The rutting and the commotion coming from inside seems to have stopped abruptly as she headed up the stairs. She remembers that she came here for a note,
whatever she was hearing might be something to avoid.
Down the left corridor lay the door to a small room she remembers her father using as a simple break room where he would typically just read a book and smoke a cigarette
to get his mind off of his work.
Down the right corridor lay her fathers office, the place he spent most of his time writing his books and doing his own personal research on samples of unique and sometimes rather unnatural fungi sent to him from colleagues deeper in the woods.
Colleagues that her father never even seemed to know, not by name or face.
She wonders, had he ever even spoken to those people?
Where were they from?
One day he simply packed his research, abandoned his books and disappeared deep into the woods in search of them, saying he had something important to share with them.
What was it that caused him to leave like that? What did he learn?
Regaining her focus now, she doesn't hear any commotion coming from either of the rooms anymore, she still has to find what she came here for, she needs to know if it has anything to do with his disappearance. But she can't shake this concerned feeling now.
she definitely wasn't imagining things, should she be worried?