The Mental Map

I created "The Mental Map" to help people. It let them unlock hidden memories. My technique used hypnosis and brain scans. I thought it was safe. I thought I controlled it. Then Daniel arrived.

He seemed normal at first—tired eyes, restless hands, late 30s. He said his dreams were haunting him. He dreamed of places he’d never been. He saw faces he didn’t know. The details felt too real, he said, like memories.

In our first sessions, we found fragments of his childhood. He remembered a lost toy, a family trip, a scraped knee. Then the memories shifted. He spoke of a village by the sea. He described cobblestone streets, salty air, and a woman with a scar. He mentioned a locked door in an old house.

“I’ve never been there,” he said, his voice trembling. “But I know it.”

I told him dreams can mimic memory. The brain fills gaps. But his descriptions stuck with me. They were too vivid.

Then I dreamed about the village.

I walked the streets. I smelled the ocean. I saw the scarred woman. At first, I thought it was stress. I told myself I was overworked. But the dreams wouldn’t stop.

One day, Daniel mentioned the locked door again. My stomach dropped. I’d dreamed of that door the night before.

The memories started bleeding into my days. I smelled the sea in my office. I heard faint whispers of waves. Daniel began to change too. He knew things about me—things I hadn’t told him.

“You’ve been there too,” he said, staring at me. “Haven’t you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I studied our session data. The brain scans showed something terrifying. Our memory patterns were syncing. His memories weren’t just his anymore. They were mine too.

I stopped the sessions, but it didn’t matter. The memories stayed. The scarred woman appeared in my home. I’d catch glimpses of her in mirrors. I felt the cold air of the village on my skin.

I started researching the village. It wasn’t hard to find. Blackwater Cove—a real place, burned down decades ago. No survivors. But there was a photograph in an old archive. It showed the scarred woman standing in front of the locked door.

Daniel grew worse. He stopped eating. He barely spoke. When he did, his words chilled me. “It’s not just us,” he whispered. “It’s them.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The ones who remember,” he said. “Now we’re part of it.”

The door haunted me. It wasn’t just in my dreams. It was in Daniel’s mind, in the village’s past. I felt its pull.

I know the truth now. The Mental Map didn’t just unlock memories. It connected them. Not just between me and Daniel. It linked us to something far older, something waiting to be remembered.

The door is still locked—for now. But I feel it watching us.

And I don’t know what’s worse: opening it or waiting for it to open itself.