The corridor was empty and dark. The tiny torch couldn't penetrate more than a few feet.

Footsteps echoed in rythm. Thud, thud, thud, thud. This was a stupid idea, but better than sitting duck.

Thud,

Thud,

Thud,

Thump.

An old book somehow made it's way below the foot.

The pages were turned slowly, with a crinkle. Where ink should be, was blood. All the illustrations were the same red-brown shade as the words.

One such illustration caught the eye. Slit pupils of many eyes, sharp yellowed out teeth, and clawed fingers emerging from the neck, it was a horror not meant to be captured in paper.

Then there'd be a scream, and the house would be silent, waiting for the next to arrive.