The corridors of the catacombs grow narrower inch by inch. Your companions are lost or dead. You never should have come here.
Your flashlight shakes in your trembling hands, casting hideous shadows against the grotesques that line the walls of the tomb. The shadows dance in the path in front of you with every step you take, mocking your advance - or is it a retreat? To say you’ve lost your bearings would be a tragic understatement.
You hear a scurrying behind you. You whip around; your flashlight illuminates the corridor behind you, revealing nothing save a puff of dust.
At the edge of your flashlight’s beam, an unseen claw scratches the stone wall. You back slowly away and the scratching follows. You increase your speed, but with every heightened pace the claw keeps in step.
Travelling backwards isn’t fast enough. You turn to run forward, but crash headlong into a stone wall. You hear a crunch – your flashlight – and the world goes black.
The claw and its owner, no longer kept at bay by the light, scratch slowly toward you along the corridor. The scratching stops. It is replaced by breathing. Hot, dank air, caresses your face. You should never have come here.