Shadowgate
Progressing down the hall, your footsteps silent on the carpet; the match flickers between your fingers. Upon reaching the metal door, with dramatic punctuation, you grip the latch and heave. The weight of the door is immense. As it fights against you, you manage to throw yourself inside.
A brief but sudden rush of ancient air dims out the struggling ember as the door slams closed behind you. What little of the room you saw was clearly not enough. Overburdened with fear, you clamber through your pockets for the familiar texture of the sheath of matches. As you strike hard, match after match, not a single spark of life. The packet is too damp, and your luck has ceased as hastily as it sprung. You wildly turn for the door. Groping the frame in dire need of an escape of the nothing that consumes you, to your horror, you fail to uncover a handle or any mark of relief from the maddening darkness.
A brief but sudden rush of ancient air dims out the struggling ember as the door slams closed behind you. What little of the room you saw was clearly not enough. Overburdened with fear, you clamber through your pockets for the familiar texture of the sheath of matches. As you strike hard, match after match, not a single spark of life. The packet is too damp, and your luck has ceased as hastily as it sprung. You wildly turn for the door. Groping the frame in dire need of an escape of the nothing that consumes you, to your horror, you fail to uncover a handle or any mark of relief from the maddening darkness.
