The Last Thing He Heard

The door stood in front of him,

large and ominous.

Its brass doorknob shined under the light of his torch.

He had come far.

The tunnel was long, winding.

But he was here, and there was no turning back.

He had to save her,

even if it meant losing himself.

The smell in the chamber was horrid.

The air was damp, mildewy, stale.

He wanted to leave.

He wanted to return home.

But she had been taken—taken here.

And he knew he had to go in.

He put his hand to the doorknob.

It was cold and smooth,

which was actually a nice feeling,

considering his face was sweat-drenched.

He turned the knob, and saw her.

She was sitting on a chair.

Her face was smooth, but dirt-speckled.

Her hair was unkempt.

Her dress was tattered.

Not that he expected anything different.

Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Don't come!" she screamed. "Step back! Step back!"

He took a step forward.

"No!" she yelled again. "Don't—"

It was the last thing he heard.