Stan isn't met with silence for long - in fact, he doesn't get very far at all before a disembodied voice echoes out from God knows where.

"So this is what you look like all grown up."

The statement is followed by a sharp, rickety chuckle that is anything but kind.

"If you ask me, you look better in the photo."

Something skitters across the ceiling, moving rapidly from shadow to shadow, safe from view beneath a curtain of darkness.

"He still has that old thing, by the way. Or, well, had."

Something drops from the ceiling, flutters apart as it tumbles through the air before landing at Stan's feet. It's the photo - or rather, the pieces of it that are left. It has been mangled beyond repair; no amount of tape is going to fix something that looks like it was set upon by claws.