In horror movies, there is often a dark staircase leading to a dark basement. Somebody is definitely going to descend, and I always yell in my mind: Don't go down. But they do.

  A moment ago, this happened to me, too, when being shown to my accommodation. I had just convinced myself that I was safe, thanks to caffeine, a friendly smile, and the purring cat, when my heart leaped into my throat again. The peaceful moment was over, and my reptilian brain was celebrating its next reign.

  Am I tired from the trip? I was asked. I mumbled something that passed for agreement, and received a pat on the shoulder and an invitation to follow. Horror often feeds on the most insignificant things.

  When the bald man opened the door hidden in the wooden panel wall, my heart, already pounding in my throat, skipped a beat. This was it.

  He said the elevator was broken. Yeah, right.

  But it’s always polite to go first when being shown the way, so I started to descend.

  The staircase had been dug directly into the rocky foundation of the small moon. The lamps, placed at regular intervals, could have been brighter, but that would have ruined the perfect atmosphere. However, the bottom of the stairs was not a musty, damp dungeon full of puddles of stagnant water. When the pressurized steel door at the bottom was opened, we entered a warm and brightly lit corridor. The floor was covered with an ochre-colored carpet with abstract patterns. The corridor itself was only about ten feet long, and next to the pressurized door was the elevator. I felt relieved. My door was on the right, and I got a quick tour of the premises and was left alone.

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  And now I'm sitting at my little desk, writing down my feelings on the same laptop I got earlier. I also got a bed, a bookcase without books, and a kitchenette. The interior is quite ascetic. A small door next to the entrance leads into the bathroom. It's huge with an elongated, almost stretched, bathtub. It’s unclear what kind of creature had bathed there, but everything is clean and fresh. Suits me as long as I’m the only one using it.

  I still haven't said a word, even to myself, but maybe I should try. My throat is sore from constant tension and, despite the coffee, fear-induced thirst, so a little babbling certainly wouldn't hurt.

  I wish someone would explain the purpose of all this to me. Out of my terror, not a single question has been able to emerge. But since the situation has not worsened and my chances of surviving look decent, I may be able to get some answers and talk things through. I don't dare to hope my opinion on this abduction would be taken into account, but I will certainly keep my eye on this straw.

  So, till the next time, which I might expect to be coming.

  

  
• Johnny