Belly Of The Beast


Continuation of Forgotten, My Love.

A dirty bed with an old pipe frame. A typewriter. A note from a mother to her daughter.

The wood planks creak beneath her feet, the windows breathe through the shattered glass. The air inside is old and damp.

A sound can be heard coming from somewhere inside the cabin, if only a whisper of wind.

Behind the bedroom, the small hallway turns to a cellar. A lantern glows a mysterious light. There is an ominous presence here that looms over everything the shadows touch.

A crank handle lies atop wooden boards used to cover a hole, but there is no winch.

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