So where was I really? As far as I could tell I had either checked into a jail or a motel but the similarity was confusing. To make things worse, the hacking cough in the room next to mine could signify a hospital scenario. I was too anxious to try the door, in case it opened.

My only company was the television with its endless repeats, B grade conversation and gruesome war zone reportage. Everything seemed normal on the surface as the fridge chuckled and the air conditioner gasped and choked. But just below my level of awareness, the entire room seethed and bubbled with paranormal activity.

The racking coughs were sounding more like the growling of a great dog. The motorway next door breathed in and out. I worried that the TV was becoming bored with me and I desperately tried to keep up a conversational flow but I was not its equal. Bed was my refuge and final resting place.

I lay at an impossible angle, a life half lived and awash with wretched thoughts. I believed that I stood in the bathroom yet I was never a believer. How could I be in the bed and elsewhere too? Nothing made sense again.