Devon knelt down. Holding the Bic lighter above the plastic baggie he'd step on, he picked it up by one corner, as he did so a tiny hand slid out of the bag. A doll's hand he thought, until he picked it up. 'Damn!' He dropped the hand, gagging at the sight. It was then he heard a woman scream. The voice sounded far off, but echoed through the corridor. Devon pointed the pistol into the darkness. "Hello?" he called. His voice, like the scream, echoed off the tall cold walls. "Hello?" he called once again. The flame on the lighter was shrinking as the fluid was used up.
With the lighter used up, Devon proceeded down the corridor, one hand on the wall, the other waving the pistol from side to side. He stepped on several squishy things, but tried not to think about what they were. He also stepped on books and heard the rustle of paper under his feet. Every few feet he would stop and listen. Several times he would hear a soft sound, something moving?, but he couldn't discern what it was.
As he moved down the corridor in the darkness, he noticed the doors were spaced 20 steps apart. Keeping this in mind, he was unprepared when suddenly he leaned into nothingness. Devon put out his left hand to break his fall, but landed hard, jamming his shoulder. A wave of pain swept over him. On his hands and knees, he felt around for something to pull himself upright. He felt the corner of something smooth, and pulled himself to his feet. It felt like a chest freezer, with the lid up. He groped into it, and felt more baggies. Without electricity there was a strong smell of death in the room. He backed away. Before he could reach the door, it slammed shut.