Rust and grime fought to hold tumblers captive as the teeth of the key bit and scratched first one way then the other. Finally enough resistance flaked away, letting tumblers escape neglect's tight fist and slide into place. With the ancient lock tamed the heavy door sagged open with a despairing moan - and possibly a broken hinge.

To say the room beyond was dusty would be to say the beach was sandy. A gray sea choked the room, hiding shattered glass and weighing down the swaths of webs. Pieces of a once magnificent chandelier were strewn across the hall, dull remains poking through the dust like islands of metal. The angry chitter from above was hollowed, muffled. The air reeked of rot and death. The steady drip from the decayed ceiling could not be the only cause; something had died in this room, the fetid scent lying heavy and disturbingly sweet on the tongue.

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This single room on its own managed to be far worse than the exterior in all its dubious splendor: a sagging roof, destroyed windows, rotting wooden trim, and worst of all, the crumbling stone choked by the tangle of withered vines grasping and clawing the eroding mortar, loose blocks jutting from the ground, each a gravestone to neglect.

This entrance hall in all its macabre glory was Percy's first look at her inheritance, and there was only one conclusion she could come to:

"There is no way in hell I am staying here tonight."