The knob jiggled, but it took a bit of force to open the lone door. Swinging it open finally, an old room is revealed. Before you can throw your gaze over the tatter of wallpaper and old curtains, it falls on a dusty mound in the center of the room, illuminated only by the barred window. The stuffed bear seems to be the only thing in the room, save the chair that had blocked the door.
Stepping in, the floor creaks, and as you inspect the walls, you see the eyes of countless nursery rhymes through the tears. As you name them in your head, pulling back the paper a bit. Perhaps while thinking fondly back to simpler times, a chill breeze brings in an echo of the tail end of a music box song to your ears, and the distant giggle and cry of children.
The Nursery, of course. Once surrounded by the hollow eyes of mother goose, children would be housed here for shows. Nevertheless, it did not explain why or how the door was blocked from the inside. Nervously, your eyes fall back on the teddy bear, which stares back with beady black eyes and a stitched smile.
His skin tingles, The air is crisp. 
