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Dark. It was dark; how could it be dark already? Unreasonably dark, dark enough that it seemed to cling to his skin like oil.
Greg walked forward, bare feet splashing, landing on smooth, slick flooring. He took one reluctant step at a time, hands held in front of him, fingertips stretched back as if recoiling from what they were going to encounter. Nothing he would find here would be good. Nothing could be, covered with this slime of darkness.
He could hear things, muffled cries and mutters, soft words.
If he was a stronger man, he would turn, would turn around and run toward the door and the light and the...
He fought the urge to cry out as his hands brushed a curtain, slick and warm like a shower curtain in a public bathroom, fingers curling into it even as his instinct was to pull away, let go. He wasn't a stronger man. He hadn't been able to fight this then; he couldn't now. He took a breath, breathed in the heaviness, the black, the ink of the air.
Then he wrenched open the curtain, eyes wide, and stepped into someone's nightmare.