Seb stared at the parchment.
A mix of horror and confusion slowly crept in, crawling along his spine and settling in the pit of his stomach like something alive, something he couldn't quite shake.
"Yeah… something is very, very wrong," he muttered.
"Why… why couldn't I see it?"
The question nagged at him, quiet but relentless. I wasn't blind. I was holding it. I was looking at it. And somehow… I never registered it. How is that even possible? How could my own mind betray me like this?
His hand tightened around the parchment. Memories flickered—he had picked it up, peeked at it, even shoved it in his pocket without noticing. His mind had somehow… ignored it entirely, as if it refused to exist in the same plane as his awareness. He shook his head. Am I losing it? Is this what the doctor meant? Schizophrenia… maybe this is it. Maybe my own brain is tricking me, playing tricks while pretending to be normal.
A thin line of blood ran from his eye. He wiped it quickly, focusing on something solid—the edge of the table, the floorboards beneath his feet, anything tangible. He wanted to believe it was real, actual, not just another hallucination. I've been looking for it… while holding it. How do you even explain that?
He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down. Okay. Slow down. Think. Just think. I can't let this… whatever this is… pull me under. I need to figure it out. One step at a time, like always.
All problems had a solution.
His fingers traced the paper's edge, grounding him. He had the contract. He was aware of it. And even if his mind wasn't entirely reliable, he could still make sense of it. Something is definitely wrong. But I can handle this. I have to.
He sat down, placing the parchment on the table in front of him. There he simply stared, all attention locked on its form, not allowing his eyes to wander. Seconds passed then Minutes.
However, the human mind doesn't like monotony. It seeks change. It hates repetition. And, inevitably, his thoughts drifted back to the beginning—the forest. Everything had started there. All the weirdness. The forest, the shadows, the inexplicable occurrences… the whole mess.
"Fuck." He kicked the table in frustration as he stood, the sound echoing off the walls.
If only he hadn't entered that place. If only he had taken the normal path. None of this—this insanity—would be happening. Life would be just simple problems: exams, grades, girlfriends, gym, friends, ordinary, fucking, normal issues. A normal fucking life. Not this… weirdness. Not this chaos bleeding into every part of him.
His eyes stung with the accumulation of tears and blood. Helplessness, exhaustion, and frustration warred in his chest. He didn't know where to start, what to do, or how to fix this. His mom… what would he even say to her?
He imagined explaining it to her and saw himself fumbling, hesitating, stammering through what made no sense. The easier path would be admitting he was losing it. But then… his mom. He could see her...He could see her just breaking down on hearing it. Her initial strength, steady as stone, was now riddled with cracks. She wasn't invincible, just harder to break.
Finally, accepting what had been clear for a long time—he'd been avoiding the truth—the helplessness warped into unbridled anger and hate. His eyes, unnoticed by him, drew more blood at the corners. This time, however, the lines were darker, almost black rather than red. His throbbing leg went unnoticed, veins darkening, yellowing in a way that would alarm any outsider. His form shifted subtly, frighteningly. Cracks appeared in his pupils. And then—just then—a knock came at the door.
The unexpected intrusion, coupled with the familiar voices of his friends, dispelled the hate that had consumed him. His skin returned to its natural hue, the cracks slowly faded. But once something was broken, repairing it would never restore the original stability. That's just how all structural systems worked.
He opened the door to see Alex and James squabbling in the hallway. They turned to see him and smiled, the familiar, teasing energy hitting him like a splash of cold water.
"You gonna let us in, or just stand there like a statue?" Alex piqued, waving a hand impatiently.
"Sorry," Seb said, rubbing his hair and letting a tired smile tug at his lips. "Come on in."
"And lock the door, please," he added, almost as an afterthought, a touch of humor in his otherwise exhausted tone.
He grabbed the parchment and ran upstairs, carefully placing it in his drawer to review later. Returning, he walked back into the living room, greeted by the mild chaos of his friends.
"Bro, what's wrong with your eyes?" Jack asked, squinting, concern and curiosity tangled in his tone. Alex leaned closer. "Is that… makeup? Halloween's over, dude. Like, days ago."
"Who's doing makeup?" Seb rolled his eyes.
"Well… your eyes are really dark, bruh," James chimed, nodding to Alex's comment.
Seb sighed. "I'll go wash it off. And don't start eating before me," he said, rushing upstairs again.
"We weren't going to. Why would you even think that?" Alex called after him. He glanced at Jack. "Bro some of the chips and take out the book. Tell him I need to go to the toilet."
"Sure," Jack answered shaking his head. This guy and his weird urge for chips .
The day slipped by with reading, resting, watching TV, and enjoying the pizza and drinks they had brought.
Over the next two weeks, life returned to the monotony Sebastian craved. The parchment didn't play tricks on him, and staying indoors likely helped reduce chances of "visions". But he knew better than to believe the chaos was gone forever. It was only a matter of time before things returned—and perhaps, even worse.
So he prepared. Failing to prepare is preparing to fail. He wasn't about to dump this mess on his mom.
He researched schizophrenia—its progression, coping strategies, and recovery. Sleep, he learned, played a crucial role. He structured his days to avoid late-night strain. Moderate exercise kept him grounded, even if he couldn't train with Alex and James until after exams. Breathing techniques became his shield, in case the visions returned.
He also explored TO → GHOSTLY, finding semi-authentic videos and noting to ask David for guidance.
One that he did find intriguing was the Highway Psycho. They were more than 30 videos on the incident, one even involving a school bus ferrying kids. Initially, from what he pieced together, the incident occurred only on one highway; however, this changed after the 10th incident, where 9 people died. The incident was even depicted on the news a few months ago. After this, it began occurring in other places, though they seemed to still be of close proximity to the highway. From this, Seb concluded that the incidents related to the Highway Psycho seemed to be spreading and moving away from its start position, and its general direction, from proportional representation of where it occurred, showed it was heading north in the direction of Vermont. Seb managed to reach this conclusion by utilizing the aid of his mom's assistant, Grace. She had asked why he was interested in it; his answer, "piqued his curiosity".
The exams were also nearing, and unexpectedly, his initial fears proved "unfounded." It seemed if he concentrated hard enough—like really hard—he could slip into this focus mode, a state befitting of being called "LOCKED IN."
However, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows; the state was, for one, difficult to enter and proved easy to break. He had been training it, but for now it took close to 30 minutes to enter, and in some cases a whole hour. During the process of entry, he had to clear his thoughts. This proved exceptionally difficult. It reached a point where he figured he might as well just read normally.
The other side effect was the state of his eyes after the ordeal. They hurt as though cold ice were pressing behind his eyelids, a deep, relentless ache that no amount of blinking could ease. The pain was so sharp, so raw, that he found himself wrapping a warm cloth around them just to dull the sting, letting the heat seep in and offer a fragile relief. In addition to the pain, the state seemed to leave him drained, as if the act of seeing itself had sapped all his energy. And with each passing day, it grew harder to bear—the ache lingering longer, stubborn and unyielding.
Along with the physical torment came something stranger: a hollow feeling in his chest and mind, empty and gnawing. He didn't understand it, couldn't name it, but it arrived every time he utilized the state, like something was now missing. This he couldn't understand, much less explain, so he simply kept it aside, hoping it would get better.
Finally, exam day arrived. Students buzzed with last-minute panic. Seb felt relief and anxiety in equal measure. His friends weren't in the class, so he walked straight to his seat.
The exams were scheduled to begin in 2 hours. Well, he was just going to let it run its course, and if worse came to worse, he would use the state—or, as he called it, Hollow Sight. He had considered other names, like The Locked In State, but that had been too long, so it was scratched. The Threshold was the other one. Well, he had hit a crossroads between the two, so he called in an unbiased individual to help: Mr AI And help it did.
At that moment, Margaret approached.
Seb sighed, sinking into his chair. He truly did not have the energy to argue with this feisty woman. Every ounce of strength was being carefully conserved for the exam..
"Hey, Seb… you okay? I heard you got into a serious accident," she said, sliding into the seat next to him.
Seb glanced at her, tired irritation flickering across his face. "And why do you care?"
She smiled softly, a touch of melancholy. "Although we aren't friends, we're not enemies. Otherwise, I wouldn't have offered to help you study."
Seb's mouth twitched. "Offered… help?, you mean torture right?
She chuckled. "Guilty as charged. But you're welcome."
Silence fell, punctuated by the murmuring of students around them.
She watched him for a moment, a quiet heaviness settling over her. The tension that had built between them over the past 3 years—the teasing, the misunderstandings, the unspoken frustrations—felt sharper now. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "That's good to know," she said softly, a touch of melancholy clouding her gaze. "It seems our time here will be coming to an end soon."
"That is true. I won't be missing much here, so I can't wait," he said, running his fingers through his hair with a small, almost nervous smile. Then he looked at her. "How about you?"
"You… won't miss me?" she asked instead, a quiet vulnerability in her tone.
His smile was wistful, tinged with warmth. "I will, of course. Just as much as I'll miss Mr. Venyer's berating."
Margaret shook her head, letting a small, tired smile break through, soft and fleeting. Somehow, despite everything, it was comforting—like a quiet acknowledgment that for all the friction between them, there was still understanding, still a connection that existed.