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Not ever.
The wall is cement, old, and slightly damp. It smells like old carpet in here, which doesn't really make sense, since the floor is tile, and the walls are cement.
I hear a breath, almost like a growl, only inches away from me. Directly behind my ear.
My back slaps against the cement, and I bring my hands in front of me, expecting to connect with a body, but all I get is cold air.
"Who's there?" I cry. I can feel the tears streaming down my face, and I don't even have the desire to wipe them away at this point.
After a moment of not hearing anything, I continue walking, my fingers running along the rough, bumpy surface of the cement.
"Ouch," I whisper, shaking my fingers out. I can feel the sliver that’s now embedded in my skin, and I blindly reach for the pad of my finger, until I feel the tiny wooden shard and pull it out. "Fucker."
My hand goes to the wall, and it connects with the wooden object. With both hands, I try to pull it off the wall, but it feels like it's cemented there or something.
"What are you?" My fingers run along the outline, and it doesn't take long for me to realize what it is.
A cross.
It's long, about the size of my forearm. The wood is thick, barely smoothed out. No wonder I got a sliver so easily. I try to pull it off again. No luck.
“Wait…” My eyes widen as my fingers hover over the wood. My body snaps back and tremors rack my muscles. “Is this shit upside down?” An upside down cross? In a Catholic church? Are you fucking kidding me?
Panic floods my body, and my breaths comes out in heavy pants as a panic attack takes over.
A burning pain suddenly sears my skin, and a scream tears from my lips. “Ouch! Ohhh, holy shit." I whip around, the back of my head slamming against the wooden cross. I bring my hand to my back, feeling what I know was real.
My shirt is shredded, like a sharp nail sliced straight through the thick fabric. My fingers dance along my skin, against the burning scrape, and this time, they come off wet.
Someone scratched me.
I know it in my bones.
I know what it feels like to scratch at my own skin. An itch? I’ve had one a million times before. It felt exactly like that, only ten times worse. Someone wasn’t scratching me.
Someone was coming after me to make me bleed.
My hand shoots out, thinking this time I'll connect with someone.
I don't.
"Please go away," I cry.
I walk backward, until my back hits the corner of the room. My legs give out, and I fall to my butt, curling my legs up until they hit my chest. I wrap my arms around my legs, curling up into a ball and burying my head into my thighs.
"Go away," I cry.
I hear a laugh, like a raspy chuckle of an old woman who has smoked for too many years. I bury my head in my legs further, knowing even if I look up, I won't see anyone. I won't feel anyone.
There's no one there.
Except there is. I can sense it. I can hear it. This room feels filled with people, and I think it is.
I just don't think any of them are alive.
I hear a latch, and light filters in. I lift my head, shading my eyes with my forearm as I see two black shadows in the doorway.
I rock back and forth with no sense of time or reality.
