The Haunted School
Spinning toward what you think is the door, you take a bold step forward. Your foot lands in a pool of stickiness and slips. You feel yourself falling. Panicked, reaching out, you manage to grasp something solid. The surface is cool and wet.
Sink, you hope.
Your nose, suddenly assaulted by the acrid, ammoniac smell of a not-so-fresh urinal cake, tells you a different story, however. You are face to face with a urinal.
You scramble to your feet and lurch toward what you hope is the door. Your groping hand jams painfully into the tile wall, then you find the handle to the door. In another second you are outside in the dimly lit hallway, breathing heavily, heart hammering as if you had just run a marathon.
Sink, you hope.
Your nose, suddenly assaulted by the acrid, ammoniac smell of a not-so-fresh urinal cake, tells you a different story, however. You are face to face with a urinal.
You scramble to your feet and lurch toward what you hope is the door. Your groping hand jams painfully into the tile wall, then you find the handle to the door. In another second you are outside in the dimly lit hallway, breathing heavily, heart hammering as if you had just run a marathon.