Outside the windows the rain patters at the panes and the thunder grumbles down low in its throat. It is blacker than ever you remember and of course, you question that now too.

You step gingerly, favoring that one injured knee and not wanting to do it again. One hand is held out at waist level, the other is waving about to the sides and in front of you but there is nothing that seems in your way.

Which is odd, since you should have been through the doorway, into the kitchen by now.