The holes in the wall

You move over to the wall and concentrate on pushing your gaseous body into one of the holes. The sensation is oddly reminiscent of pushing your fingers into a woman's tight wet hole. You find the comparison more disturbing than arousing. The first few holes turn out to be dead ends and you are about to reconsider you decision when you find one that seems to stretch deep into the wall and turn upward. You follow it until it ends in another room where, after you have collected your entire misty mass you reform your body.

The room is a master bedroom with a king sized, four-poster bed whose wooden frame is stained a deep red, almost black, and whose bedding is also a deep dark red. A large chair, the same color, sits in the corner next to a large oak chest and a fire blazes in the large fireplace. You walk over to the window and open the thick wooden shutters. The window turns out to be a simple hole in the wall barred with a wooden lattice through which the moonlight streams through. You look down from the walls of what is, at least, a mansion, if not a small castle, on a town which your heightened vision allows you to see is filled with small brick houses whose every door and window is shut against the night, light streaming through the gaps as a sign of the life inside.

Were your ears not as keen as your eyes you would not have heard the footsteps of someone approaching the door. Since they are, however, you are unsurprised when you hear a knocking upon it.