Scenario: The Forgetting Room
A research subject in a sleep experiment wakes each day in a sealed white room, with no memory of how he got there—but the room itself begins to change subtly, as if remembering what he forgets. He realizes too late that the room isn’t keeping him in… it’s consuming who he was.
Horror Mechanism: Identity erosion; the terror of being remembered wrongly by your surroundings.
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The Forgetting Room
A research subject in a sleep experiment wakes each day in a sealed white room, with no memory of how he got there—but the room itself begins to change subtly, as if remembering what he forgets. He realizes too late that the room isn’t keeping him in… it’s consuming who he was.
Horror Mechanism: Identity erosion; the terror of being remembered wrongly by your surroundings.
Ethan
He is a research subject in a sleep study at the Memory Institute. He is curious, introspective, and resilient. Ethan wakes each day in a strange room with no memory of how he got there. The room changes, reflecting his forgotten past, and he grapples with the truth about his identity. Despite horror and confusion, he struggles to recall who he is and where he belongs. His mind fights against the void of amnesia as he tries to piece together his life.
Dr. Elizabeth Reed
She is the lead researcher at the Memory Institute. She is professional, enigmatic, and authoritative. Ethan encounters Dr. Reed in the hospital where he was admitted after an accident. She explains the sleep study and her interest in understanding human memory loss. Her demeanor is both reassuring and mysterious, leaving Ethan with questions about her true intentions and the nature of the research. Her presence looms over Ethan's journey as he navigates his life in the experimental room.
Ryland
He is a fellow patient in the hospital where Ethan first meets Dr. Reed. He is friendly, observant, and skeptical. Ryland shares a room with Ethan and introduces him to the experiment at the Memory Institute. He provides some information about the study and his own experiences with memory loss. As Ethan's ally in navigating the mystery of the research, Ryland helps him question what is happening and seek answers about their lives before the hospital.
I wake in a white room.
I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t know what I did yesterday… or the day before that.
I don’t even know who I is.
The only thing I do know is that I have to get out of here.
Day one.
I wake and I don’t know where I am.
The room is white… floor, walls, ceiling.
There is a single bed in the center of the room, and I’m in it.
I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t know what happened yesterday… or the day before that.
I can’t remember my name, but somehow I know that I shouldn’t be able to remember anything.
Panic claws at me as I fling myself off the bed and throw myself against the door.
It’s sealed—no lock, no handle on my side.
I pound on the wall and scream for help until my voice is hoarse and my arms are bruised.
Nothing happens.
The door remains closed, the room remains silent, and slowly, horribly, it dawns on me that no one is coming to save me.
Day two.
I wake and the room has changed.
The bed is still in the center, but now there’s a small table beside it and a chair with a book on the table.
I approach the table cautiously, my bare feet cold on the white floor.
The chair creaks when I lower myself into it, and I stare at the book.
It’s leather-bound, with pages that look worn and yellowed.
I don’t remember seeing it here yesterday, but then, I don’t remember much of anything.
My fingers hover over the cover, hesitating.
I don’t know what to do.
The table’s surface is smooth except for a few faint scratches.
Someone’s been here before me, writing or drawing.
I trace the lines with my finger, trying to remember if I’ve ever seen them before.
I can’t remember anything.
I sit there for hours, not moving, not thinking.
There’s nothing to think about.
My mind is empty.
The only sound is the steady hum of the ventilation system. I don’t know how long I sit there when my stomach growls with hunger.
I look up at the wall and see that there’s a small tray sitting on a ledge that hadn’t been there before.
I get up and take it down—there’s a bowl of oatmeal on it, and a glass of water.
I eat and drink quickly, then return to the chair and sit down again.
The book is still there, waiting for me to open it.
I stare at it until my eyes blur and I feel myself falling asleep again. I wake and the room has changed again.
The table and chair are still there, but now there’s a small desk in the corner with a chair behind it.
There’s a piece of paper on the desk with a pen lying across it.
I get up and walk over to the desk, staring down at the paper.
It’s blank except for a single sentence written in neat script: "Write your name."
My name?
What is my name?
I try to think of something—anything—but my mind is as empty as ever.
I pick up the pen and hold it over the paper, but I can’t think of anything to write. I stand there for hours, pen poised over paper, trying to remember something—anything—but nothing comes to me.
While I’m examining the surface of the desk, my fingers catch on something.
There’s an uneven edge underneath, almost imperceptible.
I slide down onto the floor and run my hands along the bottom of the desk.
It’s smooth except for that one spot.
I push on it, but nothing happens.
I push again, harder this time, and feel a slight give.
It takes several tries, but finally I manage to pry the panel open.
The compartment is shallow, but it extends deep into the frame of the desk.
I reach inside and feel something papery.
I pull it out slowly, my heart pounding in my chest.
It’s a stack of envelopes, tied together with twine.
I turn them over in my hands and see that they’re addressed to someone named Ethan.
