It was all wrong. Everything about the place was wrong.
Courtney Dayle awoke on a grime-slick floor, bits and pieces of god knows what sticking to her face. The smell was sickly-sweet, almost like too much garbage in a hot shed on a sweltering day.
The windows here were boarded up, and only small slivers of light pierced through the darkness, with flies and other buzzing insects dancing among the floating particles of dust that seemed to scurry out of the rays of sunshine.
It was all wrong.
“Taylor?” she shouted for her girlfriend.
No answer? But there was something. A whisper. It suddenly became cold. Her flesh crawled.
Taaayyylooor the whisper came from behind her. She screamed, turned and tried to see through tightly closed eyes, falling back, slipping on the sticky puddle on the floor.
She got to her feet, pivoted and tripped over something laying at her feet.
The blood was slick-crimson leading to a knife in Taylor’s forehead.
Taylor’s vacant eyes stared up at her, and the mouth moved,
Taaaayyloorr