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He bolted upright. His phone was ringing, but he was too disoriented to recognize it. Seconds passed as his awareness shifted from dreamspace to realspace, and he discovered he was awake in the empty living room. The phone stopped ringing, then began ringing again.

He turned to look at the phone on the floor next to him, staring at the lit up screen with his wife's name and face splashed across it. He shook his head in an effort to wake up more thoroughly, then swiped his finger across the screen to answer the call. He heard two faraway "hello?"s before he tapped the speaker icon, at which point his wife's voice carried well across the empty space.

"Sol?"

"I'm here." Solomon Garcia rubbed his eyes then stretched his arms out in a great big yawn before continuing. "I just had a major shock."

"What happened?" There was concern in her voice.

"I--" He paused to think about what happened. "I don't know. I had just woken up on the other side and something pushed me out."

Silence. Then,

"Like, right away? When did you fall asleep?"

He looked at the time on his phone. 5 am. His wife must be getting ready for work.

Wait, that didn't seem right. This meant he'd have been asleep for about 5 hours.

"Fuck. Apparently not."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Something's off."

More silence. Then,

"I'm coming to get you on my lunch break." He knew that tone all too well. She was not asking.

"I can't leave." He knew he sounded tired, and this would work against him, but this presence, this thing, couldn't be ignored. It was far stronger than he anticipated.

"I'm taking you out of the house. I want to have lunch with my husband."

"Just bring lunch here."

"Fine. Is there running water?"

"There's running water."

He had slept for five hours, but he didn't feel like he'd slept for five hours. He felt like he'd slept for as long as it had taken him to wake up in the other place and get thrown out right away. He felt like he'd slept for six minutes and then been pushed out of a two story window. He could hear it in his voice, which meant his wife could hear it too.

"This was only the second night and you're telling me something's off." She sounded upset. "I don't like it. Let's forget about the house, Sol."

"I can't do that."

"Why not."

"This thing isn't going to stop taking people. I have to do what I can."

"And what if it takes you, Sol?"

"It's not going to take me."

"You said something pushed you out. You've never mentioned that happening before." She sounded worried. "You said something's off. You've never mentioned that either."

Her echoes of his words gave him pause, but he wasn't ready to accept she might be right. They gave him a week. He still had five more nights. That should be enough time. And if it wasn't ...

"... then I'll quit and leave," he said, finishing explaining his thought process to his wife.

"I don't like it, Sol. I want to hear from you regularly. Is there power?"

"No. No power."

"I'll bring your power bank when I bring lunch. The Solar--"

"The Solar one," they said together.

Solomon and his wife chuckled. His wife sighed.

"Well, get some rest. I'll see you around one. I love you."

"I will. I love you too."

Continued after the break

Solomon ended the call and dropped onto his back. He lay there for some time, staring at the bland white popcorn ceiling, rolling this past dreamwalk experience around in his head. He had lost time between when he fell asleep and when the dream began, which never happened before and he didn't know what to think of it. He was anxious, and he was tired, and he was more than a little confused, and it was in this precarious state that he floated off to sleep once again, unaware he was drifting off, until he woke once again.

He woke once again in a different living room.

He looked around. The room was smaller than those he visited prior. It was furnished in an art deco style, with a muted turquoise and burnt orange palette that included the carpet, the walls, the chairs, and sofas. The coffee table in the center along with the picture and art frames on the walls featured bold geometric designs. The space was well-lit from the large window to one side of the room, where the light brown curtains were drawn apart. Solomon walked over to the window and looked out over the courtyard below. He appeared to be in an apartment building, about four stories up. He turned around to face the interior when the building shook.

He dropped to his hands and knees and was about to scramble toward a doorway when the shaking stopped. He waited for some time before climbing back to his feet, and then waited a bit longer. Was that an earthquake? He had no way of knowing.

All at once, he felt the overwhelming presence arrive. It crawled up through the walls, climbing into and through the apartment where he stood and encompassed the entire building. The oppression of this presence caused the color to drain from the space. Solomon watched as the paint peeled and the furniture decayed. Cracks ran up and across the walls and holes appeared in the floor. Afraid he might fall through the floor, he made his way to what he thought was the front door. At his touch, the door swung open, revealing a long, dark, deteriorating hallway. He felt the building hum--or was it the presence?--as he stepped with care down the hall toward the stairwell. The floor seemed to crumble beneath each step, though it did not give way.

He arrived at the door to the stairs which also swung open at his touch. He stepped onto the landing and looked over the balustrade. The depths to which the stairs plunged gave him vertigo. Holding on to the balustrade for balance, he turned back to the door, only to find it gone. There was naught but solid walls on each side of the landing excepting the stairs and the balustrade.

The only way to go was down.

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