The clacking sped up until a terrible, resonant whirr roared behind the walls; stone and cogs flung past the windows. Paint chips and bits of plaster rained down from the crumbling mural on the ceiling. Fissures cracked and split up the walls.

A high-pitched, metallic [i]SCREECH[/i] caught their descent in a lurching, nauseous stop. The last of the glasses and tableware crashed to the floor; wine pooled and dripped into spreading puddles. The phonograph and its table had toppled and twisted. For a suspended moment, the absence of sound rang in their ears -- then the room dropped the last six inches and [i]slammed[/i] into the ground below.

Everything had stopped, silent. Bits of dust and plaster floated in pools of wine and spilled food. The locks on the doors clicked open. The phonograph made broken whirring and clicking noises, on its side on the floor. The gas lights on the walls had stopped flickering and shone brightly once again.

There was only darkness and stone outside the windows.

Should the doors be opened, the partygoers would be hit with the musty smell of old pine needles, damp stone and rotten meat. Outside the doors was a clear sight to the wide mouth of a cavern and the bluish glow beyond it, like shining moonlight.

Between the doors and the way out of the cavern, something was breathing.

It was scaly, clawed and sharp-toothed, and it was curled in an elephant-sized sleeping ball just outside the ballroom doors. Broken branches and old bones littered the floor.

Somehow, the crash and racket of the ballroom's descent had failed to wake the tyrannosaurus.