“Spiraney,” called out a soft voice, the accent very much like Darrow's. She looked around but only nothingness was seen. She stood up and followed the wall further. The voice repeated itself as she followed its source.
“What's a spiraney?” she asked to it. If it was using the term, she would hope that it would know what it was. She needed to know. Why was the term used over and over again by ghosts? No answer was returned. She called out again but still nothing.
Suddenly, something rushed through her. It was bitterly cold yet it felt as if she were on fire. She screamed as it tore through. She begged it to stop as she fell to the ground. She thought she could hear it circle around as it swiped at her. Each swipe made new wounds, wounds that bled and burned. She felt like she was in a to
