That puts them in a dark, dry, dusty place that looks like a basement. Lots of crates and boxes piled around in stacks. Cobweb-laden shelves divide the space into aisles. Brian gets a sort of hinky feeling creeping up the back of his neck that maybe he and Art aren’t alone anymore. Is that rustling noise he hears the sound of his own breathing, or is something moving in here, moving all around the basement, maybe inside some of those crates?