Endless Hallway Leads to a Locked Basement Box

Endless Hallway Leads to a Locked Basement Box

I woke up late for work and rushed out of the apartment, only to find the hallway in my building stretched on forever. The fire‑escape door at the end was ajar, and a police officer was standing there, looking at a crime scene tape that read “Burglary – Apartment 4B.” I realized I was in my own building, but the numbers on the doors were all wrong; my own door was now 7C. I knocked, and a woman who looked exactly like my old college roommate—except she was wearing a uniform I’d never seen—opened the door and whispered, “They took the safe. It’s in the basement, but the stairs are locked.” I tried to run down the stairs, but each step felt like walking through thick mud, and I could hear the sound of a train passing outside that never actually arrived. I finally reached the basement, found a rusted metal box, and when I opened it, the police officer from the hallway was standing inside, staring at me with a bored expression. I woke up just as he lifted a hand to point at the box.