You walk up the old, creaky stairs of the apartment you are staying in for the night, hoping the laundry room is up there. Dust stirs as you walk through, and you see some rat patina and bugs. 'Clearly not the most clean apartment', you think to yourself. You come across a door, wooden and old. You grasp the door handle, feeling how it has been worn down by time. You turn it open, and inside see something than makes your stomach churn. No washer or dryer, but a rocking chair, and everything in the small, old room is covered in a thick, white string.