“This place stinks!” Albert moaned as he became bored of traipsing around the museum.
“Shush!” Albert’s Mum reprimanded in a whisper. “That’s the smell of age. Hurry now, we’re leaving as they’re about to close.”
“Smells like cheese.” Albert sulked, as he stomped after his mother, but happy his ordeal was now over. He didn’t look back. If he had, he’d have seen the rotting bandaged-wrapped figure lurching through the hallway behind him, arms out-stretched.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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