She crept down the stairwell, the faint sputtering of her torch echoed beside her. With each step her weariness grew, the cramped and musty basement was illuminated by a feeble yellow light. She halted at the last step and stretched her arm along whatever she couldn’t make out of the muddled room. The floorboard creaked with the faint scuttling of rats under old furniture, the dust enough to give someone a coughing fit if they took a long enough breath. When she took another step, a wall-scaled bookshelf toppled over, the books flying out in a pile of molded covers and pages. She covered her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt and went to step over it. A tile of the ceiling above her creaked, fissures spidered out of where it was placed. Then it all went black.