Walking up the decrepid old staircase you get the feeling like your are not welcomed here, you feel eyes boaring into you as a feeling of oppression takes a hold. The steps are well rotted and some of them look like they are going to give way at any moment, and some of them feel like they just did under your feet. The climb up to the bellfry is a relatively short one distance wise, but you are slowed in your progress by having to watch where you put your feet. About have way there you hear a rather irritated voice on the wind.
'Leave~!'
There is a cold spot on the fourth platform before more stairs, you feel your heart speed up its rhythm and the hair on your arms and the back of your hair stands up. As you start to climb the next set of stairs the voice is a little louder and a lot more cross at you.
'Leave this place~!
This place just feels wrong... there is no other way to describe the atmosphere that surrounds you and pierces you down to the core of your very existence. This place sufficates you almost in a physical way, as thought a rope was tightening around your neck. The room itself is in pretty rough shape, there are a number of holes that have been rotted away in the once sturdy floor boards and there is weather damage all over the place, where stained glass windows once rested there is nothing but a bare bones window frame that desperately clings onto a few pieces of once beautifully color glass, as though the bellfry itself is doing everything in its power to gasp its once former glory to remember what it once was and what it at one point represented. There is still a bell here, thought the cord as been fully pulled off and there is a huge gaping crack in the bell itself. You almost feel sorry for it, in fact, gazing upon it almost fills you with such a deep seeded sorrow you feel your sinus burning and tinglingly as they fight to hold back tears. There is the odd chirping of bats and obvious guano scattered along the floor in small piles as the newest and likely the only undisturbed residence of the building take up roost. Walking around the towers bellfry the timbers creak and groan lightly under your weight and the sounds of your footsteps bounce back to you. The wood is a white oak that had at one time been firbushed and you can still see the white chips of paint through the dust and debrae that litter and choke the floor. There doesn't seem to be any sort of blood or gore markings anywhere on the floor, the place just looks... delapitated.
At least, your sure those where you footsteps echoing back at you. The air becomes more fridged and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck starting to stand on end as goosebumps rise and spread out from a spot where you felt something freezing gently caress the back of your neck. There isn't much apparent here, other than strange feelings and piles of bat droppings in various locations. What cord there was from the bell has simply erroded into nothingness. Everywhere and yet, no where at the same time, you can hear the distant voice of a man talking to himself, he seems to be having a coversation with himself, though you can't quiet hear what the words are. But the tones and volume remain constant. Bringing flashlights in here results in the batteries running out quickly and every now and then you can hear the creaking of the turn that belongs to the bell. Looking up, you can see the rusted mechenism twitch and pull, though not enough momentum has build yet to be able to ring this bell. As you turn to leave you notice that there is a blackened mirror near the exit with a clear vision of the room, and inside that mirror, you see a man, dressing in robes of the church desperately pulling at an invisible cord that use to be attached to the bell. His head is bowed and he seems to be hysterical. Suddenly the apperation in the mirror pauses and snaps his head over to you. His face is full of dark insanity as he bellows at you, his snow with flesh is marred with black lines that spiderweb across it, like a porcilin doll who is cracked and worn with age. His eyes are black voids that threaten to tear the still screaming soul from your body and in his scream his mouth drops impossibly low. When you turn around to face him, his ghost is gone, looking back into the mirror you find no trace of the damned name, cursed for all eternity to apparently ring a bell that is no longer operational.
As you start to head down the stairs you feel a hand on your back that pushes you violently out the door and if it wasn't for that handrailing there, you would have had a nasty, nasty fall. The presence from the stairs and likely the same one from the bellfry itself feels like its right in your face. His words are a raging bellow in your ear, your hair is pushed away from the doorway as the spirit lets you know his displeasure.
"I said LEAVE!'
'Leave~!'
There is a cold spot on the fourth platform before more stairs, you feel your heart speed up its rhythm and the hair on your arms and the back of your hair stands up. As you start to climb the next set of stairs the voice is a little louder and a lot more cross at you.
'Leave this place~!
This place just feels wrong... there is no other way to describe the atmosphere that surrounds you and pierces you down to the core of your very existence. This place sufficates you almost in a physical way, as thought a rope was tightening around your neck. The room itself is in pretty rough shape, there are a number of holes that have been rotted away in the once sturdy floor boards and there is weather damage all over the place, where stained glass windows once rested there is nothing but a bare bones window frame that desperately clings onto a few pieces of once beautifully color glass, as though the bellfry itself is doing everything in its power to gasp its once former glory to remember what it once was and what it at one point represented. There is still a bell here, thought the cord as been fully pulled off and there is a huge gaping crack in the bell itself. You almost feel sorry for it, in fact, gazing upon it almost fills you with such a deep seeded sorrow you feel your sinus burning and tinglingly as they fight to hold back tears. There is the odd chirping of bats and obvious guano scattered along the floor in small piles as the newest and likely the only undisturbed residence of the building take up roost. Walking around the towers bellfry the timbers creak and groan lightly under your weight and the sounds of your footsteps bounce back to you. The wood is a white oak that had at one time been firbushed and you can still see the white chips of paint through the dust and debrae that litter and choke the floor. There doesn't seem to be any sort of blood or gore markings anywhere on the floor, the place just looks... delapitated.
At least, your sure those where you footsteps echoing back at you. The air becomes more fridged and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck starting to stand on end as goosebumps rise and spread out from a spot where you felt something freezing gently caress the back of your neck. There isn't much apparent here, other than strange feelings and piles of bat droppings in various locations. What cord there was from the bell has simply erroded into nothingness. Everywhere and yet, no where at the same time, you can hear the distant voice of a man talking to himself, he seems to be having a coversation with himself, though you can't quiet hear what the words are. But the tones and volume remain constant. Bringing flashlights in here results in the batteries running out quickly and every now and then you can hear the creaking of the turn that belongs to the bell. Looking up, you can see the rusted mechenism twitch and pull, though not enough momentum has build yet to be able to ring this bell. As you turn to leave you notice that there is a blackened mirror near the exit with a clear vision of the room, and inside that mirror, you see a man, dressing in robes of the church desperately pulling at an invisible cord that use to be attached to the bell. His head is bowed and he seems to be hysterical. Suddenly the apperation in the mirror pauses and snaps his head over to you. His face is full of dark insanity as he bellows at you, his snow with flesh is marred with black lines that spiderweb across it, like a porcilin doll who is cracked and worn with age. His eyes are black voids that threaten to tear the still screaming soul from your body and in his scream his mouth drops impossibly low. When you turn around to face him, his ghost is gone, looking back into the mirror you find no trace of the damned name, cursed for all eternity to apparently ring a bell that is no longer operational.
As you start to head down the stairs you feel a hand on your back that pushes you violently out the door and if it wasn't for that handrailing there, you would have had a nasty, nasty fall. The presence from the stairs and likely the same one from the bellfry itself feels like its right in your face. His words are a raging bellow in your ear, your hair is pushed away from the doorway as the spirit lets you know his displeasure.
"I said LEAVE!'
