failing that, trying not to burn himself with wax, he attempts to operate the door. He gazes about curiously.
The flashlight will work, though the battery appears to be dying and the light is dim. It might be old, or it might be that Alexander's magic is affecting it in some way. The candle will also work, though it doesn't look like it will last much longer than the flashlight. Whichever Alexander chooses, however, when he reaches the door he'll find it open just a crack - a sliding door, not a swing one.
Alexander grabs it and tries to pry it open with all his might, grimacing.
It'll take a bit of effort to get his fingers into the space past the knuckle so that he can pull the door open from there. Without whatever drives it working, it takes some effort, but luckily the pull to open is far less rigorous than the one it would take to close this door. It disappears into the wall with some force, and then Alexander is free. Or at least out of that room. He finds himself at the bottom of a stairwell, to the side of which are a row of cubbies, each marked in some way.
Alexander blows out the birthday candle and pivots to the flashlight, pocketing his rusty nail. He moves slowly, examining the cubbies, trying to study their markings, curiously
The markings, on closer inspection, appear to be names. Some hold small piles of belongings, others are now empty with names scratched off for whatever reason it may be. On one of the shelves, Alexander will find his own name, and the things that'd been taken from him, including his phone and nightmare charm. With them, a small note in that same handwriting used prior reads: "Perhaps you have potential, Mr. Murphy. See you later!" The amusement lingers and there's definitely an edge to it that's a little more malevolent than before.
Alexander grimaces and looks up. "Alright that stopped being cute," he admits, charm worn, focus born. Last place he wants to slip into the nightmare is this place. He tries to record the names, scratched off or other, if he can, he looks for anyone still trapped to try to let them out.
As much as Alexander would like to rescue any others in the place, it seems as if his goodwill with whatever spirit is in control of this place has run out. His flashlight starts to sputter, the moment he turns away from the stairs to look around the space further. It's quite likely that if he doesn't go now, he's going to end up stuck here, in the dark. He could always come back...
Alexander marks it for himself. He'll come back and deal with this.
The rest of the house, once Alexander is up those stairs, appears to be empty entirely. It's like the owner moved out and just forgot about the basement, but that can't be right, can it?
Determined to not be a passive prisoner, Alexander attempted to communicate with the controlling entity of the house, which revealed itself to be strangely accommodating, providing him with items upon request yet remaining coy about its nature and intentions. Utilizing the few resources he was given, including children’s chalk and a couple of rusty nails, Alexander began to craft a ritual in hopes of either sending a signal for help or protecting himself against further unexpected incidents. This peculiar interaction between captor and captive continued, with the house providing bandaids for his self-inflicted ritual markings and even a minuscule birthday candle to light the darkness after he inadvertently caused an electronic malfunction. Alexander's wit and the entity's curious amusement at his predicaments led to a tense but oddly cooperative dynamic, culminating in his discovery of an escape route and the restoration of his possessions alongside a note implying he had somehow passed a test or shown potential. With a mix of relief and determination, Alexander exited the eerie house, marking the location in his mind for a future confrontation, and perhaps, investigation into the other names he discovered linked to this strange abode.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRLilah):SRLilah)
[Sun Mar 31 2024]
In a cozy little bedroom
Decorated and draped in a colorful array of fabrics, this bohemian room looks rich with it's jewel-toned hues. Though cramped, the room feels cozy, with walls painted a muted marigold and the cool tiled floor warmed by a thick, dark blue rug. While sparse, the furniture (comprised of a bed, a dresser and a mirrored vanity), is dark cherry wood and in good, but thrifted, condition. Each piece has been restored to reveal its original luster. The bed is only a double, but any larger and there would be only a sliver of walking space.
It is afternoon, about 45F(7C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Lucky Alex! He needed his week to get harder, didn't he? Now not only are the people closest to him trying to get him to leave town, but someone has taken the matter into their own hands. While he relaxes, on this quiet Easter morning, a strange smell begins to catch on the air circulating through his home. It's slightly sweet, but not an entirely natural smell, there's a chemical tinge behind it. By the time he realizes that though, it's already too late! Lethargy begins to take over, and soon he's soundly asleep again.
Waking will be no easy feat, but eventually he will, with the throbbing headache that comes with chemical incapacitation. And a first look around will show him to be in a room that's definitely, definitely, not his own.
Alexander sniffs the air curiously then he shifts. "Oh...nnn..." When the next time his eyes blink, he's somewhere else entirely. A heart pounding moment where he stomachs his anxiety, the pounding in his head is a good distraction. "Urgh...uh..." He shifts, trying to climb.
He's not bound. He can get out of bed - though it's not his bed. It's a simple, sturdy cot in a room that has white painted walls and a concrete floor. It doesn't appear, at first glance anyway, to be a murder hole; while there's no windows, there's no weird drain in the center of the floor, and along with the bed there is a small bookshelf and a few other pieces of furniture.
Alexander sits a moment, holding his pounding head. "Well, they don't wanna waste all that yummy blood," he muses gazing at the drain. Eventually he stands, a slow inspection of the bookshelf, the furniture and then the door.
There is no drain! It's just a room, a room that looks like a furnished basement room, all in all. As Alexander starts to explore, he'll find not only a shelf of novels that range from the classics of Oliver Twist to Agatha Christie and a few other authors. Mysteries, intense stories, but nothing that would be considered controversial at all. Eventually, on a little side table, he'll find a note that simply reads: "Welcome home! Make yourself comfortable. Sitting near it are a couple of bottles of water, all of which appear to be properly sealed, and some fruit. Apples and a banana, again, nothing out of the ordinary."
Alexander was pointing at the no drain of course. The novels really strike him as confusing, then it begins to dawn this isn't a hyper sterile torture chamber? He inspects the door briefly then frowns. He moves to sniff the water, then drink some
As Alexander drinks from that bottle of water he'll notice it quickly enough. Or rather the lack of it. There's no chemical aftertaste, nothing to suggest the water's been tampered with. Nope. It's just plain old water.
On the other hand, the door is anything but plain. It is solid steel and reinforced, with no handle in sight. There's a pad next to the door that looks to be for a handprint. Very high tech, considering the outdated furnishings and literature the room does offer.
Alexander checks his possessions, nightmare charm, magical focus, weapons, armor. He Just clothes on his back? He takes a moment to snag a banana. Food and water for a hangover. Even if that hangover is from a powerful chemical sedative.
Clothes, absolutely. Weapons and armor? Nope. No nightmare charm, either, though the rest of whatever gear he'd had with him is still there. None of it appears to be messed with either.
After a moment of this investigation of his own person, the note on the table rustles, almost like someone has begun to move it around. It lays where he left it, however a quick look at it will reveal something different, now. It no longer reads 'Welcome home.' Instead, now it says, "What's wrong? Are the furnishings not to your liking, Mr. Murphy? What would you like changed?"
Alexander grimaces. He looks to the note curiously. "Information. Where I am, who you are, what you wish from me?" He asks, moving to sit on the bed.
The note shimmers. It's barely noticeable, but Alexander's magical nature will probably make that more noticeable. "I'm afraid I can't answer much of that," it says, as the ink simply rearranges itself on the page. Such a long piece of writing sees it grow fainter, as if the molecules are stretching themselves out. "I am a part of this house. I want nothing."
With that helpful claim, the note shimmers slightly again. However, for what little that's worth, there is at least a conduit for conversation.
Alexander says "Oh... "
Alexander humms a moment. "A Genius loci?" he asks. "Who is your master?" he probes, curiously, eyes scanning about.
The paper rustles, and there's something of a sense of satisfaction, though it's external to Alexander's being. Like he's sensing something else, altogether. "I cannot say," the note responds in another shimmer of ink. "Is there anything you need?" Then, underneath in ink gone even fainter with the stretch, it reads: "She will be home soon." Something about that claim feels like a warning.
Alexander nods softly. "Thank you, are you able to contact others or only me?" he asks the paper. The house? He stands up. "I could use some...chalk. For amusement," he explains. "Iron filings if you have them?"
"You are the only one that matters to you." What kind of answer is that? But with that, there's a brief rustle of paper and shimmer of ink and something seems to change. Only briefly, perhaps, but the room feels somewhat emptier and the paper has gone blank.
There's some time for Alexander to be alone, truly alone, with his thoughts and then, with a little thunk, a box of Crayola brand children's colored chalk a couple of rusty iron nails that are bent and look to have been pulled out of some sort of building project, and a metal nail file land on the little table.
Alexander exhales and nods, message out, or protect himself? He doesn't know his target so he can't perform against her. He snags the items and moves to hide them somewhere out of sight in case they enter abruptly. Then he begins to look for a spot, under a chair or desk, where he can begin to work on a circle carefully. Set the ground, learn the enemy, then maybe a ritual? He does his best to swallow his anxiety focusing instead on something productive
Clearly whatever being this is has no idea what Alexander might want such things for, but it doesn't seem to be hovering around. Perhaps it merely listens on the air, or something of that nature, for once the man stops talking, the notes stop coming. He'll find plenty of out of the way spots, depending on what he's looking for, for the room is furnished in outdated, but very typical bedroom furniture.
Alexander is looking for a table he can move back easily to cover up his work. Still, he seems somewhat intent on meeting his captor, though if he has enough time, he'll try to signal for help through a simple compulsion of an ally.
The little table that the note, water, and fruit had been sitting on might do beautifully for Alexander's purposes. Right now, it's in a corner of the room, but he could always move it if he wanted. Nothing seems to be fastened down. Other than the door, everything about this room looks as if it were a normal bedroom. As for his captor? There's no sign of her yet.
Alexander has definitely realized the value of a proper shadow walk ritual.
Alexander oh's, gazing at the door a moment and shakes his head. Well.
Alexander says "How long until the Lady is home?"
Alexander studies the pad, if he can lift a print with some tape, he'll ask the note for tape, but if it looks cleaned, he'll go with his next plan. A simple ritual that he's enjoyed pranking others with, a self-focused tech-hex
It doesn't look like there's a lot of prints on the handprint near the door, at least nothing clean enough to lift. But the ritual might work, indeed. As Alexander starts that up, the paper rustles for his attention nearby, but it only reads one word: "Soon."
Alexander exhales, and works quick, using the nail to drag a circle around himself. He uses his own nails to tear and draw blood to dot and detail the circle he's working on, chanting low in a language he barely understands, and cannot name.
There's a hint of curiosity, outside of Alexander, as he starts to work his ritual magic. It definitely feels like something, or someone, is watching him rather intently. A little box of bandaids suddenly appears in mid-air and drops to his lap as he starts to open his own skin.
Alexander lets out a little laugh, giving a wink to the air around him. He ignores the bandaids for now, he has need yet of his blood still as he works his ritual. "Hide not the raw truth of the arcane, technology is not a replacement, it is a crutch. Let its weakness shine clear, born against the weight of my blood," he intones, making clear his demand and forming the contract to carry out the ritual.
Interest and curiosity turn to amusement. The bandaids jostle in Alexander's lap like they're about to be taken away, but they don't disappear into the air again. Instead, the incorporeal mirth lingers as Alexander's words make clear what he intends. There's a pop and a fizzle and the lights go dark. Perhaps that's a good sign? It does seem to come with some sort of pneumatic hiss.
Alexander stands, "Please don't lock," he murmurs, trying for the door as he snags a bandaid, trying to apply it to her wound
Bandaid acquired! As for the door? Well, its rather dark, but perhaps Alexander can find his way and figure it out. The lingering presence doesn't seem to have changed its attitude in any way, though it remains quiet, just sort of hovering, and the paper on the table - where was that table? Well, it can't
It can't be read in the dark, anyway.
Alexander pauses. "A- uhm. A flashlight would not go amiss," he insists to...the air around him. Fuck, he gropes about in the dark
Alexander says "Wait...electronic...a uhm, candle? A lit candle...?"
There's a thump of something hitting the floor. At first it seems that it's all Alexander is going to get, that formless, nameless something. But a moment later, with another flicker of enjoyment, a light flares, the tiniest flame on the littlest candle sparking to life. It's no more than a birthday candle, but should burn for a while at least.
Alexander snorts. "Thank you, oh friendly home-" he insists, snagging the little candle to peer at the note. Trying to see if he can find the thump. Hopefully it won't effect something as simple as a flashlight will still work.
There is a flashlight, sitting neatly on the bookshelf, just barely visible in the tiny candle's flame. Perhaps it was always there and just went unnoticed before, in the bright light of the room. There's no response, however, from the house, or whatever it is that seems to be controlling all of this.
Alexander snags it, and tries to operate it, failing that, trying not to burn himself with wax, he attempts to operate the door. He gazes about curiously.
The flashlight will work, though the battery appears to be dying and the light is dim. It might be old, or it might be that Alexander's magic is affecting it in some way. The candle will also work, though it doesn't look like it will last much longer than the flashlight. Whichever Alexander chooses, however, when he reaches the door he'll find it open just a crack - a sliding door, not a swing one.
Alexander grabs it and tries to pry it open with all his might, grimacing.
It'll take a bit of effort to get his fingers into the space past the knuckle so that he can pull the door open from there. Without whatever drives it working, it takes some effort, but luckily the pull to open is far less rigorous than the one it would take to close this door. It disappears into the wall with some force, and then Alexander is free. Or at least out of that room. He finds himself at the bottom of a stairwell, to the side of which are a row of cubbies, each marked in some way.
Alexander blows out the birthday candle and pivots to the flashlight, pocketing his rusty nail. He moves slowly, examining the cubbies, trying to study their markings, curiously
The markings, on closer inspection, appear to be names. Some hold small piles of belongings, others are now empty with names scratched off for whatever reason it may be. On one of the shelves, Alexander will find his own name, and the things that'd been taken from him, including his phone and nightmare charm. With them, a small note in that same handwriting used prior reads: "Perhaps you have potential, Mr. Murphy. See you later!" The amusement lingers and there's definitely an edge to it that's a little more malevolent than before.
Alexander grimaces and looks up. "Alright that stopped being cute," he admits, charm worn, focus born. Last place he wants to slip into the nightmare is this place. He tries to record the names, scratched off or other, if he can, he looks for anyone still trapped to try to let them out.
As much as Alexander would like to rescue any others in the place, it seems as if his goodwill with whatever spirit is in control of this place has run out. His flashlight starts to sputter, the moment he turns away from the stairs to look around the space further. It's quite likely that if he doesn't go now, he's going to end up stuck here, in the dark. He could always come back...
Alexander marks it for himself. He'll come back and deal with this.
The rest of the house, once Alexander is up those stairs, appears to be empty entirely. It's like the owner moved out and just forgot about the basement, but that can't be right, can it?