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Description
.....Our tour continues.

From the moldering sanctum of the Colonel's private domain,we find ourselves waiting to board one of the long line of doombuggies,moving ponderously through the dark,forbidden hallways that lay ahead.Several ornate windows look out on the jungle perpetually swathed in nighttime,the sounds of its savage inhabitants can still be heard.From the edges of the windows,as well as the wooden molding running along the ceiling,massive tree roots have penetrated the building,and crawl ominously over the walls---the jungle is reclaiming this area.As an unseen force lowers our safety bar,we begin our journey,the Colonel's voice seemingly following along.
Slowly gliding through a narrow hallway,the mounted heads of several trophy animals are set just above us upon the dank walls.Is it our imagination,or are they looking at us,their intimidating gaze following us as we pass?
We come upon the club's library,whose facilities seem to be in use by unseen inhabitants---books are pulled out,then pushed back into the shelves,a resting ladder rocks precariously back and forth,an easy chair shudders with the weight of a phantom occupant.Most dismaying of all are the decorative tikis sharing space with the books,their scowling and grinning faces turning to observe our passage.
Within the next room,a small upright organ and several tall wooden drums dominate a cobwebbed parlor,the unmanned instruments appear to be playing themselves---the yellowing keys depress themselves in patterns,while the drums vibrate to a resounding beat.No musicians can be seen,but the shadow of a man in high-collared garb bleeds over the floor before the organ,while the silhouettes of two unusually tall men in elaborate headdress emanate from the base of the drums,created out of the azure moonlight flooding in from the parlor window.
A trip up a darkened staircase,with massive spiderwebs crisscrossing the walls and ceiling above---the web littered with backpacks,binoculars,pith helmets{and---a corpse?!?}---lead us around a corner,to witness a candelabra,seemingly floating in mid-air,travelling down a hallway that seems to recede into infinity itself.In a windowed vestibule,we are witness to a funeral that may have been premature,as a pair of not-quite-deceased hands thrust outward from a coffin attempt to pry loose the nails which hold down the lid!Equally restless are the occupants of the rooms whose doorways we journey past,as their knockings and bangings upon the creaking wooden doors create a din loud enough to---dare we think it?---wake the dead!
If such an ungodly noise doesn't wake them,the loudly chiming grandfather clock at the hallway's end,the number 13 atop its otherwise empty face,may surely do so!

Our tour will continue.....

Description
.....Our tour continues.

From the moldering sanctum of the Colonel's private domain,we find ourselves waiting to board one of the long line of doombuggies,moving ponderously through the dark,forbidden hallways that lay ahead.Several ornate windows look out on the jungle perpetually swathed in nighttime,the sounds of its savage inhabitants can still be heard.From the edges of the windows,as well as the wooden molding running along the ceiling,massive tree roots have penetrated the building,and crawl ominously over the walls---the jungle is reclaiming this area.As an unseen force lowers our safety bar,we begin our journey,the Colonel's voice seemingly following along.
Slowly gliding through a narrow hallway,the mounted heads of several trophy animals are set just above us upon the dank walls.Is it our imagination,or are they looking at us,their intimidating gaze following us as we pass?
We come upon the club's library,whose facilities seem to be in use by unseen inhabitants---books are pulled out,then pushed back into the shelves,a resting ladder rocks precariously back and forth,an easy chair shudders with the weight of a phantom occupant.Most dismaying of all are the decorative tikis sharing space with the books,their scowling and grinning faces turning to observe our passage.
Within the next room,a small upright organ and several tall wooden drums dominate a cobwebbed parlor,the unmanned instruments appear to be playing themselves---the yellowing keys depress themselves in patterns,while the drums vibrate to a resounding beat.No musicians can be seen,but the shadow of a man in high-collared garb bleeds over the floor before the organ,while the silhouettes of two unusually tall men in elaborate headdress emanate from the base of the drums,created out of the azure moonlight flooding in from the parlor window.
A trip up a darkened staircase,with massive spiderwebs crisscrossing the walls and ceiling above---the web littered with backpacks,binoculars,pith helmets{and---a corpse?!?}---lead us around a corner,to witness a candelabra,seemingly floating in mid-air,travelling down a hallway that seems to recede into infinity itself.In a windowed vestibule,we are witness to a funeral that may have been premature,as a pair of not-quite-deceased hands thrust outward from a coffin attempt to pry loose the nails which hold down the lid!Equally restless are the occupants of the rooms whose doorways we journey past,as their knockings and bangings upon the creaking wooden doors create a din loud enough to---dare we think it?---wake the dead!
If such an ungodly noise doesn't wake them,the loudly chiming grandfather clock at the hallway's end,the number 13 atop its otherwise empty face,may surely do so!

Our tour will continue.....