TRANSCRIPT: SOMNARIUM. S.004 – The Drop
Case of Thomas Mitchell, first seen by Dr. Susan Renwyck on March 24th, 2004 for trouble sleeping, recurring nightmares and a growing fear of falling, especially in elevators.
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INTRO
Last time I mentioned getting access to a single file before pulling out an entire encrypted folder.
Well… still no luck with the encrypted folder. I’ve tried the sensible stuff. Dates. Names. Variations. The kind of passwords people use when they want to feel secure without being inconvenienced.
I’ve got software chewing on it in the background.
What I do have is that single file. And it isn’t a patient record.
It’s a scan — a couple of pages. No letterhead. No signature. Just headings and short lines, like someone was trying to put repeating nightmares into categories.
Most of it is boring. Clinical. Lists.
Except for one thing.
In the margin there’s a name, circled so many times it turns into a black blot of ink.
Brine. Doctor Brine
I don’t know who Doctor Brine is. Not yet.
But I’ve recovered more corrupted folders than I care to count, and even when they won’t open, some of their headers still show up.
A few of them use the same wording as that note. So Renwyck was categorizing these cases the same way she was thinking about them.
Next folder I can actually open has another word written in the header:
Gravity.
Case four. Construction company IT guy. And an elevator that drops just long enough to make your body stop trusting “up.”
Case of Thomas Mitchell, first seen by Dr. Susan Renwyck on March 24th, 2004 for trouble sleeping, recurring nightmares and a growing fear of falling, especially in elevators.
PATIENT APPLICATION
Patient: Thomas Mitchell
Date: March 10th, 2004
Referral: Dr. [REDACTED]
Dr. Renwyck,
I’m writing because I’m not sleeping, and because what happened should’ve been a one-time scare… but I can’t shake it.
I work in IT for a large construction company. Internal systems, access, ticketing — the usual. I’m not prone to panic. I’m not “a nervous person.” I’m the one people call when something breaks and everyone else is losing their minds.
This started about six weeks ago. Regular Tuesday at work. Meetings, calls, tickets — just running around trying to stay on top of things.
I got a ticket from someone in Accounting saying their printer needed toner. So I went to the storeroom, grabbed the right cartridge, and headed back out to the hallway to catch the elevator.
It arrived with that soft creak it always makes. Old building, old elevator… nothing out of the ordinary. I got in and pressed 13 — Accounting’s floor.
It started moving, and for a second everything was normal. And then… I heard this sharp snap. I don’t know what it was — a cable, a latch, something in the shaft — but it sounded like something letting go.
And it wasn’t a freefall — not like the movies — it was maybe a second, if that. But it dropped. Just enough to make my stomach drop with it. And then the emergency brakes caught. Hard. The lights stayed on, but the display froze, and the doors didn’t open for a while.
Afterwards Facilities told me it “performed as designed.” Sensor issue. Vendor called. Case closed.
But my body didn’t get the memo.
Since then, the problem hasn’t just been the elevator itself. It’s everything that comes before it. Walking up to the doors. Hearing the chime. Watching them slide open. And then that moment where you step into a metal box and you’re supposed to just… trust it. Trust it to do what it was designed to do. Safely.
So yeah. I’ve started avoiding them.
At first I told myself it was temporary. Just a phase. I took the stairs “for fitness.” I volunteered to carry things so I’d have an excuse not to ride up with everyone else. I started arriving early so I could take nineteen floors at my own pace, when no one was there to watch me.
But now it’s not just at work.
Open stairwells make my legs feel weak. Balconies make my hands sweat. Even standing near a window in a tall building, I catch myself doing the math. Like my brain is measuring the distance to the ground for impact.
And sleep is worse.
I fall asleep exhausted, and I wake up braced– like I’m mid-drop. A couple of times I’ve woken up on the floor, not even remembering getting out of bed, just… there, like my body decided the safest place to be was as close to the ground as possible.
And when I do dream, it’s always height. Always a building. Always that same feeling that there’s a “correct” route I’m supposed to take… and it’s the one that gets me closer to the edge.
But the dreams don’t feel random. That’s the part that’s getting to me.
It’s the same place, night after night. Not the same scene, but the same building. Like my brain has picked a location and keeps sending me back there.
It looks like a hotel at first. Lobby, atrium, balconies. But the longer I’m in it, the less it behaves like a real building. There’s this huge open atrium in the middle that goes down farther than it should. Floor after floor of balconies stacked on top of each other, all facing inward, so wherever you stand you can see the drop.
And there are signs. Calm. Polite. Framed like corporate safety posters.
FOR YOUR SAFETY
PLEASE USE THE RECOMMENDED ROUTE
Sometimes there’s even a line on the carpet — bright yellow, like a safety marking. Like the kind they paint on factory floors to keep people moving in the right direction.
So I follow it, because it feels like the only sane thing to do. Like if I just do what I’m told, I’ll be safe.
But every time I reach a dead end — a railing, a gap, a balcony that opens onto the atrium — the line is suddenly somewhere else. It’s behind me. Or it’s on the other side of the hall. Or it splits into two and I’m standing there trying to pick the “correct” one while the drop is waiting in the middle of the building.
And the worst part is… it always looks like it’s been there the whole time. Like I’m the one doing it wrong. Like I’m the one who can’t follow simple instructions.
Every route ends the same way. Another railing. Another open stretch. Another view straight down.
Sometimes the floor numbers don’t match what I’m sure I just saw. I’ll glance at the plaque, look away, look back… and I’m a few floors higher than I thought I was. Like the building is quietly lifting me when I’m not paying attention.
And sometimes there’s a man there. Not a guest. Not staff, exactly. A uniform. White gloves. Standing by an old gate-style elevator like he belongs to it. He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to make a choice.
I know dreams reuse settings. I know that’s normal. And I know I’m probably reading too much into it because I’m tired.
It’s just… I keep seeing the same place. The same layout. The same drop in the middle of it. Even when the details change, the building doesn’t.
So I’m writing it down because it feels specific, and because you told me to track patterns. If it means nothing, fine. But if it’s useful, I don’t want to forget it.
I’m not calling this a phobia. I know how that sounds. I’m trying to be precise.
Something happened, and ever since then, my brain has decided that “up” isn’t neutral anymore.
CONSULTATION NOTE
Patient: Thomas Mitchell
Date: March 24th, 2004
Subject: Initial consultation; insomnia and avoidance following elevator malfunction
Written application received March 10th, 2004. Referral note from Dr. [REDACTED] attached.
Thomas presents with clear sleep deprivation and persistent hyperarousal (tense posture, heightened startle). He repeatedly tries to make the incident “solvable” by returning to mechanical explanations. This reads as control-seeking rather than reassurance.
Presenting complaint
Reports ~6 weeks of worsening insomnia following a workplace elevator malfunction involving brief drop sensation and emergency braking. Since then, he describes escalating anxiety around elevators — the approach, the doors, the chime, the enclosed ascent — with steadily worsening avoidance. Sleep fragmented with abrupt awakenings described as “mid-drop.” Reports two occasions of waking on the floor without recalling leaving bed.
Associated features
Avoidance has generalized to height exposure (open stairwells, balconies, windows at elevation). Patient is concealing avoidance via routine changes (arriving early, stairs under “fitness” pretext). Significant shame/embarrassment despite functional impact.
Patient brought his sleep diary; entries are dated and unusually consistent in setting: multi-level interior atrium with inward-facing balconies and pronounced vertical drop; repeated safety signage instructing “recommended route,” sometimes with a bright yellow line that relocates or splits at decision points and terminates at exposed edges. Reports floor numbering inconsistency and a recurrent uniformed “elevator attendant” figure (white gloves) perceived as familiar.
Note: Patient independently used the phrase “recommended route.” I’ve heard the same wording in another case. Writing it down exactly as he said it so I can compare later.
Recommended treatment
We discussed that the most effective intervention here is graded exposure, done deliberately and repeatedly, so his nervous system can relearn that elevator cues are not a reliable predictor of danger. I advised starting with brief, controlled contact rather than “proving” anything in a single attempt: approaching the elevator, calling it, standing inside with the doors open, then allowing the doors to close, and only then taking a short ride (e.g., ground to first floor), repeated until the fear response diminishes. I cautioned against high-stakes, solitary confrontation and emphasized consistency over intensity. In parallel, I provided basic sleep stabilization guidance and asked him to continue the diary with emphasis on environmental constants (signage language, route markers, recurring features) rather than narrative detail.
Follow-up scheduled for next week.
Thursday, March 25th, 2004
I saw Dr. Renwyck for the first time yesterday. She was pretty much what I expected — professional, clinical, not overly warm. But she’s clearly competent, and she’s well recommended. If anyone can help me get over this ridiculous fear, it’s her.
Anyway. Last night I dreamt about the hotel again.
I was in a long corridor with doors on both sides, and I noticed the yellow line was back on the carpet — marking the “recommended path.” So I followed it. It led me to what I think is the center of the place, where all the corridors meet.
The atrium.
It’s a huge circular room with a railing all the way around it, like it’s supposed to protect you from the drop. I went close enough to look down and immediately regretted it. It’s too far. I can’t even make out the floor — it just keeps going, like it doesn’t end.
When I looked up, it was more of the same: level after level, balconies stacked above me. I think there’s a glass ceiling somewhere, but it’s so far up it barely matters.
Work was normal. I avoided the elevator like always. The stairs are becoming routine now. And honestly… at least that part is good for my health.
Friday, March 26th, 2004
[ENTRY MISSING]
Saturday, March 27th, 2004
Last night I was once again in the corridors, walking around aimlessly, trying to find my way out of that place.
I turned a corner and spotted another yellow line on the carpet. So I did what I always do — I started following it. After a little while… I don’t know how long… I turned a couple of corners and ended up at a junction.
And the line split in two.
I stood there for a while, not knowing what to do. When I finally noticed the left corridor was brighter, I figured it probably led to the atrium. So I turned right instead and kept following the recommended route.
To my dismay, I ended up in the atrium anyway.
And that’s when I saw it again. On the other side of the atrium — past the giant gaping hole in the center of the room — was an elevator.
I woke up when I heard the “ding” of the doors opening.
No work today. I spent most of my time cleaning up my apartment. I decided to throw a bunch of old keepsakes out, and I took the stairs in my building more times than I care to count.
I’m still afraid to take the elevator.
Sunday, March 28th, 2004
[ENTRY MISSING]
Monday, March 29th, 2004
I wandered the corridors again last night, trying to find one of the yellow lines on the floor so I’d have some indication of where I was supposed to go. The corridors feel like a maze without it. Like I’m not meant to be there unless I’m being directed.
When I finally found a yellow line and followed it, I ended up at the atrium again.
On the other side, I saw the elevator doors — the same place as before — but this time the floor number had changed. I can’t remember what it said the other nights. I just know the number now was… much higher than the floor I thought I was on. And that made everything feel worse, because it means I’m climbing without noticing it.
I started looking around for more markings to follow, and that’s when I tripped over something. I didn’t see what it was. I just stumbled forward far enough that I reached the railing near the center of the room.
I looked over the edge by accident.
And my stomach dropped in that same way it does when you’re falling, because I could see how far down the atrium goes — and it felt like it went farther than it should.
That’s when I woke up.
Not in my bed.
On the floor.
Disoriented, I got up and got ready for work, still trying to figure out how I ended up down there. I got to work early again and took my time walking the stairs up to my floor.
The rest of the day was nothing out of the ordinary… except there was a moment when there was a ruckus near one of the windows. People must’ve seen something interesting down in the street. I stayed at my desk. I felt slightly sick just thinking about looking that far down.
Tuesday, March 30th, 2004
Last night I wasn’t in the corridors. I was in the atrium right away.
I stood there staring at the other side, where the elevator doors are. And curiosity got the better of me.
I started walking toward it. Slowly. Steadily. I stayed as close to the wall as I could, as far from the center as possible. But the closer I got… the more it felt like the balcony was shrinking. Or like the hole in the middle was getting wider. The railing kept creeping closer and closer, to the point where I could just barely see over it — even though I was still hugging the wall.
When I finally reached the elevator, I didn’t know what I expected. It wasn’t a modern elevator at all. It was one of those old-timey ones with the metal gate. The kind you only see in movies.
I leaned in to get a better look, like it might explain itself. Like the elevator would be the way out.
And that’s when it sprang to life.
It startled me so badly I lost my balance and stumbled backwards. I expected my back to hit the railing.
It didn’t.
It never did.
I just… fell.
I hit the floor hard, and for a second my brain still couldn’t understand why I hadn’t stopped. And when I finally looked–
The railing was gone.
Nothing between me and the drop. Just the open hole in the center of the atrium, waiting like a throat that never ends.
Right before I woke up, I heard the elevator come to a halt. The bell rang out.
And then a voice, close enough to make my skin crawl:
“Mind your step.”
I jolted awake — again on the floor. Like my body decided sometime in the night that the floor was safer.
The rest of the day was a haze. I took the stairs. I stayed at my desk. I tried not to think about edges.
I hope I sleep better tonight. I’m exhausted.
Wednesday, March 31st, 2004
[ENTRY MISSING]
Thursday, April 1st, 2004
The same dream again. The atrium. The elevator.
In the dream I decided I was going to investigate. There had to be a way out of that place. It can’t just be endless corridors and steep drops. So I approached the elevator again, carefully.
This time it didn’t spring to life. It felt like it was waiting for me… to call it.
When I finally worked up the nerve and pressed the button, it churned into motion with this awful sound — like two pieces of metal scraping against each other. Old. Unforgiving.
And for a second, through the metal gate, I thought I saw someone already inside. Just a silhouette. Still as a mannequin. White gloves catching the light.
I woke up when the elevator bell rang.
This time I woke up in my bed, and I was honestly relieved. My back has been aching for days now, ever since my body decided the floor was safer than my own bed.
I took the day off work. Today was my second appointment with Dr. Renwyck.
We talked about the dreams — how repetitive they are, how specific the place is. She said that after something like the incident at work, the brain can get stuck trying to “solve” the fear in the only environment it controls: sleep. She called it a coping mechanism. A rehearsal.
And then she went back to what she told me last time: gradual exposure. Not forcing it. Not “proving” anything. Just teaching my body, step by step, that the elevator isn’t a threat every single time.
Call it first. Then stand inside with the doors open. Then let the doors close. Then one floor. Ground to first. Repeat until it stops feeling like a trap.
She said something that stuck with me — that people take elevators every day without thinking about it, and that they’re designed and maintained to be safe. And that if I keep avoiding them, the fear just gets bigger. It spreads.
I know she’s right.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll try taking the elevator with one of my colleagues… even if it’s only for one floor.
April 2nd until April 6th, 2004
[ENTRIES HEAVILY CORRUPTED]
…yellow line… white gloves …standing… the elevator…
…not a guest… liftman …
…”Going up” …
Wednesday, April 7th, 2004
The same dreams. I get so little sleep now, maybe two hours if I’m lucky.
Saw Dr. Renwyck again today. We talked about the dreams, and about how the fear keeps spreading if I keep feeding it.
I told her something that sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud — the building hired a liftman. An actual liftman. Uniform, gloves, the whole thing. Like it’s a hotel trying to be charming. I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did.
She didn’t laugh. She just told me the same thing she’s been telling me: do this gradually, and don’t turn it into a stunt. And if I’m going to take the elevator, I shouldn’t do it alone.
Tomorrow I’m going to try. One ride. One floor. That’s it.
I’m going to call her first thing in the morning, to thank her for giving me the courage to face my fears.
VOICEMAIL
After the diary ends, there’s an audio recording of what sounds to be a voicemail left for Dr. Renwyck. It’s dated Thursday, April 8th, 2004. I’ll play it now.
Hi Dr. Renwyck — it’s Thomas… Thomas Mitchell. Um… sorry, I’m guessing you’re not in yet, so I’m just leaving a message.
I wanted to say… thank you. Seriously. I know I’ve been difficult about this — trying to explain it away, trying to control it — but… you’ve given me the first thing that’s felt like actual ground under my feet in weeks.
I’m at work now. I’m standing here looking at the elevator doors, and… I’m not turning around. I’m going to do it. Just like we said. One ride. One floor. Something small. Practice. Not… not a test.
And I keep hearing your voice in my head — people do this every day. They don’t even think about it. So why can’t I?
I just– I wanted you to know I’m trying.
And… this is going to sound ridiculous, but it actually helps: they’ve got that liftman now. The new one. He’s here this morning. So at least I won’t be alone in there.
Anyway. I’ll see you at the next appointment.
Thanks again, Dr. Renwyck.
(softly spoken)
…Alright. Here we go.
PATIENT RECORD ADDENDUM
Patient: Thomas Mitchell
Date: April 12th, 2004
Subject: police contact; workplace disappearance; materials recovered
On April 12th, I was contacted in person by investigators regarding Mr. Mitchell’s disappearance at his workplace. Detective Raynor led the interview.
They reported Mr. Mitchell was last seen entering an elevator in the north tower of his company’s headquarters. The elevator was not reported as malfunctioning. No evidence of forced entry or a struggle was identified on site.
Investigators showed a copy of CCTV footage. It shows Mr. Mitchell entering the elevator alone. The doors close. He appears visibly agitated, shifting his weight and turning toward the panel. The overhead lights cut out. When the lights return, the elevator car is empty.
A sleep diary was recovered from the elevator car following the incident. My clinic card was attached to the final pages. Detective Raynor stated this was “becoming a pattern.”
Detective Raynor requested confirmation of any recent contact from the patient. During this visit, my receptionist informed him that Mr. Mitchell had left a voicemail for my office on the morning of April 8th, 2004. At Raynor’s request, and in his presence, the message was replayed from the office system. The content is consistent with planned exposure work discussed in session (intention to take the elevator; gratitude; emphasis on “not being alone”). The patient makes reference to a “liftman” employed at the building.
However, the detective stated that company personnel records do not show any liftman currently employed. An interview with the receptionist also stated that there was never any liftman. CCTV footage of the lobby confirms this.
Detective Raynor made repeated insinuations regarding the recurrence of patient deaths/disappearances with my name attached to recovered diaries. He characterized the situation as “convenient,” and suggested I was either withholding information or failing to report risk appropriately. I advised him, again, that I cannot disclose clinical details without consent, and that my role is not investigative. His tone remained adversarial.
I am documenting, for my own record, that the implication underlying his questions was not clinical concern but suspicion — as though this is a chain of events I am orchestrating rather than attempting to interrupt.
Mr. Mitchell’s presentation was consistent with severe sleep disruption and escalating avoidance following an acute trigger event. He demonstrated preserved insight and motivation for treatment. I advised graded exposure and specifically cautioned against solitary, high-stakes confrontation. I cannot determine whether he acted alone on April 8th, nor the circumstances inside the elevator beyond the footage provided.
File Closed.
CONCLUSION
Another File Closed.
It’s the first time I’ve recovered audio, and I hate to admit it, but it’s a welcome change of pace.
Thomas Mitchell leaves a voicemail for Dr. Renwyck… and then disappears right after.
What bugs me is what he says in that message. He tells her the liftman is there. That he won’t be alone.
But then Raynor shows up in Renwyck’s addendum and says CCTV shows Thomas getting into an empty elevator. Doors close. He looks agitated. The lights cut. They come back on, and he’s gone.
So where did that man go? He’s not on the lobby CCTV footage either.
But people don’t just disappear like that.
…I mean, I guess that’s not entirely true.
Thomas did.
NO FURTHER MATERIAL RECOVERED.
SHOW OUTRO PLAYS