Mr. Sealy would load the house, passionately giving folks the backstory at the foot of the stairs, ax in hand. Above the door was an abacus, hung by Mr. Sealy himself. He used it to keep track of the night's count, balancing at close with the exit count, which was kept by Sargent Driller at the Slide of Doom.
On the night of the Great September Storm of 1992, a mysterious occurrence took place. Attendance was light on account of the forecast - mostly just a handful of Creighton students. ... plus one guy who arrived all alone. His eyes were hidden by a floppy hat, and the phrase "I HEART BLACK WALLS" was emblazoned across his shirt in big, bold letters.
He also smelled like a pitcher's worth of margaritas, which made Mr. Sealy wary. But the man pleaded, "Please. . . .I really need this." Mr. Sealy's curiosity was piqued by this man's fantastic oddness, so he was eventually welcomed in.
Minutes later, the storm struck and everything went black. It would later be told that right at that moment, one of the third-floor actors had just found a floppy-hatted dude curled up on the floor in the maze. And as she reached down to help him up, he vanished right before her eyes.
Mr. Sealy was the only one who ever believed her story. Because he had his abacus, and it counted one more soul in the manor than Sargent Driller did that night.
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