The next night, he woke up to find an endlessly long tentacle slithering down his throat, restricting his breathing and burning his insides. He followed the tentacle out of the door, grabbing at it with tears streaming down his face, all the way into his son's bedroom and up to the closet door, where the viscous organ continued onward, pinched in the gap between the door and the floor. His hands trembled and his sight grew hazy as he reached for the door handle and weakly pulled it open. There was nothing but jackets, shoes and three unassuming walls. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.