Awake.

A door creaked open as he walked. The old house, with its worn wooden floors, made noise all night—but this door was always closed.

He held a candle as he moved, though somehow light was already coming from the room ahead. It was part of the last addition, a space that hadn’t existed in the blueprints.

As he got closer, a gust of wind blew from the doorway and extinguished the candle.

He stepped inside and the light began to flicker. It was a long hallway, empty except for a single hanging lightbulb in the middle.

The bulb swung side to side, flashing as he walked slowly forward.

Each step made the floor creak. After a few, there was a louder creak at the end of the hallway, and another door opened.

Suddenly the bulb went out. The only light left was reflected on the wall in front of the door.

He moved closer and heard the door behind him shut—first a creak, then a slam.

When he reached the door, he couldn’t grasp the doorknob. It was right there, but something prevented his hand from closing around it.

He turned to go back and noticed something strange: the light on the wall wasn’t interrupted by his body.

Slowly, he stepped toward the wall instead and reached for where the handle should have been.

His hand passed through the shadow and found the doorknob. As the door creaked open, he took a step inside.

The room beyond was completely white. The silence was so full it made him want to fill it.

The door creaked once more and closed behind him.

Floating in the center of the room was the silhouette of a woman, gray and weightless.

On her right side—around the abdomen, closer to the hip but not quite—there was a dark spot.

Beside her stood a table with knitting needles. He picked one up and carefully caught a thread from the dark spot, pulling gently.

When he had drawn out a long length, he began to knit. At first it was only knots, but soon he realized it was becoming a ladder.

Still attached to her body, the ladder lifted upward as if pulled from above once the final knot was tied.

He looked up—nothing but white—and began to climb.

Along the way, suspended in the light, were body parts: a stomach, a pancreas, others he couldn’t name. He placed them in his pockets as he went.

Eventually, he reached the top. Not far from the ladder, she sat with her knees drawn to her chest, staring into the white.

He waved. She waved back.

He gestured, asking if she wanted to come down. She shook her head no.

Please, he signed. Again, no.

He pulled one of the organs from his pocket, shining as brightly as she did. It caught her attention and she stood, moving closer.

He put that one away and took out another. She jumped with excitement and ran toward the ladder.

She motioned for him to move aside or go down first, so he did. As he descended, he watched the ladder burn away behind her steps.

When they reached the ground, the dark spot on her side was gone, though she still floated, gray.

He placed the organs back into her one by one. Her bright version danced and leapt with joy.

Her gray form became translucent, glowing from the light now inside her.

Her bright self moved the table in front of her, stepped back to gain momentum, then ran and jumped—using the table for one last push—diving straight into her chest.

Her gray body rippled and tore until a single drop of gray slipped free. The drop turned bright and fell back into her chest.

She glowed brighter than before and dropped gently to the ground.

Landing on her feet, she looked at him—radiant and silent. He understood.

He dove into the white of the floor.

Startled awake, he found himself on a train. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, then sat up straighter and watched the trees rush past the window.