Hannah’s hands trembled as she held the lamp. Slowly she tiptoed and lent her ear against the door. She heard nothing. Her fingers grasped the ornate metal handle, the rippled design imprinted her skin she held it so tight. Opening it, her breath shallow and fast, relieved that the door didn’t squeak.
Out in the corridor, the blackness enshrouded her, shadows cast along the picture frames. Each step cautiously taken. Convincing herself that nothing would harm her, she had been at Feltone for two weeks and no harm had come to her so far.
From above she heard a door banging, not once but repeatedly. Then the sound of water, she held the lamp at arms length. She looked at the staircase and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Water was springing from the floorboards pooling on each step before it toppled as a waterfall to the next.
She stepped back two steps, before she felt fingers on the back of her neck and a whisper of “get out”.
…to be continued