Trapped

Chapter Three

January 7, 2060

I quickly close the door behind me, my breathing is fast and uncontrolled. Nothing makes sense. Who is in the house? Why is he leaving notes? How does he know my name? How is it possible for him to remain unseen? My mind is going all over the place. This person is playing games with me. I need to think about this logically, there must be a way to escape this creep. Since the back door is not an option, there is only one way out of the house, through the front door. I feel my pockets for the key, I must have left it in the door. Making a run for it might be dangerous, who knows he might have already taken the key out. I must think of something fast, he must know that I am hiding here. I scout the room for something I can use as a weapon, the only thing I see are some books, clothes and boxes. Nothing that proves to be particularly useful. I guess I will just have to make a run for it, there are no other options. Jumping out the window will either kill or cripple me, not a chance I'd like to take. I take a few deep breaths and grab the door handle. I pull the door and start running, through the hall and onto the stairs, my feet have never moved faster. I reach the bottom of the stairs and sprint towards the front door, when I reach the door towards the hallway my feet slow down. There is no winning, there is no escape. From a distance, I see a note on the front door. He has read my mind. I slowly move towards the note, scanning the hallway for his presence. He doesn't seem to be here. I take the note, it reads 'Don't run David, no one is here.' I sit down against the front door with the note in my hand. 'Show yourself!' I shout as hard as I can. My voice echoes in the house, followed by nothing but silence. Trapped in my own house with no way to escape. 'Just come out, take everything you want, but just let me go!'

Minutes go by, while I sit with my back against the door. The notes have me doubting my sanity, I'm absolutely certain I saw someone before. I try to think about my last memory before I came to the house, maybe I am truly losing it. The only thing I can remember is Doctor Eckhardt giving me the new medication. Maybe memory loss is not the only side effect these pills have on me, what if I'm hallucinating all of this. It's hard to grasp the feelings that I have, the sensation I can't trust my own perception gives me great discomfort. Doctor Eckhardt must have made a mistake prescribing this, there is no doubt about it. The discomfort is interrupted by a strange sense of joy when I realize this might mean I am alone here after all.

The sound of a door being opened awakes me from my thoughts. I can't figure out whether this is real or a hallucination. Adrenalin is pumping through my body as I get up and slowly move towards the main hall, I notice a light coming from behind the door to my father's office. The door is slightly open, creating a beam of light into the open area. Slowly walking alongside the wall, I approach the door and place my hand in the centre. I count back from three in my head and slam the door wide open. There is no one in the room. I stare into the office, expecting something to happen. But once again, it's quiet. Dad's office is fairly empty, there is a large rug on the floor and the right wall is hidden under two large bookcases. In the middle of the room there is a large dark brown oaken desk, lit up by a bright desk lamp. There is a small open book placed perfectly in the middle of the desk. The placement feels odd, as if it's on display, as if someone was meant to read it. My father never liked me snooping around here, but I decide to approach the book and turn it over in order to read the cover. 'Somnium is the answer' I look back to the open page. The text seems handwritten, allowing for only a handful of sentences to fit on one page. There is a clear title that reads: 'Stage 2, Therapy'. I wonder what this is about and decide to read on. 'For hundreds of years, mankind has been trying to understand what happens when we sleep, what happens when we dream. Somnium goes further than a simple understanding. What if we could manipulate dreams, make them suit our every desire. With the creation of dream therapy, we have found a way to enter and alter someone's dreams. This creates a new level of possibilities in enjoyment, training and many more. With the right therapists, it is even possible to...' The sentence abruptly ends, as if it's still being written. I jump up as the office door swings shut, I instinctively turn around. There is a note stuck to the door. Goosebumps cover me, if I'm not hallucinating, does that mean that he was watching me just now. I shudder at the thought, I was so caught up in reading I did not even notice I was being watched. The note is clearly visible from the desk, the handwriting is more excessive than the last notes. It reads 'THE SOMNIUM IS REAL.' I wonder what it means, and why this is important under these circumstances. I pick up the book and turn the page, it's blank. I turn over the next page, this one is also blank. I scroll through the book, every page I turn, just blank. There's no content besides these two pages, how is that possible. I glance to the right; dad's bookcases are filled with books. I pull one out, the cover reads 'Architecture in 2059.' The pages are all blank. I take the next one out, and another one. Every page, just blank. I can't understand what is happening, I can't comprehend what is real and what is not. There must be a way to find out who is writing these notes. He must be somewhere in the house, I must find him. I'm overwhelmed by a feeling of dedication, something that I haven't experienced in a long while. The adrenalin must be taking over.

As I leave the office, I see a light flickering behind the kitchen door. I'm tired of these games, I just want to find out what is going on. I approach the kitchen to see what is happening. I should've known what I would find, there is another note on the table. Unaware whether I want to know what is written, I pick up the note. This one seems to be carefully written, the handwriting clearer than the previous ones. My heart skips a beat, I must be going insane, there is no other way.

The note reads 'It's me, your mother. You have to believe me David!'