November 2nd, 1983. Early Morning
The monster was chasing Will through Mirkwood, chittering and chirping away. Will sprinted, panting, legs burning from the effort, arms pumping fast. But then his foot caught on one of the roots crisscrossing the ground. Before he knew it, he was crashing to the ground. When he rolled over, the monster was standing over him. But it wasn't the monster. It was –
Then he was in his bed, eyes wide, heart racing, covered in cold sweat. For a moment, he almost believed that things were normal, that he hadn't done this. That the whole thing had been part of a nightmare. That the world hadn't been suddenly torn up, and thrown back together by someone who had the blueprints but didn't actually know how everything worked.
Late the night before, he must have taken the makeshift curtains down, because his quilt was wrapped around himself. That and he could feel a frigid breeze blowing through the window. The sun was shining, but the light was dull, like it was shining through clouds.
Was there even a sun anymore? He didn't know. Maybe the light was an illusion. Or maybe it was coming from something else –
'Where the hell are they?'
Was that –
'Jonathan?'
"M-m-mom?" Will called, sitting straight up in his bed.
'Check the couch!'
"Jonathan?" His eyes lit up, and he tumbled off the bed, running towards the door.
'I did!'
"Mom! Jonathan!" They had come back for him. He'd known that they would, and they did, even if it took a few hours, they still came back, and now he wouldn't be alone. He would have someone to help him through this. They would be able to help him through this. His mother, and his brother. The two best people in the world. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but that didn't matter. They'd come back. "Jonathan!"
'Oh. Got them.'
He burst through the door, feeling like a massive weight had been taken from his shoulders. He ran into the hall. "Mom!"
'Okay, sweetie, I will see you tonight.'
As he ran, he stepped on a slippery, wet spot on the carpet, and he slipped to the ground. Even that couldn't crush his spirit, though. He scrambled up again.
'Yeah, see you later.'
He ran down the hall, ready to see Jonathan and his mom, Jonathan probably bustling around the room, his mom probably stressing out, from the way it sounded. Although she was always stressing out, a little bit. He almost smiled at the thought.
Then, he burst into the kitchen.
And froze.
'Where's Will?'
The room was empty.
He only paused for a moment before realizing that there was still a chance they could be there. Their voices had sounded muffled; maybe they were outside. With a burst of courage, he unlocked the door and ran outside, slipping on the slick ground, looking left and right.
'Oh, I – I didn't get him up yet. He's probably still sleeping.'
"Jonathan!" He whirled around, searching the fog and the rotted trees around him. Looking down the crumbling road, around the yard.
'Jonathan, you have to make sure he's up.'
"Mom!" There was a thick fog floating in the air; maybe they were a little way's away, and he couldn't see them.
'Mom, I'm making breakfast.'
"Jonathan!" Will yelled, in a strangled voice. They were so close, so close, and they couldn't get to him. They could easily be searching for him, worrying about him.
'I've told you this a thousand times.'
"Mom?" He said, eyes welling up with tears. Where were they? He needed their help. Actually, they didn't even need to help him. He just needed them to be here.
'Will, c'mon honey. It's time to get u-'
Suddenly, just as he started to comprehend what his mother was saying, he realized where he was. Out, in the driveway of his house, with a monster prowling the woods. Yelling. He looked around one last time, gasping in the choked up, watery sort of way. He ran back inside, not caring about the tears falling, because there wasn't anyone around to see them.
'He came home last night, right?'
There wasn't anyone around to see them.
Will locked the front door, even though he knew it was useless against the monster anyway, and hurried to his room. He shut the door, but didn't have the energy to rebuild his broken barricade. Instead, he sunk to the ground, trying to keep his raw, strangled sobs silent enough to hear his family's conversation.
'He's not in his room?'
They were talking about someone. Someone that they couldn't find. Someone that would normally be there, but wasn't.
There were only three people in his family – his mom, Jonathan, and him. They had to be talking about him.
"Mom," He called between gasping sobs. "M-mom? I'm here!"
'Did he come home last night, or not?'
They were still talking. They couldn't hear him. 'Mom! I'm right here! I'm –'
He made himself stop, because wherever they were, the couldn't find them.
He wasn't sure what that meant. Their conversation sounded normal. Not at all like they were in the same messed up, deteriorated world that he was. It sounded like it was any old day, and Will –
Had gone missing? Was lost? He didn't know. It could be a recording. Did he remember ever getting lost, or staying at a friend's house without permission? He couldn't, but there could easily have been something he'd forgotten. It might've happened a long time ago.
But wait. He was being stupid. Because where would the recording have been playing from? None of the electronics were working, and even if they did, they would flicker on and off, like he was in the middle of a storm. Nothing was playing smoothly and clearly, like that conversation was.
They were still talking, and he couldn't quite make out the words, but they were panicked, nervous. If he was hearing it in real time – he didn't know how, but he wasn't thinking about that – then they must be looking for him. Realizing that he's missing.
With that thought, pieces started clicking into place.
During the day, the world outside was bright, in the way that a foggy, cloudy autumn's day is bright. He could see now, through the window, that everything – the trees, the leaves, the ground – was black and rotted, and covered in that clear, sticky membrane. It was still cold, and terrifying, but at least he could see five feet in front of him.
He spent the next hours contemplating his theory. After searching for forever, he finally found a notebook whose pages hadn't completely rotted away, and a pencil that, miraculously, hadn't broken off at the tip. He used the corner of his blanket (normally he'd avoid getting it dirty, but right now it was so rotten already that there wasn't any point) to clear the black, thick layer of something from his desk, then sat down.
Will paused for a moment, seated and facing the wall, and then stood up again. He pulled the chair out from under the desk, then pulled the desk away from the wall. He pushed the chair in on the other side, so that he would be facing the bedroom door while working. That was better. Now, nothing was going to sneak in on him.
Once he felt safe, Will sat down and got to work. He drew everything – all the members of his family. His kitchen. Some people in lighter strokes than others. Some talking, some listening. Some invisible to the others. He just kept drawing. If a new idea came into his head, then he drew that in to, as best he can. When he was finished, he threw the original onto the floor, and redrew it. Again and again, until it was perfect. For hours.
He didn't know how many he'd finished. The problem was that he kept realizing something new, figured out another piece of the puzzle. And then he would need to start again, so that he could fit that part in neatly. Now, he had drawings scattered all over the floor, he was exhausted, and his hand hurt. But at least he understood – or thought he understood – what was happening.
He just needed to come up with a plan. And to do that, he needed to scope out the rest of the house.
Before he left the bedroom, he picked up his lamp. He still didn't know where the monster was, or how well it could hide. For all he knew, it was in his living room right now. So, holding the lamp like he would a baseball bat, or a knife, he slowly opened the door. The hallway was empty.
Heart pounding, he crept down the hall and into the kitchen. Everything was normal (or as normal as it could get) until he looked up. Crisscrossing the ceiling were hundreds of Christmas lights. When he tiptoed back into the hall, they were there too. Lights everywhere. Hanging from the walls, the ceiling. All dark, but still menacing. Eerie. He gripped the lamp harder as he felt his heart speed up.
Who had done this? Why?
When he reached the living room, he stopped in his tracks.
A long string of lights were hung, almost methodically, across the wall above the couch. Below each light was a letter. Even though the paint was faded and chipped, he could make out at least half of the alphabet. Where had the letters come from? Who else had been in the house? And why had they hung up Christmas lights, when the electricity wasn't working?
According to his theory, he was alone.
He thought through what he knew. The world around him was just the way it normally was, except that there were no people, except him. And he was starting to understand why that was. But did these lights change things?
Did these lights mean that there might be someone else there? He imagined a faceless someone creeping through his house, hanging up the lights, and tried to ignore his heart hammering in his chest.
He heard wind whistle past his window, and he jumped. Was there a storm coming? Walking cautiously across the room, he looked outside.
The sky was invisible behind a thick curtain of fog, but he could see lighting, forking through the air. Thunder, booming so loud that he felt it. And, he could see, in the clouds –
A shadow?
A huge one, taller than his house twice over, taller than anything he'd ever seen, rising up in the distance. Will stood, frozen, at the window, as he watched it grow. He couldn't tell if it was a creature, or a cloud, or something…else. It was just a giant shadow, growing and growing. Huge limbs split off of it, reaching about like the legs of an immense spider. He couldn't see its eyes, only feel them watching him. Looking deep into him. As if somehow, out of all the acres of forest, the hundreds of homes, it had found his very window, and knew he was there. Something cold gripped him, and he stiffened, eyes widening –
Just like that, the shadow monster turned and left, almost in the rolling way that clouds do. Will felt the grip on him release, and he turned and ran back to his room, each step unsteady, making sure to lock the door. Thoughts racing, he pulled a clipboard off his desk and grabbed his sketchbook. Again, he started to draw. He was still scared. He was still shaking. There were still mysteries to solve, things to learn, facts that he didn't want to be true. And now, bit by bit, he was finding a way to deal with it.
