The Dark Place wants to drown me. I'm losing myself. I have to fight it. I have to remember. The Clicker. The light switch. I lost it. But I have the lamp now. The lamp the switch was cut from. This place is a nightmare. Not real and yet more real than anything. The danger and the horror are real. It feeds off my mind. Twisting whatever it takes into psychotic reality. I'm trapped here. I write to escape. I've tried this many times. Written countless stories. Forgotten how many. I keep failing, but I must keep trying. I use the story to dive deeper. Every word I write is a step forward on this spiral into darkness. I dive to the bottom to find the answer, the map, and the key, and the compass, combined to form a door leading out. But how do you open a door that's not a door? At the bottom of an ocean that's not an ocean, in a lake that's not a lake?