This idea came to me after re-watching The Gregory Horror Show. A few questions. A few eerie ideas...Thing is, I made this writing more...simplistic than I usually do, but its for a reason. Bear with me? I can change it later on.

A darkened reception. Lamps hanging over a rotting overhang. Between the creaking hooks lay a squat double door. The door encrusted in a house, the house flanked by a forest that went on forever, under a dank, starless sky. Walking to the door.

They open without the coaxing of hands.

"...Ever since that day, I've not been myself. But – where am I? Why am I wandering through a forest?"

"...Hello?"

Faintly, though it could be one's imagination, a cry wanders through the trees.

The world changes through the door. The cold is gone, but it isn't exactly replaced by warmth. Just a lack of chill. Enclosed space, the quiet – the kind of quiet that hovers in funeral homes, waiting rooms, a house whose owner has only just left. Between hush and silence. A candle lay on an old fashioned holder, hook and all. One had to wonder where such a typical looking prop came from...open book bigger than half one's body.

Bam.

HEAtbEAT races –

"Oh, I'm so sorry, chum." A crooning voice, with a subtle hint of age, leering. Droopy, unfocused eyes somehow latching. Big ears, red eyes. The mouse's nose twitches, smiling smoothly. It doesn't do well on a crooked snout. "You were so quiet, there. Could've been a mouse." He turns, but remains watching, sliding behind the desk and draping a heavy arm over the book.

"You say you're tired? Never met someone so eager. Are you quite alright, friend? You look a little jittery. Perhaps some rest isneeded." He scoops up the candle, and his eyes never leave ,ever waver as he moves to the side. Head turns to follow him, uneasily.

"Don't worry, my friend. Come along..." He jingles a set of keys. Hadn't seen him pick them up. He asks no name, writes nothing down, but begins moseying forward. Following now, candlelight sways. The sound of footsteps are the only thing that makes it into the air, but it doesn't break the silence so much as tiptoes around it.

Down a hall. Rainwater dripping from a faded red raincoat.

"You're like a drowned rat. Here, let me take that for you –" The mouse reaches. Then quirks a brow. "No? Very well." He smiles, again, eyelids narrowing. "I'll give you your space..." He holds out the candle, gesturing to a room.

The door is already open. No creak. One step, two step, inside. Nice bed, alluringly soft blanket, plain pillow. The window shutters are wood and thicker than one's hands.

"I would keep those shut, nasty rain out there, my friend..." The mouse calls, with the air of a man speaking spooky tales. Yet no rainwater is heard. A desk, with...

Step away. The mouse draws near, eyeing between dampened, dripping hair and a small, dusty hand mirror, colourful. Painted childishly.

"I guess I should've warned you – you do look a bit of sight." He chuckles, inwardly. Chill up the spine. "I'll take it away..."

He pockets the mirror and begins moving away, back stooped. "You get some sleep now, friend. You are so very tired."

The bed creaks under the weight, creasing fabric. The mouse turns back between the doorway, hand on the frame, head tilting gently. "Goodnight..." He murmurs, in a sing-song voice, soft as it is...something else...

The door shuts, candlelight cut away. Darkness.

The pillow cradles the head, blanket wrapped around the body. The faint scent of cookies, freshly clean cloth, yet dust, also...

Sleep.