The marble was cold beneath Anita’s feet. She could feel it through the thick soles of her shoes.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Stupid, filthy dare! I curse you to the depths of hell and purgatory. I hope you burn!

There wasn’t a sound other than the pattering of her sneakers on the floor, and that by itself was enough to make her tense.

It seemed like all her senses were on fire; her nose was practically red from the intensely frigid atmosphere inside the sanatorium; her ears seemed to pick up on any sound, be it barely audible…or a noise that was not there at all.

The windows gaped open like great wounds in the stone wall, and Anita found herself reciting a poem she had learned to calm herself.

Deep, deep breaths.

Not knowing what drove her, Anita came to a grating halt, feeling the hairs on her neck rise up until they were pin straight and rubbed irritatingly against her turtleneck.

Summoning up her courage, Anita spoke out, her voice echoing endlessly across the room.

“Anyone there?”