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Dust, falling through the cracks in the floorboards underneath my feet. The corners of the ceiling covered in cobwebs that even the spiders have abandoned. The door creaks slowly, tired of having been used so many times. But I know that the house still has a heart. A heart that is weak, but hasn’t yet lost it’s pulse.

I hear the squeal of floorboards behind me, and my own heart starts to race. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum. I hear them coming closer and closer, and then—suddenly—they stop. They’re gone, just as fast as they came. I bend over, panting from all the running. It wasn’t real, I think to myself, It’s just paranoia from being in this house for too long, breathing in this rotton air for too long. But I can’t afford to get distracted from what I must do.

Find the center of this maze of a house, bring back the hope that it once had, and, finally, get out. Get out of this house before it sucks me into its misery, just like it has done to so many others before me.

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