Patrick sat up. His senses returned to him in a sudden flurry, yet, there was nothing. He reached up and touched his face and he felt it and knew his eyes were open but he couldn’t see anything. He put his hand back on the floor and felt the cold wetness and that’s when he became aware there was water in the ground. In fact it came to him that he was in about an inch of water. His back and the back of his head were soaked.

Pat slowly stood up. His balance was all wrong, without being able to see anything he struggled to orient himself. He shivered as he was cold and looked around as if to hopefully spot any chink of light in this world of darkness. It wasn’t until he turned around completely, then he noticed it. Like an oasis in an endless barren desert, he peered up and gazed in amazement as he looked upon his old childhood house. It didn’t look right, how was it that this house was very clearly visible when…

Patrick shook his head and blinked wildly in amazement. The darkness was gone and he was standing in the street in front of this house. There was no one around, no cars, no people, no noise. He could smell bread in air like he used to smell when he was a young child from the bakery just around the corner. He couldn’t see it from where he was standing but he knew it was there and could smell it clearly. It couldn’t be though, as it was clearly the middle of the night and the bakers shut around 6 o’clock every day.

It was raining. For Pat, it was clear what his next move was going to be. He stepped under the porch and looked around out into the vacant street, only the sound of rain starting to pour heavier on the concrete filled the air. No sirens, no shouting neighbours arguing over some pointless issue. It was the strangest feeling for Pat. Like he was home but, none of it felt right.

He extended his arm out and grasped the spherical handle of the storm door and it opened with complete ease, as it always had. He propped open the storm door with his right foot and reached in again and knocked the main door 4 times. Something he always did when he was young. The words of his mother echoed in his mind, “What are you doing Patrick? You don’t have to knock your own door y’know. Just… come in!”.

After a few moments, Patrick reached for the handle of the main door and as he did, the door popped open itself. As if his hand was magnetic towards the spherical handle. Patrick nudged the door and it creeped open to reveal his home, exactly as he remembered. The house was dark but he made out pictures on the walls of his family and himself. Patrick walked in and instinctively said “Hello?” Barely above a whisper. He glanced up the stairs and was met with pure darkness. He tried the light switch but nothing, not even a hum. Patrick reached into his pocket in search for his phone but he didn’t have it. A brief panic set in but he allowed it to pass as he knew he was probably dreaming. “How lucid” he thought.

He walked quickly through the kitchen and into the utilities room where he knew his father kept a tool bag. It was there. He opened the bag and peered in, seeing the outlines of tools and objects in the bag from the light of the street lamp peeking in through the kitchen window. He spotted what he wanted. He reached in and pulled out a rather hefty torch which he instinctively shook first then tried the switch. It instantly shone a great burning light right into Patrick’s eyes. He flinched and pointed the torch away from himself.

He wandered back into the living room and looked around shining the torch on wherever his eyes gazed. He reached and picked up a picture of his mum and dad standing in front of some Spanish tapas restaurant. His dad had his arm round his mums shoulder and they both looked great and happy. He remembered that night when his parents came home and they sat on the couch.

Pat turned and looked at the couch and it was! It was the same couch from when he was young.

Young Patrick came running in crying to his parents who were laughing, slightly drunk on that couch. Patrick pointed to the ceiling and said that there was a bad man upstairs and he was chasing him around the house while his mum and dad were out for dinner. Patrick’s dad smiled at his wife and picked up young Patrick and took him upstairs. Showed him around to prove there was no one but he didn’t check the wardrobe.

Patrick’s dad tucked him into bed but as he did, the wardrobe burst open suddenly and a dark figure started wrestling and struggling with Patrick’s father. In the middle of it all, a loud bang and flash!

Patrick snapped out of the memory.

He slowly wandered to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. Not even the torch could pierce the darkness up there. Slowly, step by step, he ascended the stairs until he reached the top. The door to his room was ajar and the darkness was inviting.

Patrick walked into his room and scanned the room. It was as if nothing had changed. He stood beside his bed and looked down. The pool of blood still there, circled his boots. He turned his attention to the wardrobe. He wasn’t sure what inspired him, but he flicked the switch on his torch and the room fell to darkness and there it was. The dark figure within the wardrobe. Patrick sighed and turned to face to the wardrobe…