I thought about not even getting in, just waiting in the room for the whole hour, then leaving, grabbing my laptop from the car, and hurrying back to my apartment. But I’d already paid my sixty-five bucks, so what the fuck, may as well give it a try. I got undressed, showered in the attached shower, and slid into the warm, thick water, feeling the strange sensation of… no sensations. When I closed the lid and relaxed, there tiniest moment of panic. It’s hard to describe the feeling of “nothing.” It’s not like being in your room when you go to bed. The blackness, the quiet, and the complete lack of—well, almost any feeling at all—was strange and disorienting.

  I let my mind drift, and after what seemed like no time at all, the light came on. But something wasn’t right. I knew I hadn’t been in for more than two minutes, yet the light was on, which meant my hour was up. I thought, “I must have fallen asleep. Oh well, at least I got a nice nap.”

  I opened the pod and got dressed, and as I did, I experienced the strangest sensation. It felt like I wasn’t really present, as if my body didn’t truly belong to me. I reassured myself, “It’s just an after-effect of being in the deprivation tank for so long. It will wear off soon.”

  I told myself those things, but a deeper, more instinctive part of my brain was telling me, “You’re insane. You’ve lost your mind.” It was a genuine fear, dark and personal, and I shut it down. Stomped on it like an ant, and I focused on getting dressed.

  When I returned to the lobby, Luanda greeted me with a warm, wide smile. “How was it? Did you like it?” Her voice sounded far away, surreal. When I smiled back at her, I felt like I was looking through her—as if she wasn’t Luanda, not a real person at all.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “It was nice, but I fell asleep,” I said. My voice felt distant and detached, and I began to wonder if there was some kind of hallucinogen in the water.

  She made an exaggerated frown and replied, “Oh. I’m sorry. That happens sometimes.” But then her expression hardened, her brow furrowed as she added, “Hey, that guy you mentioned came by. He had a picture of you, and he asked if I’d seen you. I said I didn’t. He seemed super sus.”

  My stomach twisted with anxiety. How could they have a picture of me so quickly? I nodded, forcing a smile and giving her a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Luanda. You did me a solid. I totally owe you.”

  I stepped outside and looked at the car I had rented. Thankfully, it was still there. I hoped no one had found the laptop inside. After looking around and confirming that no one was nearby, I approached the car and opened the door. Just as I was about to get in, I suddenly heard a loud crack and saw a flash from the window of a car parked about a block away.

  My mind raced. Someone was shooting at me. I turned and tried to run, but my body felt weird, disconnected, and slow. I looked down, and there was a body on the sidewalk next to the car door, blood streaming from his head. A man. No, not just any man. My heart leaped. It was me. That was me lying dead on the sidewalk.

  Time seemed to slow as my mind struggled to comprehend the utter disconnect of what I was seeing. Suddenly, I felt a strange pull, everything went black, and I felt thick, warm water sloshing around me. It dawned on me that I was still in the tank—still in the sensory deprivation tank.

  I reached up and pushed the lid open. My heart was pounding, but everything felt normal again. The room was bright, and I was still alive. It had all been some kind of nightmare or hallucination; none of it was real. I took a deep breath and then another, slowly allowing my heart rate to come back down.