Tennyson Hatfield

Spooksville Tennyson Hatfield

With Campbell in the lead, they proceeded down a long, monotonously gray corridor, turned a corner, and doubled back. A tall, slope-shouldered young man passed them with a deliberate wariness and glanced back defensively. The place certainly was ?different?, as well as the humanoids which inhabited it. Not a window was visible. The corridors were like subterranean tunnels. What lurked behind the cold gray walls and unmarked doors? Feeling a permeating, clammy chill, Anderson grimaced as he buttoned his coat. Now he thought he knew why they were called spooks. If the human zombies he had seen, including his peculiar companion, were a reflection of what he himself might become, maybe he should head for daylight. But even that was prohibitively risky. He probably wouldn?t be able to find his way back to the damn elevators on his own. That was incentive enough for him to spurt ahead and overtake Campbell. He didn?t want to spend the rest of his life wandering through this eerie maze.