RIGHT AFTER Patrick Ogley got up from the toilet, flushed, and went to wash his hands, he heard a cracking sound coming from underneath the bathroom floor, followed by another flush.

He froze, sighed, turned around, and walked out of the bathroom as if nothing had happened. This had happened five times throughout August 2006 in Malus, Maryland in his first-floor bathroom, often when he was rushing to get to work, and the occurrences didn't stop there.

Pat continued to hear these sounds in public restrooms at the mall. When he told his psychiatrist about them, the psychiatrist concluded that Pat needed to get more sleep, to which Pat reluctantly agreed. Despite these strange occurrences, Patrick Ogley was not a madman.

When early September hit, the cracking sounds gradually went away, only to reappear later in the month in Pat's second-floor bathroom. To make matters worse, it was the day he had an afternoon meeting with his boss, and he had yet to get a gift for him.

After Pat got dressed, he strolled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. The same sounds gradually came back, and it wasn't just cracking sounds this time; he also heard hissing and munching sounds. He clutched his head and closed his eyes as the sounds grew in volume.

Agitated, he got up, readjusted his clothes, went out of the bathroom, and slammed the door shut. Two seconds later, he heard a flush. He sweated heavily and tried to calm himself down with abdominal breathing, but it didn't work. The sounds grew louder, and he found these occurrences a contradiction to the belief that he was sane.

Do I have schizophrenia, or is someone trying to prank me? Maybe it's a plumbing issue. This is ludicrous. I'll have to deal with it later. I still have a small errand to run, and I can't let this stop me.

Pat put on his shoes, maneuvered to his bedroom door, and shoved it open. As he reached the hallway downstairs, he heard another flush coming from the bathroom, froze, then sighed. Ignoring it, he continued walking but stopped again when he heard yet another flush.

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Usually, the toilet never flushed more than once after he left the downstairs bathroom. He turned and saw water seeping out from under the bathroom door.

Now the toilet is clogged. Just...why?

Pat was nearly about to throw a fit. As he walked towards the bathroom, he waited for the sound of running water to return, but it didn't. When he opened the bathroom door, he heard nothing. Instead, he felt something hit his head, throwing him against the wall, and then everything went blank.

Pat woke up with a gasp. Blood flowed from his forehead, and he felt excruciating pain in his back. He opened his eyes but saw only darkness. He blinked continuously, hoping his vision would return, but it didn't. He screamed but couldn't hear himself. He had lost his sight and hearing; only his senses of touch and smell remained.

Pat fumbled for his flip-phone, trying to dial 911, but gave up, clenching his fists as he remembered he couldn't hear. He pushed himself up. When his hands touched the ground, he felt something sharp pierce his right thumb.

Oh god...

Whatever it was, it had quickly crawled onto Pat's chest. In his mind, it was a spider—a ginormous one at that. Get off! Ignoring his back pain, he sprang up and started kicking. He felt his kick connect with the spider, and then...

More spiders came. Pat thought they must be baby spiders because he felt many of them crawling up his legs. He charged at the wall, slamming his right side into it, trying to crush them.

IT'S NO USE! I MUST GET OUT!

He stumbled toward what felt like a dusty pole. That's when he knew exactly where he was: the basement.

Pat navigated the basement stairs by feeling along the walls, trying to ignore the overwhelming spiders. As he ascended the stairs and opened the door, he tripped on something that felt like a thick thread and fell headfirst. Adrenaline surged through him.

All the accumulated spiders on his body bit Pat simultaneously, immobilizing him. He screamed in agony as he felt the spider he had kicked earlier drag him down into the basement—no, the nest. He felt consciousness slipping away as he reached the bottom of the stairs...

The next sensation was two hands binding his hands behind his back. Was he being handcuffed? He could feel it, and the stench of iron filled his nostrils. Rubbing his fingers on his palm, he felt something dry.

Blood...or dirt? Please, let it be dirt...

Someone shoved Pat, presumably into a vehicle, and squeezed his shoulders. He felt a vibration, probably the vehicle door.

No. I'm not insane...my psychiatrist told me I'm not...I can't be insane.

His psychiatrist had lied. Now, he found himself trapped in a grotesque reality, helpless and stripped of options.