It doesn't matter that I'm running back the way I came, because I don't know where I was going to begin with. There is no forward or backward in this place. There is only away.
And I can't even be certain that 'away' is real, either.
But I'm not about to stand around and give up. Not this time.
The shadow surges after me, a silent, swift predator. The humming of the lights seems to grow louder, a mocking cheer for the chase. I dare a glance over my shoulder. It's closer, tendrils of darkness snaking out, reaching for my ankles.
I burst through another open doorway, not bothering to see what's inside. A storeroom, shelves laden with mildewed boxes. I slam the door shut, my back pressed against it. There's no lock.
The door shudders as something heavy hits it. Not a bang, but a deep, resonant thump that vibrates through the wood and into my spine. I shove my whole body against it, my bare feet slipping on the grimy floor. The door thumps again, harder this time. The wood groans.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierces through my grief-fueled resolve. I'm trapped. A rabbit in a snare. I look around wildly. My eyes land on a heavy, metal filing cabinet, toppled on its side.
With a scream that's equal parts terror and fury, I reach out and just barely manage to grab the edge of it. The cabinet scrapes against the concrete floor, a deafening screech in the confined space. I ignore the strain in my arms and back, the memory of my husband's face, of my own weakness, fueling me. I heave. The cabinet shifts, then topples over with a deafening crash, landing squarely against the door a moment after I jump out of the way.
I slip on the carpet, and my back hits the floor. I'm staring up at the ceiling, and I can't breathe. I'm choking on air. My vision tunnels. The fluorescent lights above flicker, their hum a dull roar in my ears.
The thumping against the door stops.
Silence.
Then, a new sound. A scratching sound.
Like fingernails. But too fast. Too many of them. A thousand scratching fingers are digging at the wood of the door all at once.
My chest aches. I feel a phantom chill, the memory of a knife sliding into my skin. The cold grass on my back. The moonlight. His face.
No.
No, not now. I can't. I can't die. Not here. Not like this.
Anger.
It's not a fire. It's ice. A cold, clear, sharp rage that cuts through the panic. I scramble to my feet, my bare feet slapping the damp floor, and look around the room. My pipe. Where is it? I spot it near the door, dropped in my desperate flight.
The scratching is louder now. The wood of the door is splintering around the edges. Dark, oily tendrils of the shadow are starting to seep through the cracks. They don't look like smoke. They look wet. Like blood.
I run to the pipe, grab it, and run toward the open door on the other side of the room.
I don't know what to do, really.
I don't have a plan.
I certainly don't think this damn rusty pipe will do anything to that thing.
But I'm not dying here.
I'm not dying again.
I refuse to die.
I burst through the doorway into another identical hallway. The scratching fades behind me, but I don't stop. I run. My lungs burn, my side aches. The fluorescent lights blur into a continuous sickening yellow streak.
The hallway seems to stretch even longer now, an impossible perspective. The end of it, a flickering white square, is impossibly far away. The smell of mildew and old paper is overwhelming.
I can hear something else, something new. A different kind of scuttling. A dry, clicking sound.
I don't look.
I don't dare.
I run, and I don't look back. I can't risk falling down, slipping on the wet carpet beneath me and being overtaken by the shadow.
I don't know what it will do to me if it reaches me, but I am certain that I don't ever want to find out.
I slam my bare feet against the floor, over and over and over.
I can hear it gaining on me, but I'm not going to look back.
I'm not going to let it see me scared.
I am scared. So scared that I think my heart might burst out of my chest. But I am not going to look. I'm going to run.
The white square at the end of the hallway is getting closer. I can see that it's another door. A different kind of door, this one made of metal. There's a keypad on the wall next to it.
I hear a scream from behind me. A human scream.
But I don't stop.
I don't.
I can't.
My bare feet pound against the carpet, each step a frantic prayer. I'm almost there. I can see the scratches and rust on the metal door. The keypad glows with a faint, sickly green light.
I hear another scream, closer this time. Followed by a wet, tearing sound.
I'm at the door. I slam my hands against it, the metal cold and unyielding. I pound on it, my fists making dull, pathetic thuds.
"Open! Open, damn you!"
I press at the keypad with shaking fingers. It's unresponsive. Dead. I slam my pipe against it, a desperate, ridiculous burst of violence.
Sparks shoot from the pad, and the door rumbles as it slides open.
It's slow.
It's so slow and I can hear something running toward me. I can hear the scratching, I can hear something else. Something big.
I can hear its breathing.
The door is open just enough for me to slip through. I don't hesitate. I throw myself through the gap, my shoulder scraping against the rough metal.
The door slides shut behind me with a final, deafening clang.
Blue light flickers in front of me.
FLOOR: 1
LEVEL: 1
EXP: 0
GOAL: REACH FLOOR 100 TO RETURN.
REWARD: ONE WISH.