It's fascinating, the way the house shifts, somewhere beyond the perception of vision. The door opens onto a brightly-lit, perfectly pleasant-seeming corridor... until they step through it, and it doesn't. It's not even a matter of blinking and missing it; it's as if one had simply seen it wrong the first time, and this was the eyes correcting themselves.

The true image-- the room they're in now-- is decrepit, certainly, everything dirtied and rotting, wood crumbling and all begrimed with dust and the leavings of insects and mice, but there's no immediate, personal horror that he can see. Certainly nothing as obvious as the room he'd found Johnny in, nor some he'd passed through before, designed to prey on his own, well-buried fears. Until-- ahh. There, in the corner. Shadows, such as he'd seen himself, roiling like the darkness behind the stars, heaving sick and predatory, creeping delicately through cracks in the floorboards.

But not, he thinks, for him.

Unthank's shoes barely make a sound in the dust as he paces up to join Johnny, looming close enough behind him that even a deep inhalation might have his chest brushing Johnny's shoulderblades. 'Dare you choose another?' he murmurs, leaning down to speak in Johnny's ear.