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.