Terror tends to frequent sordid, dark places. Spots where shadows shelter countless threats and things like that. But in this microstory horror hints itself in broad light, with no cover at all. And it's as terrible as ever.
White. Everything was perfectly white. Without shadows, no stains at all. Before him, left on the floor, a dagger was breaking that chromatic monotony. The blade reflected the paleness of the surroundings, but the handle revealed itself pitch black under the written paper which wrapped it. It's letters said in crimson: "Colour with this brush and you'll find the exit." The screams, not so far, clarified him where to get the paint.