You Awaken - First Installment

I'm going to try to at least pretend to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  Here's what I've done today.

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            You awaken several hours later in a daze. The lights are off and you can't see. At your feet you feel something heavy and warm. There is a hard pillow beneath your head. A whirring sound softly emanates from off to your left.

            You reach left and your hand taps into a glitchy lava lamp. The bump causes it to flicker to life, illuminating the room in a red glow. The cat on your feet blinks angrily at the light and moves to under the bed. The door is closed, as are the curtains over the window. You are pretty certain this isn't your room.

            You sit up and open the blinds.  It’s night time and a full moon is out.  You’re on the third floor of this building.  Outside is a narrow, two lane street with cars lining it.  Across the street is an old brick building with a purple neon sign depicting a sultry lady.  A name is on the bottom, but the only letters that work are I, E, and N.

            You try to open the window, but it is jammed.  The cat has emerged from under the bed and is now pawing at the door expectantly.

            You get out of bed to go open the door.  You’re wearing pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt.  The shirt is black with a waving, smiling stick figure on it.  There’s a piece of paper in your right pocket.  It’s a crumpled photograph.  It looks altered, like two different pictures were combined at the center.  Half of it shows a vaguely familiar woman and the other shows a vaguely familiar man.

            You open the door.  Outside the room is a white-wallpapered hallway lit by a series of dingy yellow lights and home to a dark red carpet.  It stretches far to the right, doors lining it at fifteen foot intervals on both sides.  The left has two more doors before it rounds a corner.  Old, tinny music emanates from one of the rooms to the right.  The cat runs to the left and around the corner. 

            You walk toward the music.  You can’t see the end of the hallway.  You pass doors with no discernable labeling order: A37, 1115, 42C, Q. The music seems to be getting closer - Hush, hush, hush, here comes the Bogeyman - but when you turn around, you’re one door down from the room you just left.  The music abruptly fades back into the distance.  A light far in the distance flickers off.