I begin to count the successive stairs as I went, mainly to keep my mind from thinking about what might be lurking in the darkness around me, but I gave up the count after several more circuits of the stairwell. I kept picturing a crazed Vincent Price in the film "The Pit and the Pendulum", descending a circular stone staircase on his way to the torture chamber below his castle. At least he could see where he was going as he circled down to his doom--I was unable to see anything. I found myself listening intently for any furtive sounds of pursuit from above, or perhaps worse yet, the sound of someone (or something) waiting in the darkness below.

Continuing to descend, I felt that by now I must have traversed enough stairs to account for all three stories of the mausoleum, even with the backtracking due to the curvature of the staircase, yet they continued downward. While I might have indeed passed by doorways leading onto other floors, totally unseen in the darkness, I thought that there would have at least been a noticeable landing on each successive floor. Not having many alternatives, however, I continued down until my thoughts were jarred as my foot came down unexpectedly short of the next stair. My heart pounding, I felt about with my foot for a moment and then nearly shouted with joy at the realization that I had at last reached a level area.

Waiting not even a moment to hold in check my mounting excitement, I blundered through the darkness before me, no longer concerned about unseen obstacles or even the possibility of a yawning emptiness of another stairwell--I simply had to find a way out of that suffocating blackness. Within only three short steps, I crashed headlong into a wooden barrier. Hoping against hope, I felt about frantically and discovered that it was, indeed, a door. My heart near to bursting with joy at finally finding an exit, my questing hands soon found the handle, but suddenly I hesitated. God forbid--what if the door was locked?

Forcing such defeatist thoughts from my feverish mind, I quickly attempted to turn the door handle and was immensely relieved when it rotated easily. I pulled on the handle, intending to fling wide the door on my route to freedom, but icy fingers gripped my heart. The door would not budge. I nearly cried aloud in anguish at that moment, my fear and frustration were so great. Choking back a sob of despair, I tried the door again and yet again, jerking at the handle so vigorously the door begin to rattle within its frame.

Quickly exhausted by my futile efforts to open that portal of freedom, I sagged to the floor and warm tears slid down my flushed cheeks. In utter defeat, I pounded weakly on the door with my fist and a gasp caught in my throat as the door swung silently outward into a dimly illuminated passageway.