I awoke to a gentle mechanical humming. I wasn’t normally one to wake up without an alarm. In fact, I had set a habit to do so every morning so I could be up by eight. Odd that I woke without it. Must mean I still have more time. I snuggled deeper into the bed, cocooned in the warmth of my blankets. I started to drift back off again, occasionally scratching at wherever the blanket itched me.

It was a pleasant sort of state, one caught between the world of dreams and waking life. Images flitted through my mind, scenes in passing, without any sense of continuity. Somehow, these moments can feel even more restful than a full night's sleep, like you’re floating gently on ocean currents, pulled in different directions but never disturbing the tranquil peace.

The mechanical sounds came to an abrupt stop, abrupt enough that I was awoken once more. Aww, I kinda liked it. I was already drifting back to that pleasant state when a thought came crashing in. What was making that sound? If it’s the sink again, I’ll be so fucked. I groaned, rolling to my side and rubbing at my eyes.

The room. It wasn’t my room. The floor was made up of old brown floorboards and a single rug. A nightstand was right in front of me, home to a few scattered books and an old fashioned lantern. The wall was made up of brick and the ceiling looked to be made up of the same wood that was used on the floor. My bed was in the farthest corner of the room, pushed against the wall and perpendicular to the door. A single window allowed a stream of light to filter into the dusty room, illuminating it.

Panic slowly started to settle over, increasing in intensity until it felt like a hand was tightly clutching my heart. Where the hell was I? I quickly ran through my memories of last night. I remember taking a piss before bed, taking off my clothes, and climbing into my bed. The apartment I rented was small, much smaller than this room, and had drywall, which this place distinctly lacked.

My breathing quickened, uncontrolled, and the roar of the blood pumping in my ears started to drown out the small creaks and groans in the bedroom. There are no words to describe a feeling like this one, not because words won’t be able to capture how horrible the fear was but because it was so guttural, such a deeply instinctive fear, that I don’t think words even apply to it. The fear itself was more physical than psychological, in the same way that touching a hand on the stove doesn’t necessarily elicit horror but shock on the bodily level.

Possibilities darted through my mind. Sleepwalking? Kidnapping? A friend’s house?

Then I heard a voice, one that was brimming with terror.

“Please don’t make me do this?” It was relatively muted, as if he were trying to whisper so as not to disturb my sleep.

If I thought fear had gripped me early, now it settled deeply into my bones, into my lungs, into my stomach. Something was off in the way the man spoke but before I could really process what was going on, another voice began to talk, this one a tad lighter than the other but far more ominous.

“The boy is precious to me. Let him get hurt and I will kill you.” It was a simple response, so short and curt but also so forbidding that I could feel the other person stiffen in response. My eyes were locked on the door as I slowly put the pieces together. There was no joke in the way either of them spoke. This wasn’t an elaborate prank. I had really been kidnapped.

Suddenly, I heard the opening of a door and then it being closed gently. The faint sound of steps indicated that someone was leaving. Leaving the house? An apartment? I couldn’t tell from my position.

The remaining started to pace around and the floorboards creaked under his heavy steps. I had to escape somehow but I was afraid any move would alert the other person and he would take action upon me. Fear won out and I chose to stay in bed, listening, eyes wide and watching the thick oaken door.

Was I going to be killed? Were they going to torture? Why would the other person tell him not to hurt me? Questions flitted through my mind at a rapid speed as the man continued his pacing in the other room.

I don’t know what came over me. It was like a force that radiated through me, giving a sudden energy to my hands and feet, like they were moving of their own accord. I tossed back the covers, stiffly, robotically, and felt my feet on the cold floorboards. The bed grated as I moved, a sound that reached out through the entirety of the house but still I moved, unfazed. At least, my body was unfazed.

I moved over to the door, grasped the cool brass knob, and tugged it open. It revealed a hallway. My eyes glanced over the various doors in the hallway but my body moved to the end of it, where I assumed the kitchen was, judging by the cabinets and counters.

There I saw the man. He was staring at me, wide-eyed and mouth agape. He was a scrawny man, a rag of skin and bones with hair like a dusty gray limestone. His hanging mouth was missing teeth and what I did next was no help to that particular situation.

My feet, still moving of their own accord, slapped the floor hard as I started to run at him. He looked at me dumbfounded. I could only watch in horror as I hit him with an open palm across his chin, sending him sprawling to the ground.

My body moved again and I flew into the kitchen area and grabbed a chef’s knife out of the knife block that stood on the countertop. Under normal circumstances I would have hesitated to use it on a downed man but knowing that he was part of the people that had kidnapped me, I felt little remorse at watching myself walk over to the man, who had now righted himself, knife in hand.

His eyes spoke fear but his stance indicated he was ready to fight. He made the first move, closing the gap between us in two quick steps, having suddenly procured a short sword of his own, and took a swing at me. With what felt like a practiced ease, I ducked underneath the side chop and then, when the swing had cleared my body, I reached out and grabbed his knife hand and held it, his arm crossing his torso and utterly useless.

Without a thought, I slid my own knife into his gut before pulling it out and sliding it in once more. He crumpled to the ground and I left the knife lodged in him.

I should have been afraid. I should have been terrified at what I was doing, what I did but whatever compelled me forward also muted my emotions, like a distant gray fog obscuring them.

I found myself walking to the doorway at the front of what seemed to be the living room. I took hold of the knob and pulled once more, only to be stunned beyond belief, struck with a sight that I had never before seen and I felt the force controlling me dissipate.

A walkway greeted me except this had only a guard rail on the other side and no wall, leading to a view of a flying building. Low hanging clouds lazily moved through the sky, splitting themselves on the building. Below, perhaps down a few thousand feet, was a bustling city. Fearing I was falling through the air, I instantly grabbed hold of the doorframe, panic settling over me once more.

Yet there was no movement. Instead, the building I was in continued to float in the sky, connected to the other flying building. Honestly, it was rather hard to call it a building since it looked more like a cluster of various buildings, some brick, some wooden, and some metal. I spotted a few signs in a language I couldn’t understand that vaguely reflected business signs. Other buildings looked like apartments, based on what I could see through the windows. Large walkways circle around it and it seemed there were various levels. Stairs connected some of the more apartment-like structures to the more business-like levels. There was even a large plaza that held benches for seating. All in all, it was a massive contraption, looking like it could easily hold three or four thousand people.

I stepped out and closed the door. If only I had known what calamity such a simple action would bring, perhaps I would have stayed outside.

If only I knew.