I am recording this account one day at a time. I am defining a “day” as the time period between two sleep periods. There is a single translucent window in this room, which appears to emit a steady light that does not change with the passage of time. I also found one (1) backpack, black, with a circled X burnt into the nylon main pocket’s front, made of red wax. I have filled the backpack with my possessions, and it is now sitting next to me on the bed. I also found a small digital voice recorder among my possessions which was not there yesterday. I am now using this recorder to take dictation, which I will transcribe before my next sleep period. The appearance of these new items implies that I am being actively watched. They also imply that there is at least one access route to this room that can be used without disturbing a sleeping person. I am now attempting to find it.
The room is small, approximately 8 feet by 12 feet. The walls appear to be solid, as pounding on them produces no resonance indicative of a hollow space. The door appears to be the only method of entry. Oddly, the window is set into the wall next to the door. What little I can make out through it seems to imply that I am three stories in the air. Why would someone put a door in a wall that leads outside? It makes no sense. I do not know WHY it makes no sense, but something tells me it is wrong. I am examining the door. It appears to be made of a light wood, possibly pine or even balsa. The lock mechanism and knob are tarnished brass, appearing to be quite old and disused. I didn’t find a key in the room, so I cannot attempt to unlock the door. It wouldn’t do me any good anyhow, as the lock appears to be filled with a viscous, tacky grey substance. I was able to remove a small amount using one of the screwdriver heads on my multitool. I would compare it to saltwater taffy, but grey and foul-smelling.
I will not be able to unlock the door. Picking the lock is also out of the question. The door appears to be loose on its hinges. I have no way to remove those hinges, as they appear to be on the outside of the door. I am wearing the hiking boots, and all my other materials are in my pockets or the backpack. I am going to attempt to kick the door hard enough to shatter the lock. Something tells me I am capable of this. I can somehow see precisely where to plant my foot and how hard to shove. I am attempting it now.
The door flew off its hinges. It was much easier than I’d anticipated. The hinges tore out of the rotted wood at the same moment as the lock cracked and fell out of its mount space. I am now stepping out into the hall. It extends in both directions for a surprising distance. The worn, dark wood floors are covered with a red runner. The runner is threadbare and dirty. The walls are covered in a greyish-blue wallpaper which is as dingy and decaying as the runner. This hallway shares the same air of neglect as the room I woke up in. I’m looking in both directions. Judging by the dust and disrepair, it doesn’t appear that anyone has lived here in years. Possibly decades.
My room had a window. Granted, it could have been faked, but that would be extraordinarily high-tech compared to the rest of the house. Something isn’t right here. I am walking back into the room, being careful to kick broken bits of lock out of my way. The window appears no different from before. It is a single pane of glass, frosted but slightly translucent, appearing to be old-style handmade lead glass. I am using the multitool in its folded configuration to tap on the window. Sound is consistent with visual analysis. It’s just glass, not a computer screen or projection. I am kicking the window out. Outside is a landscape consistent with any mountainous forest in the Pacific Northwest of the United States of America. The window appears to open onto a small town, which this house seems to sit on the outskirts of. The woods surround the town, with mountains dimly visible in the near distance. The entire town and surrounded areas are enveloped in a dense fog. The sun is not visible thanks to cloud cover. I have leaned out the window and verified that this is not a projection. It is reality. Yet the hallway outside crosses in front of this window, meaning I should see nothing. This seems wrong somehow. However, the evidence is plainly in front of me and I must accept it.
I do not know how long I have been awake, but I am feeling tired again. I will explore the rest of this building tomorrow.