Escape. Escape. Escape.

Past the expressionless door that seemed only to come closer the faster you run from it. The heat of soured breath and sickly odor of fevered sweat stung the air. Do not stop, do not take the rusted handle in your trembling fingers.

You are stronger than it is.

It is not an escape, despite the gentle hissing filling your ears. They are velvet lies. Do not let the foul smoke cloud your vision. Do not let the sweet syringe blissfully muffle your mind. Do not let it possess you and let it strip you of your greatest weapon.

You've broken past, but more doors surround you. Doors that ooze and doors that bang, doors that whisper and doors stained with blood. The walls are no longer the stormcloud gray you so love. They are diseased and tainted, paint peeling and fungus clinging. Beyond a section of broken wall lies only darkness. What resides in the darkness, you don't know.

Maybe there isn't anything to know out there. Most likely it is a mindless vacuum, consuming the faltering sanity of one Sherlock Holmes.

An escape, an escape! So many choices, so little time.

A single voice breaks through the turmoil. You turn, peering down the darken corridor.

There she stands, slight and small but solid.

"What do you need?" Molly echoed, looking at you with those deep doe-like eyes. You stare at her, standing there so firmly midst the quaking demolition of your own mind. An anchor in an ever-changing sea.

"You." The words leave your parted lips before you can register the truth in them. She smiles. Suddenly she's off, lab coat billowing behind her.

You run after her.

She leads you to a door. Unlike the first, this one is worn. Its tenderly polished surface boasts a patchwork of scars. Four parallel lines two feet from the bottom of the door- the scratches of a big dog wanting to enter. A diagonal swipe four feet up- where a wooden sword has accidentally connected with the door. An acid stain- the remains of a failed experiment. Molly let the door swing open and darted inside. Without hesitation, you follow.

It is your old house. Your parent's house. Cinnamon and pine and typewriter ink fill your senses, and your muscles relax on their own accord. No one can harm you here.

Molly waits by the fireplace, sitting on the arm of your mother's maroon armchair. You want to go to her. To sit at her feet, letting her stroke your hair and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

Would it be too bad to disappear like that? Just to let your mind consume you, safe in Molly's arms? Perhaps not.

But Molly wouldn't allow you to give up so easily. She'll never let you fall.

She's beckoning to you, one little finger pointing out the french doors. Warm sunlight streams through the glass. It's so unlike the hungry darkness outside. You can hear a dog barking from out there, and the stuffy yet agreeable voice calling,

"No no no, it's pronounced an-throh-pall-oh-gee, 'Lock!"

Molly turns to you wordlessly, her cheeks flushed in triumph as she points to the doors. You stand there, baffled.

Could it be? Little Molly Hooper, quiet but brilliant, had found it so simply?

Was this possibly The Way Out?

You want to embrace her, to throw open the doors and run out into the sunlight. It had all been so simple, right within your grasp the entire time. You take a step forward, heart thumping in your chest.

A small hand grabs your own, stopping you. Startled, you looked down.

A small skinny boy is holding your larger hand in his slender one. Underneath his mop of unruly raven curls, a sallow face stares up at you. His blue eyes loose their shine in the shadows circling them.

Though he seems familiar, you feel uneasy.

He shakes his head, his bottom lip trembling. His dimmed eyes flood with tears. Pity overwhelms you, but the uneasiness does not leave. You glance back at the doors. The glow of the evening sun filters into the room. Laughter echoes through. You can practically smell the crisp autumn leaves underfoot.

Molly is staring at you. She's smiling, but there's something infinitely sad about it.

You crouch down to face this small child holding you back. His liquid-filled eyes steadily meet yours.

"I've got to leave." You speak as kindly as possible, thinking back to how Mrs. Hudson once spoke to you after you had just returned from rehab. "I need you to let go."

The child stares at you, and something haunted flickers in his eyes. He whimpers, his grip on your hand tightening. You sigh in frustration, glancing up at the doors again.

Where they so dark a moment ago? The sun was setting, but surely-

Then you hear it. A horrible sucking sound fills the room, ringing in your ears. The french doors protest wildly as strips of the whitewashed wood are ripped from it, the blackness engulfing. The hinges screech, and the glass shatters into a constellation of glinting fragments. Where the doors once stood is a gaping black hole, toothless and grinning. You think you scream, but you can't hear it above the roaring in your ears. The blackness moves, its tendrils creeping upon the carpet. Everything it touches disintegrates before your eyes. You back away, and the boy releases your hand. He stands trembling with fear in the middle of the room. Your eyes dart to Molly, watching her as she calmly sits down in your mother's armchair. Her gaze finds yours as the darkness slithers towards her. She offers you an encouraging smile, but you can see that it is also a mournful one.

"Molly!" You cry out, fear like few you have experienced coursing through your veins.

The darkness engulfs her, and she is no more.

You stumble out of the room you thought you once knew, leaving the small boy crying in your wake.

You run down the corridor, chest heaving. You are trapped with a predator you cannot deduce, outwit, or reason. You have created the means of your own destruction.

You run.

Escape. Escape. Escape.

Please review and tell me what you think! I used a new writing style here- did you like it?