Notes from Nowhere

If you think it’s a dream, don’t you dare say so.

If you question, the world will answer. Sometimes with a fact, sometimes with a lie, and sometimes with something that isn’t any answer at all.

I looked around, and the walls were breathing faintly, smelling faintly of burnt sugar and wet leaves. The floor shivered beneath my feet, like it didn’t know whether it wanted me here or not. The air tasted thick, sticky, and sweet, and somewhere a clock laughed.

What clock? That clock. This clock? No, no, that clock.

Don’t run too far, don’t look too close, don’t ask why…

My hands brushed the air, and it smelled like the last thing I shouldn’t have touched. My stomach did a slow, rolling dance. Everything around me ran. Doors, shadows, the smell of something like flowers and something sharp, something like teeth. I tried to steady myself, but the ground breathed, and the world tilted, just slightly, just enough.

Maybe this isn’t a dream.

Dreams are killers, yes, and they have teeth, and they want to tell me which way to go.

So I went the other. Of course I did.

Don’t blink. Not once. Not even a little. Not even a sneeze of a blink. Don’t close your eyes.

If you do, you might wake up the moment you open them.

But I’ve closed them. Several times. And here I am. Still. Somehow.

Do not have negative thoughts.

The clock is listening. The clock knows. The clock ticks.

Tick-tick-tick.

And it remembers your deepest fears. Yes, it does. It remembers everything.

Don’t ask. Don’t you dare ask. Don’t even think of asking. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask!

And don’t look in a mirror.

What mirror?

Which one?

That one?

The tall, thin one, standing there like it’s waiting? But I don’t see anything. Do you?

Me?

Who?

You?

Me?

And then the voice spoke.

“Yes. You.”

I looked up. Nothing.

I looked down. Nothing.

I looked straight ahead

The mirror was gone.

Mirror? What mirror?

There never was a mirror here. Or was there? Perhaps it had just decided to vanish for tea, or maybe it was hiding, playing some curious little trick.

The air smelled faintly of smoke and whispers, like it was snickering behind my back. The floor wobbled, just a little, just enough to make me wonder if it had been holding its breath all along.

Was I standing still? Or moving sideways? Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

I thought I heard it first behind the wall or maybe beneath the floor, or perhaps above the ceiling, but no, it wasn’t there. It couldn’t be there. Then: a tinkle. A jingle. A voice, lilting, playful, too bright for this shadowed place:

“Are you dreaming? Are you dreaming?

Who’s the dreamer? Who’s the scheming?

Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s me,

Maybe the floor is swimming in tea!”

It was far away, I thought. Or near? I couldn’t tell. Each note bounced like a tiny footstep, and I could feel something sharp, like broken glass, in the air. The walls leaned closer, listening, breathing with the rhythm.

“Have you dreamed today, my dear?

Or did it vanish when you weren’t near?

Step on your toes, spin ‘round the chair,

The mirror winks. But it isn’t there!”

I told myself not to move. Not to follow. But curiosity has long legs, and my feet were already sliding toward the sound, as if the tiles themselves were rolling me along.

What mistake did I made?

I followed it.

The notes laughed. Soft at first, then sharp, jagged, like glass under nails. Each step I took, the melody twisted.

“Oh, you’re not away, oh, you’re not asleep,

The world is awake, and it’s counting sheep…

But the sheep have teeth and the grass has eyes,

And the walls are whispering lullabies!

Are you dreaming? Are you dreaming?

Who’s the dreamer? Who’s the scheming?

Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s you,

Or maybe the world just swallowed you!”

But who is it supposed to swallow, hmm?

If there’s no one here… then who?

What? I am here!

No one at all...

And me? Am I here? Am I really here?

Who, indeed?

ME!

You? Or someone else? Do you exist, or do you simply think you do?

I’m here, aren’t I?

Oh yes, you are here. Or maybe not... It whispered, or maybe it chuckled behind the corner of your ear, or under my tongue, or somewhere you shouldn’t feel a sound at all.

“Are you dreaming?”

“I am not,” I said. “I am not dreaming. I promise.”

Do I sound convincing? Perhaps. Or perhaps the walls disagree.

They lean in close.

“Do you think you’re dreaming?” the voice asked again.

Closer now. Almost inside my chest.

“I am not,” I said. “I am not dreaming.”

And yet the world chuckled, soft and crooked, like a clock with too many hands.

I am here. I am here. I am here.

Yes, yes, I am here. Right?

The words bounced after me, teasing, echoing, trailing behind me.

I am here… am here… here… here…

And somewhere-or nowhere-the voice asked:

“Ah, but if you are here… then who am I?”

My legs felt like they were made of smoke, slipping through the floor, and the air around me tasted faintly of lemons and iron, or maybe it was the other way around. The shadows were restless, twitching like small animals with too many eyes, whispering in voices that weren’t voices at all. I could feel the walls breathing in time with my heartbeat or maybe my heartbeat was breathing in time with them. The ceiling bent downward, smiling with corners too sharp to be polite.

I heard tiny footsteps tap‑tap‑tapping in circles around my ears. They were light, playful, mischievous but I knew better. Mischief like that has teeth. I tried to step back, but the floor slid away as if it didn’t want me to leave. And then the air hummed, low and crooked, curling around my mind like smoke from a candle that never burns out. My fingers twitched, my tongue felt too heavy, my eyes too wide, and the world… the world itself seemed to lean closer, whispering just beyond the edge of sense.

Something giggled. Something squeaked. Something swallowed a word and spat it out, slightly wrong. My stomach twisted. My hands twitched toward it, toward the sound, toward… I didn’t know. My head spun with thoughts I wasn’t sure were mine, with colors I couldn’t name, with smells that made my teeth ache.

And then, trembling, or maybe laughing, I asked the question I shouldn’t have.

“Who are you?”

The world didn’t answer. It only laughed. First soft, then jagged, then everywhere at once.

Bingo.