The voice was no louder than dry leaves in a breeze but it carried pain and terror beyond nightmare.
“Gissellee…” it breathed.
“TYSON!”, she screamed as she staggered to her wobbling legs.
“Staayy baackk…”, she heard. “I am no longer…Tyysonn.”
His…its whisper was choked off by a guttural scream of horror and pain. The sound drove Giselle to her knees, her sanity slipping. A desperate choking woke her from her spell. Her face had sunken into the mud/blood of the floor. Her wracking coughs threw the mud from her lungs and the madness from her mind. Scrambling away from the thing that had once been Tyson, she slammed painfully into rough rock. She pulled herself to her feet and slid along the wall, feeling for an opening.
A cold breeze stinking of death brushed against her face. She slapped madly at the wall and found a gap head-high. The screaming had stopped but a slow shuffling sound filled her with far greater terror. With the last of her panicked strength she clawed herself into the gap.