At first, I think I'm imagining it. The voices. And I think, Oh Christ, I've fuckin' lost it. But then I'm being hauled up, my feet practically leaving the ground, and he's panting frantically in my ear, dragging me deeper into the dark with his arm clamped so tight around my throat I can hardly breathe.

The room's swaying in and out of focus and as the adrenaline starts to burn off, the first real spark of fear laces it's way down my spine.

He's shouting something, shouting back at the voices in the dark -- I can feel the rumble of it in his chest pressed against my spine and smell the hot and rancid stench of his breath fluttering across my cheek -- but I can't hear him over the pound of my own blood in my ears.