On a gloomy, cool night stood a giant, black door where high-pitched laughter vibrated through the cracks along the frame. Bo pulled off the fine threading of a cobweb from her chest as Lauren reached out for the lion-headed knocker. The blonde woman pulled up the metal and let it clang along the oak. The instant the two objects collided, the sound of a violin overshadowed the mad laughter.
Bo didn’t want to admit it, but she had chills along her spine. She was half-tempted to tell Lauren that they should just turn around and go home. Nothing was worth this, she thought, tugging more white fluff from her top. No persuasive tactics had worked back at the crack-shack and none were going to work now.