The Corridor (A Prose Poem)

And it wouldn't take much work to convert it from prose poem to poetry. Consider.

Creak Creak.
The wooden steps beneath my feet
as I walk deeper down the dungeons corridor.
The light of the lantern above leads me,
though I know not where.
Brick laid walls are all I see,
the dimensions seemingly coming closer with each step. [need to edit this line]
Turning and turning,
lower and lower.
Haunting vibrations run through my spine
as I hear a shrill noise,
like that of the highest pitch ever heard by man. [could use a metaphor here]
Bellowing voices call out below,
like cries from the depths of hell. [lose 'like']
Further still, I venture.
My fingertips touch the bricks;
a thick slimy liquid coats each curvature. [curvature in bricks?]
An indescribable odor permeates through the ghastly couloir, [sic colour?. you can do better than 'indescribable']
getting heavier with each loathsome gait.
Soon enough, I recognize it as that of sulfur. [lose 'it as that of' ]
Luminous flickering light reflect against the bricks,
confirming the fiery sulfuric smell.
The light brightens into a blinding glow.
At last, I reach the end of the corridor.
The light stands before me,
and nothing more.

Great ending!
All the above just suggestions, but I like this as a poem and the ambiguous subtext.