In my panic to escape, my fingers slip from the night vision camera and it drops, clunking to the floor. For a moment, all I see is black. If there were ever a time not to freak out, this would be it, but with each cry from Jackson, I feel reality slipping away.

I fumble around the basement, past the delicate bones and junk. “Where are you?” I whisper. “Come on.” I crawl, on my hands and knees, pushing past wet things. My heart beat races. I pray to find the camera. There’s no way out without it. There’s no way out.

My hands slide into sleek, foul smelling substances. Are those girls watching me now? Those sad, little girls. Around me, bones move, tangling towards me. Those little girls surround me, their laughter rising. No escape. No escape.

I feel that I’m on the edge of a giant precipice, about to fall. But then a miracle happens, something I’d never expect. My eyes…adjust.

There are no little girls here. Just bones and chairs draped in blankets, lampshades and buckets of slop. I don’t need the camera. I never needed the camera. Jackson’s cries echo down the corridor. I look to the left and see the faint outline of the arched doorway.

I’m coming for you, I think. I’m going to save you. I duck through the doorway. Stumbling forward, Jackson’s screams become louder. I run through the darkness, following his cries. Pushing myself to hurry, I round a corner full speed, only to hit a cinder block wall. Dead end.

“No!” I slam my fist into the rock. My fingers make a cracking sound, but don’t break. Backing up, I retrace my steps. Did I miss a turn? I went left before, but following the wall, I see there’s another narrow hallway to the right. Adrenaline courses through me as I plow on.

Jackson. This way. Find him. Go.

Words fill my mind, but I’m not sure if I’m thinking them, or something else is intervening. A voice from the beyond? Maybe it’s a higher power. An intuition I’ve long ignored.

I run as fast as I can without making a sound. At the end of the hall I see a faint light raking across the concrete floor. Cautiously, I press against the wall, inching my way to the edge of an open doorway.

On the other side, the room tapers, stretching around a corner. There’s a single lamp on a dirt floor. It’s nice, with a beige shade that’s slightly crooked. With a deep breath, I enter the room, scanning dark corners. It’s only when I’m halfway inside that I spot Jackson. He’s tied to a splintering chair, his head drooped to his shoulder. A rag is jammed in his mouth.