The Adventureland Haunted Mansion

Deep within the dark,forbidding jungles of Adventureland, you come upon a turn of the century style manor house, a crumbling structure that looks as if no one has dwelled here in more than a century. At least,nothing alive---or human. It was,at one time,a splendid hunting club catering only to the cream of high society---now fallen into spectacular ruin, this ancient edifice looks as if it could collapse at any minute. The windows have been boarded up,while the remnants of long-dead plants occupy the flower boxes in front. The only vegetation that seems to b thriving are vines clinging on the wall and pillars. It seems that nature had reclaimed this place. 

Several wooden signs,in English as well as other languages,warn any and all would-be explorers not to enter this building. Passing through the gate and into the courtyard littered with statues of deities from various parts of the globe. 

A maid or butler, dressed in turn of the century attire opens the door and greets us to come inside. Upon crossing through the doorway,we find ourselves in a small vestibule,dimly illuminated by the cobwebbed chandelier above our heads. A formal portrait,that of a young man in khakis and a pith helmet,hangs on one wall. From nowhere, a disembodied voice of an elderly woman echos within the room. While she speaks her monologue, the portrait begins to change, the creases of advancing age begin to line his face,his hairline recedes,fading from dark to grey to white,his clothes wither and tatter,until his very flesh melts away,leaving him little more than a skeleton. 

"When darkness descends upon the land, and the beasts become restless. Where voice are heard within the wind, that is the night when spirits are at their power, to bring fear on the living."     

A sliding panel in the wall provides us with our passage into our next stop, a circular portrait gallery with four portraits hanging on each side of the wall. A young man in safari hat with his arms crossed, a young woman with a parasol in hand, a hunter with a hunting riffle in hand, and a stocky,middle-aged man with a mustache,decked out in outdated military garb.

 Suddenly,an unseen voice,seemingly coming from the very walls,addresses us:"Greetings and salutations,my former fellow mortals,to the,er,uh,Doomed Adventurer's Club.I am your host,you may address me as the Colonel. Please do make room for everybody and let me tell the tragic tale of how this hunting lodge became a house of dead souls."

The door then slides shut, and wall begin to move revealing the portraits true nature and their fate. The young woman seems to be on a boat and is head straight towards the crocodile infested waters. The hunter stands triumphantly over his victim. The young explorer is on top of another man, who is also on top of the shoulders of man, whose waist is halfway eaten up by quicksand. The bearded man is in hot water,literally. The Colonel begins telling the tale.

"It all began many centuries ago, when I and my colleagues chose to build this house for social meetings and exhibits. However, the native tribal elders warned me that this place was cursed for we would suffer the wrath of the spirits.  Oh,stuff and nonsense---silly superstition indeed!!I mean,really---what could POSSIBLY happen?!?"  

The room is immediately plunged into darkness as the room abruptly ceases to  stretch. A moment of silent gloom,and then---the crash of thunder,a flash of lightning which illuminates the room momentarily but brightly enough to reveal the Colonel's body hanging from innate jungle vines.The lights resume,as the room is restored to its former state.

"Oh, I'm so sorry about that. Come along let's stay together and continue our tour."remarks the Colonel as another wall slides open,allowing us passage out of this haunted chamber.

Emerging from the moldering sanctum of the portrait chamber,we find ourselves waiting to board one of the long line of doom-buggies,moving ponderously through the dark,forbidden hallways that lay ahead.The mounted heads of several trophy animals are set just above us upon the dank walls.Is it our imagination,or are they looking at us,their intimidating gaze following us as we pass?An unseen force lowers our safety bar,we begin our journey,the Colonel's voice seemingly following along. 

"Please allow me to lower the safety bar, and once onboard you must remain still in your budgie by keeping your hands, arms, feet and legs and no flash pictures please." 

Slowly gliding through a narrow hallway adorned with portraits on the right side of the hall. To the left side are a series of windows, outside it is raining and thundering. When the lighting flashed, the painting are turned into grotesque images of their former selves.  

We come upon the club's library,whose facilities seem to be in use by unseen inhabitants---books are pulled out,then pushed back into the shelves, a resting ladder rocks precariously back and forth, an easy chair shudders with the weight of a phantom occupant. Most dismaying of all are the decorative tike sharing space with the books, their scowling and grinning faces turning to observe our passage.

Moving on, we come upon a solarium, the plant life seems to be thriving in a wild and unmanicured state. Several ornate windows look out on the jungle perpetually swathed in nighttime ,the sounds of nocturnal animals can still be heard. From the edges of the windows,as well as the wooden molding running along the ceiling, massive tree roots have penetrated the building,and crawl ominously over the walls. 

Our tour will continue in a moment.....