Devoid

James waddled through the threshold into the pitch black corridor. He placed his hands onto the wall to the right of him, using it as a guide and also as a walking aid. The lactic acid coursing through his knees, his chest constricting firmly with each breath he took. The corridor was silent except for the sounds of his hands sliding across flaking wallpaper and his footsteps against the wooden floor. Slowly his heavy breathing became the dominant noise in this part of the decrepit building. A sense of paranoia overtook his thoughts. He felt as if he was being watched, it was dark, surely no one could see him but what if he could be heard. Becoming conscious of his large gasps for air he took one arm from the wall and covered his mouth, content to breath through his nose.
He edged further forward finding the flaking wallpaper had come to an abrupt stop, now the wall was no longer a solid structure, it was wet and seemed to absorb his hand as he applied pressure to steady his balance.
James pulled his arm away. His legs were about to give way. He struggled to find the opposite wall to lean against. In his panic he lost all sense of direction. He didn't know which way to go. He slumped to the floor. From one of the ends of the corridor he could hear footsteps. They were faint but James was certain they were getting closer.
He cradled his head in his hands. What ever was on his hand was now smeared across his forehead, dripping from his hands onto the floor like a leaking tap. Each drip came after each footstep. His breathing became more erratic but meshed with the liquid hitting the floor and the sound of footsteps it became a symphony of terror.