Bravely, you approach the ceiling where the thick ladder leads you only to find that there is a closed door blocking you way. In the upper center of the pannel ahead of you, ther is a brass ring that has been corrupted to a blue oxidized hew, the handle is relatively stiff from old age but after some magic curse words and a little bit of elbow grace, you manage to get it open. The room opens up into a distinct chill, and the smell of mold and mildew infultraites your nose and you find yourself almost wanting to sneeze to clear the heaviness that is in your sinuses now. Pushing up the door, the heavy groan of the door protesting it's first usages in many years, finally yeilds to the small room that looks as though it once was used as a storage shed for gardening tools. The odd spade and hoe lay proped up against a rotting planked interior. Pushing yourself up and into the smaller building itself you can somewhat see that there is a little bit of whatever sunlight has to offer coming from a crack around what you assume to be a door frame. As you take a quick glance around you notice that there is a makeshift counter to the west. On the table top there is a raking of claw marks and a broken off, red painted human finger nail embedded at the end pointing towards the doorway as if it was still reaching out to be one with its owner. Upon opening the door itself and actually getting a fair amount of light in the room, there are some old, rusted tools that look vastly out of place in a gardeners workplace. Most notably there is a butchers clever still stuck into the wood. The blade is beyond rusted and sections of it are almost eaten right through, even more anxiety provoking is that the blade seems to be covered in fairly recent blood... blood that still stains the wood under it.
