11
A light goes on. Painfully bright. I shield my eyes with my arm. I blink out the spots and see a dirty floor beneath me. Patchy concrete. Bare. Empty. Are those old blood stains?
My eyes begin to adjust, enough for me to raise my head a little. To see I'm surrounded by brick walls, with strange symbols painted in a deep red. Stars. Stick figures. Crude animal faces.
I see the chain extending a few feet into the wall. I see the dust on my knees and elbows. And I can look up now, into the light. Not that bright at all. A dim lightbulb hanging from a cement ceiling, covered in cobwebs.
I look beyond the light, to the dark end of the room. There’s a wooden staircase, rising up to the left, into the ceiling. And to the right, a tall figure, stood watching me.
He must be six-five. Maybe
