Breakfast room

You walk into the breakfast room. There is food all over the floor. Scrambled egg splattered over the cheap chequered table coverings, slipping down onto the wooden floor. There is a picture of a green clown framed on the far wall with bacon hanging from the edge of the frame. The kettle is boiling, steam rising from the nozzle. You look around the room and no one is there. An empty room. Chairs are flipped and turned upside down, other chairs are stacked high on one another at the back of the room. The steam continues to rise to the ceiling and makes a high-pitched whistling sound. You walk farther into the room and slip on the floor and land on your knee, when you look down a small pool of blood is puddled on the floor and your jeans are now covered in blood. When you attempt to stand, your kneecap makes a cracking sound and you scream falling back onto the floor. You look around once more and still no one has come into the room. Your only hope now is the crawl back into the ball room and hope the old janitor is still cleaning the doors.



You find a door marked ‘members only Breakfast Room


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