Time froze.
The Emily before me was still smiling her gentle smile. At my feet, little Biscuit, like a cornered beast, used his tiny body as a shield between me and her.
"You're not her," I backed away, my voice a strangled whisper, until my shoulders hit the cold wall.
Just then, the telephone on the table shrieked to life.
My hand trembled as I lifted the receiver. It was Tom's real voice, laced with raw panic. "Jack! Where the fuck are you? I went to your house today, and you know what I saw? Nothing! Your lot… it's empty! Just a vacant plot of land overgrown with weeds! The cops said the house… it burned down in a fire a year ago! You and Emily… the official records say you both… went missing in that fire!"
Boom. My mind went blank.
A vacant lot? Burned down a year ago? Emily and I… missing?
I understood. I understood everything.
The "Shelter" hadn't walled me off from my world. My world was already gone. In the moment of its destruction, this monstrous "Shelter" had chosen me, imprisoning my consciousness in this eternal cage built from rules and fragmented memories.
It wasn't protecting me. It was farming me. I was the ghost here.
"So, you know," a cold voice spoke in front of me. It was no longer imitating Emily's warmth, but a discordant shriek composed of a thousand overlapping voices.
The thing that was "Emily" was melting, its form dissolving into a shifting, indescribable silhouette of shadow and screams.
"You… opened the door… let the light from the 'Outside'… shine in…" the creature hissed, drifting toward me. "Now… it is my turn… to taste… you…"
Biscuit let out another desperate roar, preparing to launch himself at the thing.
Sacrifice. The word was an alarm bell in my head. To repair the rift, a sacrifice was needed.
In this false world of memory and rules, what was real? Emily was a fabrication. Tom's memory was a phantom. Even I might just be a trapped consciousness. But… Biscuit? I remembered him in that shelter cage, looking at me with clear, innocent eyes, gently licking my fingers. I remembered every one of his joyful leaps into my arms, that pure, unconditional love.
His loyalty, his love… that was real. He was my last, my only connection to the true world I had lost.
And a sacrifice, since the dawn of time, has always been the offering of one's most precious possession.
A thought, colder and sharper than an icicle, drove itself into my mind.
Shaking, I slowly crouched down. "Biscuit…" I called his name, my voice thick with an unspeakable pain.
Hearing my voice, the little dog looked back at me. His growl faltered, his eyes filled with confusion and trust. I reached out a hand and stroked his warm, furry head.
"I'm so sorry…" Tears streamed down my face. "You were always… such a good boy."
I closed my eyes and scooped him into my arms.
Amidst his confused whimpers, I turned and walked toward the door—the door I had so foolishly opened.
Outside, the horrifying wasteland of churning grey fog still roiled. Countless greedy eyes glinted within it.
"No… no…" the shadow-creature shrieked in terror, seeming to fear the world beyond the door more than anything.
I didn't look back. I looked down at the little dog in my arms. He was staring at the horrors outside, his body trembling like a leaf. But he didn't struggle. He just pressed himself closer to me, as if in my embrace, he could fear nothing.
"I'm sorry, Biscuit," I whispered, kissing his forehead one last time. "Go on… go back to a place… where there are no rules…"
Then, with a final, wrenching sob, I threw him—my last piece of reality, my only warmth—out into the grey fog.
A single, shrill cry was instantly devoured by the mists.
I slammed the door and threw the brass lock.
The world fell completely and utterly silent.
My body slid down the door until I was slumped on the floor, where I began to weep uncontrollably.
I don't know how long I sat there. When I finally looked up, the shadow-creature was gone. The scorched, bloody writing on the wall had vanished.
The house was restored to its original, pristine state. On the living room table sat a plate of steaming hot muffins and a glass of warm milk.
Everything was "repaired." The Shelter's barrier, at the cost of the most precious thing I had, was welded shut once more.
A new note lay silently beside the plate of muffins. It bore a single, final line, cold and clear as a death sentence.
[SHELTER INTEGRITY RESTORED. PLEASE RESIDE IN PEACE, RESIDENT.]
[YOU ARE NOW ABSOLUTELY SAFE.]
I stared at the muffins, at this perfect, dead room.
I was safe.
Forever safe.
Here, in this tomb called the "Shelter."
Alone.