The building was too old, and had gone to clutter: boxes piled up, stacked to the ceiling and dripped with veils of dust. The shadows among them were deep and treacherous, and they shifted, sliding along the faces of crumpling containers and pooling in bookshelves. The air smelled too dry, of rotting paper and wood.
And there was something in the shadows and dust…something that moved, something that waited.
The light crept in from the grimy window like it was afraid to enter, clinging to dust motes and floorboards, unwilling to venture too far into the room. Beside the window, a decrepit rocking chair rocked slowly back and forth, back and forth, beside a dimly-glowing lamp. The chair was empty. It always had been.
Do not stay too long, said the beast-brain, the brain that fights or flees; do not stay too long, or– but she stayed, because rational thought must win. Rational thought, that tells us there is nothing under the bed or in the closet or in the attic…
But there was something in the shadows, something in the dust, and the beast-brain — all instinct — felt it coming —
— and run it said among the clutter and boxes and dust but too late, it was all
Poses: Diesel Works, Del May, pda