I awaken in a room that is odd, yet familiar. It is morning and I have been sleeping soundly all night. The bed is large and firm, covered with stark white sheets and pillows and there is an open window to my left, near the far corner of the room. The door is opposite the window in the far right corner. It is locked.

There is a dark wooden chair facing me from across the room opposite the foot of the bed. To the right of the chair is a small endtable and directly above the endtable is an oil painting, but it is too dark and far away to tell what it is of. There is a light breeze billowing the linen curtains and it is either overcast outside or very early in the morining as the light is not extremely bright. I hear a bell ringing in the far distance.

I rise and walk to the painting. It is very old and dark, painted in the classical style with rich colors. It is approximately 6 ft off the floor and it's dimensions are roughly 18 inches square. I stand on the chair to look at the picture. It is a beautiful painting of the room I am currently in. It's perspective seems to be from that exact position on the wall, looking back toward the bed, and slightly down.

In the painting, I see a child sleeping in the large bed. The wall behind the bed is spattered with what appears to be red paint. To the left of the bed on the dark wooden floor, there is a leg protruding just into view. The leg is bare but wearing a woman's shoe. Beside the shoe is a gun.

I am running toward a forrest, terror is fueling each leadened step and the sky is storming. The forrest is in a valley and shear cliffs rise to either side as I descend. There are giant, knarled trees covered in thick, shaggy moss. The undergrowth is thorny and a massive, bushy plant eminates from the center of the one clearing between the trees, extending its viny branches outward toward the only path. I feel hot breath on my neck.

The path is made of hard, sharp rocks beneath a thick layer of dead leaves. It is very straight and narrow, but continues to descend into the valley floor. There are bones strewn about the roots of the massive trees. Some roots cause the path to buckle in places, making the going difficult in places. The bushy plants vines create a sort of thorny hedge along the left side of the path.

I am panicked. As I descend to the bottom of the thorn-forrested valley, I approach a small river that is gently moving from left to right. The water is crystal clear and many leaves are floating by. Through the very deep water I can see creatures that appear to be alligators with tentacles surrounding their mouths. Drifting in the current is an exquisitely dressed woman who is reclined on her back. Her hands are folded in her lap and she is extremely beautiful. Her dress is Elizabethan or older and is a deep vermillion with pearl accents sewn into the lacey boddice. She has a beautiful boquet of flowers in her hands and her hair is long and curly, floating and flowing with the water. The octogators watch her intently as she drifts by. I smell rotted fish and roses.

The cup appears to have ben discarded and is filthy. It is plastic and cracked, but could be cleaned and made reusable for something. It is red, with a white rim and lining. It smells of beer and cigars. On the outside of the cup is a hand-written lable of what appears to be masking tape. It reads "Drink Me".

I struggle up a steep, but low rise in the path. On the other side in the middle of the path is a key. The key is well worn and very old. It appears to be a skeleton key and I imagine it opened the door to the room I awakened in. The key is cold and weighs about 5 ounces. The teeth are rectangular and complex in shape. The ring is ornate and a vine is engraved along its shaft. The number "149" is stamped near the end.