It's a dark, stormy night and as you scurry between web sites lightning flashes down causing the thunder to roll. As it rolls past you another flash of lightning illuminates your surroundings. To your right is a tree, with a nest atop it. Roosting there, enjoying the storm is a dark bird of forbidding portent. It squawks at you, in a way that could only be described as sarcasm.
Turning away you find yourself gazing down a bleak road, filled with delapidated buildings. The few that remain in good condition offer strange computer games with names like Mornington Nomic and Javaelstrom. Halfway down the street a young man with long hair and clad in a long dark coat watches bits of cardboard flutter about in the wind. You eyes move to the sign that labels this road as 'Darker Street'.
Then beneath the street name you notice a small, incongruous kennel. It squats there, slightly malevolently, as if daring a policeman to ask it to move itself along. The hair on the back of your neck rises as you remember a tale told to you by a wild-eyed old man in a MUSH three months ago about a kennel just like this one. A kennel which though small on the outside contained a platial interior which was unequalled by any other doghouse known to man or beast and which is a refuge for people looking for a place to stay.
Could this be the one he was referring to?
You throw caution to the wind that has ceased to whistle and has started to howl. As you struggle to stand on the doorstep you crash your hand against the wooden panels and wait. You hardly have to stand there long before a voice from ecoes from within.
"Good evening. My name is Franklin, butler of this house. Won't you come in?"