The room has cheap wooden paneling, brown and glossy. The bed is firm but has several blankets. Curtains cover the windows, but it is bright outside. It is cool, a couple degrees below room temperature. There are two large desks, one covered with papers, the other with toys and Legos. There is a fancy desk chair in the middle of the room.
The trees are oak and maple. The oak trees are huge and complex, shading a wide spread of fern-covered ground. The maples are more numerous, but much thinner. It is shaded, but dapples of sunlight are making their way through.
The path is difficult but rewarding, obviously man-made, with small splotches of paint to guide the traveler. The path seems abandoned, but with so many rocks to cross, it is hard to tell.
The water is a crick - not a creek - and winds its way through the forest like a drunk man. It forms dirty pools here and there, gurgles between rocks, and generally makes one very curious about what it's doing or hiding. The water varies in appearance, depending on where the water lingers or slips, from cool and clear to stagnant and muddy.
It is a hand-blown glass flask with two glass loops, with a long cord attached. The glass is thick, and the surface is spiderwebbed with asthetic cracks.
The key is brass and dull, obviously old, with a square, detailed 'head' instead of teeth. The base of the handle is a figure eight. I get the feeling it opens someone's attic.