I am five years old, and I’m asleep in a cabin on my father’s ship. 

In the middle of the night, I suddenly wake up. 

It is dark outside, and the ship is moving slowly through the black waters. 

I get out of bed and exit the cabin into an empty corridor. 

The ship seems to be abandoned. 

All I can hear is a low, humming noise coming from somewhere above my head. 

I find the stairs and climb towards the sound. 

The sound seems to enter my consciousness from within my mind, and not through my ears. 

At the top of the stairs, I find myself at the bridge of the ship. 

It seems to be empty, but I can feel a strong presence of someone else being in the room. 

The humming sound has now turned into a modulated, muffled sequence, like some incomprehensible language, and I realise that the sound and the presence I  have been sensing is coming from across the room. 

I look around, but there is no-one to be seen. 

But as I look towards the navigational instruments lined up in front of the bridge, it strikes me. 

The sound is the voice of the radar console, shining its flickering green light into the darkness, trying to tell me its secrets.