I wake up in the middle of the night.
It’s very quiet, and the house feels empty.
I get out of bed and walk downstairs, as if I know I will find something of importance there.
I walk down the stairs to the main floor, but can’t see that anything unusual.
I walk down the next flight of stairs to the entryway.
It’s dark, and no beaming lights are coming out of the walls.
But there is a new door on the wall.
It looks different this time.
This one is a normal wooden door, with a key stuck in the keyhole.
I hesitate, then turn the key and open it.
It leads to a dark, spacious room that smells of mold and of being shut for a long time.
Somehow it feels familiar, as if I’ve been here before, although I can’t place the memory.
I get a strong feeling that behind this room there are several other rooms.
A bookshelf fills an entire wall, and against the wall I can see boxes full of the kind of stuff that families acquire over time, but don’t know where to dispose of.
At the other end there is a large, wooden desk.
I’m thinking it would be a nice place to work from, instead of sitting in my son’s old bedroom.
All it would take is some detergent and an hour’s work to get it clean and habitable.
I decide to return to bed and decide upon it later.
I lock the door, and put the key in my pyjama pocket.
On my way up the stairs, I feel exited, as if an extraordinary opportunity has presented itself.