Her heart started to pound, slowly she knelt down in the gloom. The floor was wet, congealing and sticky.

Raising her fingers to her nose she smelt - oil. Then she realised the shape near here were a pair of old rusting oil drums, their contents had spilt out over the floor. Broken panes of glass from the conservatory roof had allowed the elements in which explained the condition of the oil.

Standing quickly she almost laughed at her imagination. Just because she had been left here didn't mean she had to give in to fantasty. What had she imagined? Blood?

Wiping her fingers on the skirt of her dress she headed for the door leading out of the conservatory.