Total and complete darkness squeezed my breath into gasps. Whatever prowled this room was probably skulking up to me to deliver the final smash that would end me right then.
I wasn't ready, for death or for attempting to communicate with ghosts. This had been a stupid idea.
"Fuck," I moaned and fluttered my hand over my pocket. I could end this now. The idea of snatching up the iron made me salivate but I resisted. I wasn't dead yet.
A light in the center of the ceiling snapped on, and I blinked into the brightness, my stomach tightening at what I might see. Rusted red walls wrapped around the small room. Heart pounding, I scooted closer to the one at my back.
My fingers grazed short ruts, about two inches long, and I traced each one in a long line. They grooved all four walls and the floor, all in a continuous row. They were a darker red than the rust color, and bits of orange flecked the edges like they'd been carved by something sharp.