Tunnel Under The World

Every morning, Guy Burckhardt wakes screaming from the same nightmare, a gas explosion, searing fire, the sensation of dying. But it was just a dream. It must have been. Yet the world feels subtly wrong. The faces seem rehearsed. The conversations repeat. And each night, the nightmare returns, pulling him closer to a truth too terrible to face. Pohl's 1955 masterpiece builds dread with terrifying patience. What begins as domestic unease becomes a descent into the deepest questions of identity: What makes you *you*? If your entire life is a copy of a copy, stolen from a corpse, does your suffering count? Long before The Matrix asked these questions, Pohl crafted a horror story where the prison has no bars because you are the prison. It's science fiction, but it reads like cosmic horror, the terror of discovering you've never existed at all.