Pitch Black

For some spontaneous reason, you emply the door knocker upon your entrance to door 54. An Anne Bancroft-esque old lady (ironically, dressed like a gypsy) greets you with a warm smile that you interpret as genuine. "Please, sit down..." she soothingly says, motioning toward an ornate padded chair across a small circular table from her. The table has a crystal ball in the dead center of it, and the table is covered by a square, reddish wool cloth with fancy tassles hanging from it.

"This is odd," you can't help but think. Will you: