That Which I Fear Most

What light there is is filtered through grime encrusted windows. Cobwebs dully hang in every corner. The musty smell if decay permeates the empty space. The dank air so thick it is almost impossible to breathe.Dust covers a floor that has been untrod in many a year. The only sound is the creaking and falling of rotten timbers. There is a sense of monsters lurking beyond the doors, but no signs of their passing. Nothing has entered these corridors in the memory of Time.

This is not a scene from a horror film, nor the beginning of a book from the likes of Edgar Allen Poe. It is not a remembered visage from a recent nightmare. It is what I fear and loathe the most. It is a closed and unused mind.