You are listening intently.

Was there actually a knocking?

Perhaps there is still knocking that you cannot hear over the beating of your heart and your own heavy breathing. Now you’re distracted, thinking about your body as foreign pieces of equipment that go on working unnoticed unless something is a little off.

Suddenly there is another knock and you listen even more closely as though you could somehow decipher the intent of the person out there via the knocking. But listening more closely makes you feel as though there are some sounds that you only think you are hearing and, in turn, you visualize movements that are probably not actually happening because they are correlated to the sounds you probably only think you are hearing.

But certainly someone is knocking. Who might be out there? Is it more than one person? Do they know you are here? You could greet them and tell them of your predicament but you barely know the nature of your predicament yourself. You could wait and see what happens, see if someone else answers the door, see what the person knocking decides to do if no one

—more knocking, louder and longer this time—

Having adjusted to the light somewhat, you no longer see yourself in the mirror because it lies shattered in many pieces on the floor – one of those pieces seems to have pierced the lampshade and broken the light bulb.

Carefully, you walk out of the bedroom and down a hallway toward the sound of the knocking. Neither the hallway nor the open space into which it leads are at all familiar to you. You can see three doors from here, each beyond equally unknown.

Now a curious scratching sound introduces itself. You stare off trying to place the noise until you see movement accompanied by some more scratching at the door to your left which now seems to you like a front door. You remain in the same spot for some time after the scratching and the subtle movement have ceased so that you may scan the room. There appears to be nobody else here.

Quickly, you check the bathroom and another small room off of the hallway you walked down and find yourself quite alone just as you had imagined all along. You find the entire house to be as plain as the room in which you awoke. To further emphasize how utterly ordinary and dull this country cottage is would be to draw more attention to it than it could possibly withstand. Still, you could raise no serious objection to the words “pleasant”, “charming”, and “delightful” being used to describe it.

You begin to wonder how much longer you could possibly stand here thinking about how much longer you could simply stand here thinking and looking at the door. Out of boredom, perhaps, you finally move slowly past a couch, chairs, and a coffee table clustered near a fireplace toward what you take to be the front door. A nearby window allows you to survey the situation outside.

Only visible in between the trees lining the street and already too far away to make out clearly, you observe a person walking away. Once this person has been out of sight for what you deem to be a safe enough length of time, you step into the imperceptible foyer and open the green door. (Very green, you note! The greenness of this door might be the most striking feature of the house!)

A folded piece of paper that was tucked between the door and door frame falls to the floor. You stand stiffly looking for unknown strangers or attackers or captors or a small bald man bowing and doffing his hat to you, but you find nothing more than a small porch and a lovely morning.

You pick up the piece of paper and open it. It reads:

Do not leave this house for any reason.

You hear what you believe to be the whirring of a plane from afar.

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