The basement

You and Travis make your way down to the basement, the wooden stairs creaking beneath your feet. The air is musty and thick with the scent of dust and mildew, and you can feel the weight of the mansion pressing down on you from above.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you find yourself in a dimly lit room filled with old furniture and boxes. Travis wanders over to a battered armchair and flops down, reaching for a bong on the side table. 'Might as well make the most of this place,' he says with a shrug, lighting the bowl and taking a long drag.

You roll your eyes and head over to the bar in the corner, running your fingers over the bottles of liquor. 'I'm going to mix a martini,' you call over your shoulder. 'Want one?'

Travis shakes his head, blowing out a plume of smoke. 'Nah, I'm good. Gotta keep my wits about me in this place.'

You snort, pouring a generous measure of gin into the shaker. 'Right. Because getting high is really going to help with that.'

Travis just grins, taking another hit. 'Hey, whatever gets you through the night, right?'

You ignore him, focusing on mixing your drink. The sound of the shaker fills the room, drowning out the creaks and groans of the old house. As you strain the martini into a glass, you can't help but feel a sense of unease creeping over you. The basement feels oppressive, claustrophobic, and you can't shake the feeling that something is watching you from the shadows.

Travis seems oblivious, lost in his own world as he smokes. You take a sip of your drink, the sharp bite of the gin helping to clear your head. 'We should keep moving,' you say, setting the glass down. 'I don't like it down here.'

Travis nods, stubbing out the bong. 'Yeah, okay. Lead the way.'