Snippet #2018628

With eyelids slowly parting light engulfed his sight. His head realing with no doubt a head-ache. Possibly from a head injury of some sort. Pushing his arms into a weak push-up pose he managed wobble onto his feet. The wood creaked from the sudden change in weight. Dusting off his worn brown suit jacket ink on his arm caught his attention.
"Alan Morris?" He whispered to himself, "Oh of course that is my name." Alan chuckled quietly. The dusty air was hard on Alan's weak lungs. With caution Alan searched the room the he was stationed in. Candles all around along with dusy caked book shelves and an elegent door, unlocked.

One foot after another careful not stress the wood to much the man plucked a candle with a silver base from the note cluttered oak desk. Alan turned the beutifuly engraved gold door knob and made his was into the just as dusty hallway. The air was colder, the scent of dust and death filled the pitch black space. In the distance a faint glow could be seen, then followed a soft yet demanding voice called out.
"Hello?" It barked, something was called out afterwards but he couldn't quite catch it.
"Who's there? Why am I here?" He called out while coughing as he tried to breathe the stuffy air.