Before shutting everything down and going to bed, you check online to see how your videos are doing.

It's... going okay.

You double check that all the house's entrances are locked, you brush your teeth


and you go to bed.









You wake up to the sound of splashing on the floor.






You wake up in your bed




but not in your room.

Just as your eyes begin to focus, part of the ceiling breaks with a loud crash. Black-green sludge begins pouring into the room, like water but... thicker. It coats the floor in an instant, reaching about ankle height in seconds.

Aside from you and your bed, the only things you can see in this room are a door and a bookshelf. There are no windows, vents, or other exits, save for a small port with iron bars in the door--and that's far too small to fit through. The whole thing reminds you of a prison cell, one that's uh... poorly equipped to deal with flooding.

You approach the door, expecting the large metal strip across the middle to be a push bar.

However, after a moment of struggling with it, you discover it has a lid that lifts open. Underneath are five numbers with aged, gold dials. Turning each dial changes the numbers; they all start at 00, by default. The door won't budge, despite its worn out appearance; it's thoroughly locked.

You take a closer look at the bookshelf.

They're all books you recognize--either books you had to read in school, or books you've heard spoken of often. Taking a few and thumbing through them quickly before returning them where they were, nothing about the books looks out of the ordinary. The text contained is what it should be for each book, as far as you can tell. There's no additional writing or marking on the pages. The only oddity is the covers themselves--very similar designs, and no authors are listed, just the names of the books.