The map shows mile after mile of aimless streams, shapeless gradients, and tumbledown field boundaries. No tower. No landmark. Except here it is

"Some mad billionaire built a folly then?", I speak to it, eyeing the entrance in case anyone emerges. But there's just the wind and a grouse calling somewhere

The tower is in the middle of a peat bog where only those stupid enough to take a shortcut across Haverton Moor would find it. It is in a natural hollow, probably a mud lake in winter, just boggy now, all long grasses and reeds and thick tufts of moss underfoot losing their colour in the evening light. The landscape seems to be turning grey. I tuck my map, which had become increasingly useless as I had become increasingly lost, into a pocket

The outside of the tower is a three storey chessboard of black and white tiles. All spotless and gleaming, loftily ignoring the miles of sucking mud that surround it. Gold glitters around the high window, catching the setting sun. The window is at the top of the tower, and I am at the bottom, in front of an entrance with grey steps spiralling up out of sight. It was... what? Mock Arabian? Pseudo MC Esher? Inventive at least. The billionaire was very inventive, or mad, or weird. There are probably cameras watching me, CCTV, or a waiting television crew

"Anyone in?", I call, "Do you do food?". Not serious. Definitely not afraid, because I'm making a joke, and that proves I'm not afraid. The sunlight has gone from the top of the tower now and down in the hollow there's a chill that curls around me. I step forward, and again

The tower has a smell of age, a sandy smell of a school trip to Callersey Castle, or some other ruin. It doesn't look old though. Everything is smooth and polished, the painted steps clean and unscuffed. My heart is beating hard and I've barely started climbing. It's not the climb that makes my stomach churn. I check behind me and the miles of bog are still there, but darker and darker, grey and with a mist seeming to rise out of it

Stupid, just tired and hungry and stupid. I think of David from quality control, the way he taps a pen against his mouth when thinking, looking down. I could tell him about this place, then... Then he'd ask, "what were you doing on the moors on Saturday night? On your own?", and in his eyes I see myself

Weird. Stupid. Weird. Lost.

I keep climbing and it gets dark, really dark. There's no light in front and none from behind, lost amongst the spiral staircase like spirits in a witch mark and my hands and feet feel their way and the air seems to thicken and a panic rises in my chest but I don't trust myself to turn round now and I have to keep on going up and up and what if there's a locked door and what if I slip and fall and what if

Light. There's light

"Really should put in some lighting ... and a handrail ... and some rest stops ... with a well-stocked bar"

Because I'm not scared, definitely not. There is a door half open with a dim light coming down the grey walls of the staircase. I stop and catch my breath before going through to the small room. I'm at the top of the tower. The floor and ceiling are black, the walls white. I can't work out if they are painted or if it's some kind of weird dyed wood. The door is a chessboard of white and black

"So you like chess then?", my voice is too loud for the room

There's a white bench, or maybe a low table, with some black blankets piled up on it. The window is opposite, the sill almost at floor level, dangerously low and I don't want to go near it that in this gloom. Nothing else in the room. No sign it's been used, the blankets are clean. Maybe it's a shelter just for a this sort of thing. People getting lost

There's a bolt on the door and that makes my mind up. The bolt slides smoothly across and the door is closed and locked. It's a weird kind of B and B but not bad. A couple of blankets on the floor make a bed, they are softer than they look and feel warm. For my evening meal I drink the last of my water, stomach gently worrying for the food that's all gone. My rucksack is a pillow and other blankets swaddle me

I can see stars through the window. Then an animal sound. Bird probably. And now just the wind and the sound of water. Another aimless stream. No chatter of traffic and sirens and the thrum of the city. Just the wild. After a while, I realise I'm happier than I've been in a long time. There's a warmth in the blankets. A light breeze brings sweet pure air. A hope

And then I sleep

I wake and it's morning, a car is sounding its horn outside and the horn goes on and on, but I feel the blankets and touch the smooth floor see the black and white and it's not a car horn, too broad for that, fills the room with a gentle sonorous call. I should be hungry but the sound of the horn fills my stomach. It is morning and the sky is blue

"What's that...?"

The sky is blue but the glittering trunks that spiral up through it are golden. Great twisting limbs in the distance, specks swim around them. Not birds, but things that move with slow grace. I blink, confused about this view that doesn't make sense. Stumbling to the window, a falling feeling in my stomach. Outside is water. Lapping against the bottom of the window. A lake. And a black and white walkway jags from the window to a far shore. No bog or grassy moor. The edge of the lake is lined with small trees, movement in them and beyond them. No reeds but darting colourful birds. And shapes like people walking this way and that. And the horn sound ebbs away to be replaced by softer sounds carried by the wind and my own voice

"No no no..."

My world sways as my mind bucks against what my eyes are seeing. I am dreaming. The golden frame of the window feels cool and smooth and solid. I am hallucinating. There is a gentle lap of water against the tower, a flicker of triangular shapes dart underneath the surface of the lake. It's some trick. On the rippling surface is a reflection of the great trunks that stretch up from the horizon into the sky. Outside the window is the cool air of morning. There is a shape approaching along the walkway from the shore, a person walking unhurried. The walkway zigzags, but I can see they are coming to the tower. Coming towards me. I jump back into the room with a shout like the window has burnt my hands and eyes

It takes moments to throw things back into my bag. I slide the bolt and slam the door aside. Leave the room. Get out. Wake up. Get away. I go down the steps. My footsteps clatter along with my heart. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out.

Into the darkness again I slow, go slower, go carefully, don't want to fall, stay on the outside of the spiral, feet reach for the next step, hands bracing against the wall, the air thickens like black water, but I have to go down, and then I stumble

I stop, shaking

My mother died last year. David asked about my holiday and I said it was nice. The pen bouncing on his lips. I had to stop reading the eulogy halfway through, I couldn't see the page anymore, my tears getting the paper wet. I said I went to the coast with friends, said it was great, and saw myself in his eyes. I didn't say that everything had gone and that I was lost

I stop

If I keep going down they will bolt the door behind me. I know this. If I keep going down there will be mile after mile of grey bog and aimless streams and when I get home I will still be lost, and all there will be will be a tapping of a pen and my reflection and a grey life in a grey city and grey and grey and grey

Stop

My breathing loud in my ears. The walls hard and smooth, my hands shaking. I stare ahead into nothing, and behind me. Behind me was something wonderful and strange and different. Black and white and black and white. Laughter and tears and happiness and fear and anything but grey. The door might be still open. If I can get back in time. I am touching unfinished grey walls and I know at the top of the stairs is a door that is grey on one side and a chessboard of black and white on the other. And there is a walkway with a person walking on it and I could meet them and not run away and walk on the black and the white and look to the blue sky and the glittering golden trunks twisting up into space

And I turn from the darkness and grey and climb the stairs as fast as I can