There's Always Music In the Air

From TheKolWiki
Jump to: navigation, search

There's Always Music In the Air
There's Always Music In the Air

There's a faint whiff of music coming from somewhere far away, just on the edge of your hearing. You start down the hall in the direction you think it might be coming from, and end up playing a lengthy game of "hot and cold" -- walking first down one corridor, then up another.

Gradually, the music becomes louder and more distinct. Smoky clarinet. Double bass. Wire brushes on the drums. You can hear it all clearly now. But... where is it actually coming from? You're standing at a dead-end in the hallway, absentmindedly snapping your fingers in time to the jazzy tune; the music is definitely at its loudest here, but there's no band in sight, no speakers in the ceiling.

There is, however, a faint smell -- as faint as the music was at first. A dark, bitter smell, like scorched engine oil.

Glancing around, you note that the walls here are covered with framed photographs -- mainly autographed celebrity headshots and tuxedo-and-evening-gown group photos from various formal events and holiday parties. The odd man out is a large oil painting, hanging on the rear wall above a small end-table with a silver tray on it.


Examine the painting

The painting is very dark, but as you stare at it you gradually begin to be able to make out the details as your eyes adjust. It's a woodland scene, featuring a forest clearing at night. Twelve spindly, leafless sycamore saplings surround a small white-outlined pool of water. Or... is it water? That smoky, oily smell is stronger now.

The pool shimmers in the moonlight as you step forward to give it a closer look. It's definitely oil, or something like it. You wrinkle your nose at the burnt black odor as you kneel beside the pool and look in.

You can't see your reflection in it. The full moon is visible, and the faint outlines of the thin sycamore trees, but otherwise it's like looking into a hole in the ground.

Not wanting to get any closer, you stand and back away from the pool. As one of the leafless branches brushes your shoulder, it occurs to you that something is wrong here, but you aren't sure what.

The music, perhaps? It's quieter, now -- more distant. As you listen, it slowly fades away. You push through the trees, trying to follow it, to catch up, but it's gone. You keep walking anyway, and eventually the forest underbrush thickens and straightens and resolves into the familiar pathways of the Overlook Lodge hedge maze.

He Is the Arm, and He Sounds Like This
He Is the Arm, and He Sounds Like This

Return to the lobby

References