Arlen Skiles pulled the boards off the hole in the door, picking up hundreds of splinters as he did so. He peeked through the hole, pushing his face through a thick curtain of cobwebs.
What Arlen saw was terrifying though he didn't see anything at all. Darkness.
His friends cheered and laughed and the petrified expression on Arlen's face was gone. He looked from his impressed friends to the hole in the door and, with a sigh, crawled through.
He flinched at every sound outside and every rat scurrying by. Suddenly, there was a bang behind him and he span round. His friends had thrown a torch in for him.
Relieved, he grabbed the torch in his shaking, sweaty hands and and fumbled around for the switch. The dim yellow light flickered and turned on. He heard his friends laughing outside.
Arlen was in what looked like a pub but it certainly wasn't one anymore. He was stood by an old wooden bar table surrounded by stools which were mostly broken or on the ground.
One stool was still upright though. Arlen smiled and placed his hand on it ready to pull himself up. He froze. It was warm.
A cold hand gripped Arlen's shoulder and he screamed.
He was never seen again, but now two stools stand upright in the Abandoned Inn...