• Every room was a trap. Every corner was watched. There was no where safe. No where to go and no one to scream for. Each turn she made seemed to come to an end as what was once her small home became a maze of horrors. The very screams of the past still seemed to echo within the walls. The shadows seemed to shackle every soul. All she could think of was that Hell's Gate was unfolding before her very eyes. She gave up all hope, because what hope was there left for her, being hunted in her own home that was no longer her home? It was there. Without a doubt it was there. It was every shadow, every sound, every wall. There, just beyond reach in the lightless corners, or in that pocket of air right beside her but just beyond her peripheral vision, silently watching, playing with it's prey. That's when the shadows began to move. Very slowly and hardly percptable at first, but gradually increased. They shifted and rose into forms that could only be described as demons. That's when the scratching began as unseen claws tore through the walls as if it were clay, and the entire household itself seemed to be rotting, quickly deteriorating - decaying - as if it were long dead, and the illusion of a perfect little house was just a dream to hide the reality. It was from one of those gaps of vision it came unseen and unheard. By the time she became aware of it, it was too late, because she was gone. The lifeless scream was frozen in time as terror still echoed in her sightless eyes.