I initially chose an extract from the book "This Book is Full of Spiders: Seriously Dude don't Touch it" by David Wong but felt there was too much going on so I changed to a different extract.

The following extract is from the book "The Executioners Heart" by George Mann. The only issue with doing this is that the sounds I recorded weren't intended for this, however I worked around this. 

The ticking was all she could hear.

Like the ominous beating of a hundred mechanised hearts—syncopated, chaotic—it filled the small room, counting away the seconds, measuring her every breath. A carnival of clockwork, a riot of cogs.

She realised she was holding her breath and let it out. She peered further into the dim room from the doorway, clutching the wooden frame. The paintwork was smooth and cold beneath her fingers.

The room was lit only by the flickering light of a gas lamp on a round table in the centre of the space. A warm orange glow seeped from beneath the half-open lamp shutters, casting long shadows that seemed to carouse and dance of their own volition.

The air was thick with a dank, musty odour. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. The room probably hadn’t been aired for years, perhaps even decades. Most of the windows had long ago been boarded over or bricked up, hidden away to keep the outside world at bay. Or, she mused, to prevent whoever lived inside from looking out. Clearly, the hotel had fallen on hard times long before the accident had put it out of business.