I turned to step down from the ladder and noticed the floor had gone. In its place was a choppy paper sea, waves of dirty yellow-white rising and falling across the hall. I took my foot off the last rung and tried to find purchase on the floor but no matter how hard I stretched, all I could feel was the rough, hot, wet edges of the curled-over lining paper. Standing at the top of a flight of stairs and aware I was over-stretching, I pulled my foot back toward the step-ladder. Or at least I tried to; but the paper had stuck to me.

I kicked my foot a few times but again nearly lost my balance. It was like the paper wanted to stick to something. No, not something, someone and not anyone, me. I suddenly knew true fear, this was not an accident, this was revenge. I had dislodged it from it's vertical life. What was it now, laying curled, worthless and ruined? Not even truly horizontal. I had done this. I would pay.

I felt the curls of paper move around my leg and tighten. I stifled a scream, this was stupid, this couldn't possibly be happening.

From there, once established, the thick, suffocating scraps of paper slid up to my torso and finally enveloped my head.

As it went dark and the damp, glue-covered paper filled my throat, all I could think was; I should have got a man in.