Sleep Journal: I Know This Hallway

Night 3

Dr. Darling says to write down everything I remember the second I wake up. So here.

I was in a hallway. Narrow. The kind of dark where you feel the walls before you see them. Someone was breathing behind me. Not loud. Patient.

I’ve never been in that hallway in my life. But I knew where every door was.

Night 7

The nurse wouldn’t look at me this morning. She said I talked all night. Names. Places. She said I described this building down to the crack in the ceiling over bed six. I’ve never been past the waiting room awake.

Night 13

There’s mud on my sheets. There’s a handprint on the inside of the window. The window doesn’t open.

Dr. Darling smiled when he saw it. He wrote something down and said, “Good. Very good, Sam.”

They’re not dreams. They never were.

Night 14

If anyone reads this: he’s bringing them out. He needs more people to walk through them, because my head isn’t big enough to hold them anymore.

If you go in, stay with your group. Keep moving. Don’t look at the window.

And if one of them says your name…

Wake up.