Errie and forlorn are places that were once filled with the happy life of many bustling people going to and fro. Imprints are left behind and hidden into corners waiting for someone, anyone to some and see, play and be with them once more. Someone will come, today someone will be here.

And here you are wishing it was not so. That the goosebumps creeping upon your skin were just because of the cold and, even if the heaters were on. It’s just because of the cold right and not because you feel as if any second now you’ll be stabbed in the back and everything will be over like a horror movie come to life.

But the people have dissipated you vaguely know where you are. Something inside you called survival instinct is screaming at you to run, run, run. But your suspension of disbelief rears its fool head and whispers its fine nothing is wrong, keep going. That shadow in the corner is just some tricks playing on your eyes and they’re just part of the flickering lights. Those distant and rhythmic pounding are just a machine working away, even when everything should be silent and all you can feel is perhaps your heart pounding and pounding.

Or is that the machine?

Or is it coming closer?

Are those footsteps?