Recollection

'i stopped the dreams. head to 42 carcosa avenue on 23/07. key is under the mat. check the basement. be careful of what you bring in. be careful of what you let out'

That was all the message said.

Maisie had received it via text, and the number was familiar in a way she couldn't place. Still, it was all she had to go on. For three weeks, the young woman had been plagued by dreams - almost every night - and every morning she awoke feeling exhausted and stiff, it was like every time she slept, she somehow became more fatigued.

The dreams were vague, hazy, and somehow the more she tried to focus on them, the more they eluded her, like water filling an unfinished glass of wine - by the time she thought she remembered a detail, it had faded entirely. All that said, there was a fleeting joy in the dreams too, a strange bliss in that misty haze.

The restless sleep had made her more forgetful over the past weeks as well, at one point she had even got into the passenger side of her own car. No medication or meditation seemed to help either.

So, when Maisie received the text, she was at her wits end. She barely even considered not going. The address itself was a two-hour drive away and as far as she could tell, was in the middle of nowhere. On the drive itself, she had passed by a broken sign as she neared the destination. It had faded beyond recognition, all she made out was a C, an R, and a second word - 'manor' perhaps? The girl ignored it, hoping for answers as she drove on.

Maisie's guess had been accurate, she rolled up a dirt driveway, her headlights illuminated an old house - it looked positively abandoned. Part of her was urging her away, but as she stared upon the ancient building, she couldn't shake a strange sensation - that she had been here before.

The brunette resigned herself and stepped free of the car. As the message had said, the key was under the mat. The heavy doors creaked upon, echoing into the solitude within. Maisie flicked on her flashlight, the light creeping across the dilapidated manor. Without really knowing how, she found the basement, and stepped down into the dark.

She pondered the words from the text message, barely able to recall them in truth, and having no idea what they meant. Inside, the flashlight illuminated a veritable treasure trove of strange and bizarre items - could the answer to her dreams really be down in this creepy collection?

What was any of this stuff? Why was it here? What was this old manor? Who sent her here?

Somehow, those questions quickly became less interesting the more she wandered this cramped basement.

Her light illuminated skulls, old photos, paintings, a doll encased in glass, a wedding dress... All of them failed to speak to Maisie's mind.

Until something else caught her eye.

It stood out to the young woman's gaze so intensely it might as well have a siren above it. She neared it and almost laughed at the sight. It was... a doll? Yet so unlike the rest of the contents hidden away here. It came more into clarity, the doll's proportions were beyond voluptuous, veering well into absurdity. Maisie couldn't help but be drawn in closer though. She could see its hollow eyes, its vacant stare. The dress and jewellery labelled the ridiculous toy 'bimbo' - and despite her desire to laugh at the object, the brunette felt a quiet envy of the toy she saw before her. No, it was more than envy, it was a... kinship?

Maisie felt her gaze lock with the vapid eyes of the doll, and a quiet voice forced a question to the fore of her mind. The toy looked familiar? More than familiar. It looked like her.

Maisie had seen this girl before. Then, it was as if the wine that was always vanishing into water surged back, strong with color. She had seen her in her dreams!

Something clicked then. The text message she had received. Maisie realized why the number had been familiar. She was going to replace her cell phone next week and had been told what her new phone number would be... It was hers?

Maisie wanted to tear herself away, and she realized she hadn't blinked in what felt like minutes, even hours. Wait, had the doll adjusted its eyeline as she bent down?

She felt fatigue assault her mind, she could lie down here, couldn't she?

As she felt her vision blur, she could have sworn she saw the doll blink.