On her way back home, a solitary woman picks up a frail flower, and then, she drops her key. Exhausted, she finally enters her home and falls asleep in a deep and comfortable armchair. However, even in her intimate dreams, an intangible and elusive dark presence blemishes her afternoon nap--she tries to catch it; but, in vain. Now, as, more and more, the already confined environment becomes a maze-like purgatory, bizarre but perfect doppelgängers of her physical self start materialising in the house, catching a glimpse of a record player playing a never-ending tune, a telephone, and a sharp, serrated bread knife. The blade thirsts for blood; the woman hungers for a way out. Can the undivided mind/matter entity escape consciousness?