Haunted House (Mikko)

It would seem that desperation made him gullible. That had always been one of Mikko's flaws, and now, being fresh out of a life of torment, he was more vulnerable to it than usual. He'd never seen a place like this, and he'd certainly never heard voices like he was now. It all seemed so well fabricated, as if he was walking into his own version of hell. The helpless whispers in his ear, the puppets staring judgmentally down upon him from the ceiling, the rotted corpse splayed out for all to see--there was no way this wasn't meant to taunt him, or even if it wasn't, it certainly was working. He stepped away from the now broken carcass, dirtied paws squelching against the wooden floor as his maw wrinkled with frustration and, in a way, pain, as the same voice from before returned to pull at his conscience: Save me!

I'm trying, he snapped right back from within his head. He'd always tried, and he'd always failed. Wherever this thing was, if it truly wanted to be found, then it shouldn't have been looking for help from him. Mikko felt movement, then, against his side, and whirled around with a growl and a bristled spine, ears perking as he thought he heard rustling. Save me!

Without another thought, he darted forward, hoping to find the source of these eerie cries for help and save them.