My father went through the wavy door, and I followed him. Nothing seems real back here. The hallway leading away from the door is a long, narrow corridor with off-beige walls. The floor is dark hardwood, with a red carpet runner threading the middle of the hallway.

Basically, I'm in the hotel from the fucking Shining.

The carpet runner is rucked up and twisted from staggering steps, and there's a little bit of blood on the walls. Like, I don't know if it's my dad's or Pomo's mom's or what, but still. Blood. "Dad?" I call out, more of a warning call than anything else.

The lights above me flicker a little bit.

"Dad?" I call again.

Something in here doesn't feel quite right. Hell, none of this seems right. Where the hell am I, even? What the fuck is this shit?

Youtube, keep calm, I tell myself, pulling a little tighter on the voice-anchor cables.

The hallway splits left-right, making me choose. Do I go left or right? My dad went right, but I'll go left, why not look around this obvious clusterfuck of a situation? The left side looks like the same as the original hallway, but this one's got a little alcove. There's four clocks, like big ornate grandfather clocks. The clocks are half-gold and half-purple, with the names of aspects on them. The closest one is Doom, and the one down the line is Life, and there are two more that I'm wiling to bet read Mind and Hope. This whole place gives me the creeps.

I rub my eyes, and watch as the hallway momentarily distorts, bending into uneven marks like an accordion. I've seen enough horror movies to know I need to turn around now.

What if I never find my dad, and I end up running around the Overlook for the rest of my life? Wait, I'm a god, so...can I still starve to death? I gotta ask MSPAF that. He'll know the answer.

I'm back at the split, and I follow my dad's steps down the right hand path. The hallway abruptly terminates in a door. I am officially running around a horror game. There is going to be a scary monster behind that door, full of jumpscares and lolz.

The door opens easily, and there's no monsters back here. Just a dead body.

I reach down to roll it over. White-skin female, wavy brown hair, unremarkable facial features, and her fingernails are torn up. Did my dad kill her? There's no real marks on her, so it's not out of the question.

"You can't run forever, dad!" I call out, stepping over the corpse and continuing down the hallway.

Voices start to swirl around my head.

-Uh Huh?-

-Turn around-

-GO BACK! GO BACK!-

-HEAVY ARTILLERY IN! HEAVY ARTILLERY OUT! DO THE HOKEY POKEY AND THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!-

Cables don't seem to be working anymore. I turn around another sharp left turn and I'm out of hallway.

I'm home. Sort of, kind of home.

The rough floors of my cabin are still there, but the walls are mixed with plaster and stucco in addition to the planks. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the furniture is a mishmash of all sorts. There's an orange-and-cobalt foldout couch, bookshelves crammed with long-titled fantasy novels, and fussy flowering jungle plants are sitting in giant pots throughout the room.

My father has collapsed on a dark blue antique couch. He does not look like my father anymore. His glasses are cracked, his suit is stained with sweat, and blood, crimson new blood and maroon old blood.

My father is bleeding. Ladies and Gentlemen, my father is dying.

-Does it end this way?-

-Is this It?-

-It was never supposed to end this way.-

"I Should Have Known That It Would Have Been You," intones my father, resting his head on the back of the couch. His ice-blue eyes glare reproachfully.

My mouth is very dry. "Dad, what the fuck is going on?"

My father tsks. "Language, Youtube."

I try again. "Where are we?"

He takes a heavy breath. "Where It All Began. You Were Created Here. Everything Was Created Here."

If I wanted a philosophy lesson, I'd listen to FFN at four in the morning, dad.

My father raises a hand, palm bloodied almost artistically.

"Something Is Very Wrong, Youtube. My Darling Daughter."

He pauses, and then taps the side of his head.

"Something Is Very Wrong In Here."

I cross my arms and let him keep babbling.

"I Have Always Loved You, Youtube. Always. No Matter How It Sleeved."

"Sleeved?" I repeat. "Dad, listen to yourself, you can't even talk right."

My father props himself up a little.

"Something Is Wrong. There Is Something In Here, Youtube. A Danger. A Something," he says, and gestures around.

Is it hiding behind a pot or something, dad? Because all I see is you and me.

"Daughter, You Must Stop. You Are The Only One Who Can. You Must Stay Here With me. Please," he says, and he smiles.

My breath catches.

"Who are you?" I ask.

My father shows more teeth.

"I Am Your Father, Youtube. Don't You Recognize Your Own Father?" he asks, and starts to get up.

I throw my hands forward, like I'm bracing a wall. "Stay where you are!" I caution.

My father

-NOT YOUR FATHER! NOT! NO! NOT NEVER NOT EVER-

looks puzzled.

"What Are You Going To Do To Me? I Am Your Father, Youtube, You Cannot Hurt Me," he says, almost kindly.

My father does not smile ever.

"Skill testing question," I say, my voice cracking. "What was mom's name?"

He thinks for a moment, before answering.

"It Was The Same As Yours."

Tears sting at my eyes. No, Dad, it wasn't.

"Her name was Hulu, dad. Hulu. Not Youtube. One more time, now. Who are you?" I ask, my arms beginning to ache.

My dad narrows his eyes. "None Of Your Concern."

-If you ask me-

-None of this-

-No-

-yes-

-Play the piano? Why?-

Where is my dad? Whatever is in front of me, that's not my dad.

"Youtube?" my dad asks. "What Is Wrong?"

I let my arms drop. None of this makes any sense.

"Youtube, There Is Something, A Something, I Saw It!" he protests, staggering up from the couch. How has he lost so much blood? His undone tie slips off his shoulders and slithers to the ground, where it lands in a pile.

"Where?" I ask, and it's a knee-jerk reaction.

He hesitates, and almost seems lost.

"Four Eatings Ago?" he tries.

Dad, what happened to you?

"Stay," he says to me, and takes a step forwards.

Voices explode in my head, and I clap my hands over my ears. Cables tighten, overtighten, start to fray and scream with effort. My dad is close enough to grab onto me.

-CLOSE ENOUGH TO EAT, MY DEAR!-

"Dad, I'm sorry," I tell him.

My Dad is angry. "Youtube, I Am Your Father!" he snaps, and makes a clumsy grab for me. I slip away, and raise my arms.

"No," I say, "You're not."

Cables snap.

I open my eyes. Hallway. I close my eyes.

Can feel walking. Barely feel movement. Stomach empty. Eyes sting.

Cold. Open eyes.

Outside.

Pottermore's dragon grumbles, and Pottermore comes staggering out, rubbing at his eyes. His sweater is caked in some kind of crusty substance, like snot.

"Youtube! Love! Are you alright? Where'd the door go?" he asks, then adds, "what you got there?"

I look down at my hand. Swinging from my clenched fist is a mix of Red-Blue-Green-Yellow silk.

The words catch in my throat and burn, burn, burn. I throw myself forwards, onto Pottermore. He catches me, but abruptly tries to shift away.

"Whoa! Easy, there! Youtube, could you, um, shift away, maybe, your costume, it's poking?" he murmurs, but I don't move, I hold onto him and press my face down into his shoulder.

"What happened in there?" he asks.

The tie feels cold on my skin.