A man's skeleton, about the size and height of your Host, has been assembled with great care amongst the entrance hall. It has been stretched out, each bone placed perhaps a few inches away from the next – making it look as if it has been pulled apart piece by piece, and left there for some time.
You hear a slight, muffled gasp from behind you as the Singer pulls her hand to her lips. The Financier mumbles something and closes his eyes.
The Major narrows his and steps forward.
“Right. I'm going to get the constabulary.”
Taking care to avoid any of the bones on the floor, he reaches to open the front door – only to hear a clicking sound as he twists the knob. He tries it again, sweat breaking out as it doesn't respond – then pops off with an audible hiss and the stench of smog.
“R-right. You!” Pointing to the Financier, the Major motions to the door. “Come now. Between the two of us, we should be able to knock it down.”
“Do you know anything about law? I... I refuse to knock down a door in a house where someone's skeleton is layed out on the floor. I'm staying right here until morning, at which point TWO of us should go and fetch the constabulary.” Responds the Financier, shivering.
Rolling her eyes and lighting a cigarette, the Aristocrat steps forward. “Apparently my broad shoulders shall be of some use in this life, after all. Let's give it a try, eh?... And what about them?” She points a finger at you, but the Major shakes his head.
“No, no. I believe that the Financier is right. Best we keep our names out of it, best we remain detached from one another – and if someone is to be brought in for questioning for this, I am willing it to be me. Do you understand the possible dangers we take?”
She nods expressionlessly, and they set to it.
You watch as they try fruitlessly again and again – sweat breaking out all over the Major as the Aristocrat wipes her own from her brow. Turning your attention, you can see the Reporter tracing the skeleton ceaselessly, her brow furrowed.
“Doesn't even look like it came from the same guy, if it came from a guy. Wish we had a doctor on hand... Hey. What about the windows? Could we maybe squeeze through the windows?!” Her voice grows slightly higher in tone, nervous and excited at the same time.
And that's when you notice that each window, to the last – has been boarded up and nailed tightly. The weather outside is no longer visible – and it is at that point that the power dies.
No-one screams or panics, and the first thing you notice is that despite the horror, everyone has been relatively calm over the discovery of the long-dead body. A familiar click lights the hall as the Aristocrat snaps her lighter, and you can just make out each other's faces. “I believe I saw some sconces and canelabra around the place.” The Singer offers composedly. There is a tranquil fury on her face that doesn't match her voice, and you can hear her hands shaking, even though you cannot see them.
Before long you all have managed to light all of the lower complexes. The upper-story rooms remain unlit – including that of the Host, to your knowledge. In addition, the inner door to the Cellar is locked, as is a room on the second story you were not able to investigate.
No conversation passes, and suddenly the Reporter, frowning, rises. “Screw all this. I'm headed off. We'll wait it out. We'll wait it all out – I'm going to go to the... Uh...” She motions to a room to the far west of the house – and walks quickly off before anyone can get a word in edgewise.
Next is the Financier, heading upstairs without a word. The Aristocrat snorts as the Major mentions weakly that you should all stay together – and leaves to a lower-story room in a cloud of smoke.
That leaves you, the Singer, and the Major, alone in the Foyer, uncertain of the time of night, and of what to do...