It's late at night.

I'm not sure when. Just after midnight.

No stars, no moon.

No crickets chirp out in the summer air tonight.

I opened the sinister door to the basement.

Why am I here?

All I remember my stubborn fear of that room.

A child's fear, my dad used to laugh.

Where was he now?

I do know that there's always something lurking in the thick, black shadows.

Seeping with menace. Seeping with blood.

But do I really see such things?

Or is it just my imagination?

Shaking my head to clear it of such thoughts, I descend my way down the rickety wooden steps, and spiders scuttle out from beneath my feet.

My breathing is the only sound.

Peering to the left, I can just barely see the white dirt-streaked wall.

To my left, the wall drops away. Corners on each side of the stairs hide unknown things.

I can taste the blood already.

Wait... why blood?

As I take my last step onto the smooth, icy concrete floor, I hear a noise behind me.

My senses are on red alert, my eyes scanning my dim surroundings.

Should I run?

My feet seem glued to one spot.

Nothing's moving on my right.

Nor up front.

But what about behind?

To the left?

I whip around.

But there's nothing there.

Well except for a unfriendly cold breeze.

Maybe a whisper.

Or my imagination.

All of a sudden, a searing pain at my temple.

Instinctively, I reach up, feeling something warm and sticky dripping down my face.

Blood.

I can feel the open wound too.

For a moment, I thought my head split open.

I wasn't far off, was I?

Dropping to my knees, I cradle my head.

The world fades in and out of scarlet dimensions.

I can't even breathe anymore.

I'm flailing around in the dark. Blind and desperate.

Pain bites into my wrists, my stomach, then my neck.

I'm dying.

I can't move, I can't run.

I'm trapped.

But there's no sight, no sound.

I can't scream.

The silence is deafening.

Then, I awake.

In my own bedroom.

Or I think so, at least.

It's too dark to tell.

But what's this?

I can't breathe still.

I clutch my neck, struggling for air.

It's sticky with blood.

I guess it wasn't a dream.

I'll never wake up.

A black wave crashes over me.

I really am dead.