Trent went to the office, vigilantly awaiting another hallucination, as his shoulders tensed and his hands trembled. He slowly opened the door, the knob jittering within his hand, and with a loud cough, he slammed it open, breathing hard and heavily. No one here. No one but me. No wall of heat slammed into him, thankfully, so he wouldn’t be sweating himself to death. The unease stayed by his side as he went over to the desk, finding that cabin sketch was still there, and his drawing had been moved, as he swore he dropped it on the floor in the panic. Don’t look at them. Go to the art table.

And yet Trent ignored his instinct, staring at the cabin sketch, his truck still in view. An odd sensation forced itself onto the edge of his skull, a strange tantalizing temptation that seemingly arose from nowhere. I don’t want to. But I will. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pencil from the art table and began to draw. His memory blanked, and it was as if Trent had jumped forward in time, and he saw that he had drawn onto the sketch the folk he encountered here. Bizarrely, Cahoon and Alana seemed fitting in the picture, as if they weren’t out of place at all. The way she held her blanket seemed natural and Cahoon’s pleasant smile was almost picture-perfect. Trent felt something was missing for a moment, and then as he recalled that they weren’t real and he shoved the picture off the table as violently as he could muster, huffing and struggling to breathe normally. Why the hell did I do that? Clutching his head, Trent braced himself against the desk, feeling sweat drip down his back. They aren’t real, they can’t be real. Then the terrible idea came to his brain.

Even if they are real, is that so bad? What harm have they done so far?

This terribly tempting conclusion was the one Trent came to in the office, unaware of the ramifications it would have. He picked up the cabin sketch off the floor, wiping the sweat from his forehead and pondering if he should color it or not. He chose not to and instead wondered why the image felt so empty as if it lacked something, or perhaps someone. Perhaps if I draw myself… no that’s not right. With a sigh, he decided to ignore it and found his thoughts dwelling on his mother. She had passed away in autumn in her sleep, a month after Trent’s father died in a vehicle accident. While her death was pretty painful to Trent, he told himself that he’d gotten over it already. But now, Trent wondered if he would ever fulfill the promise he made to her a few weeks before she passed.

“Please Trent, figure out where you want to be in this life of yours. Before you die, I want you to not feel as if you’ve wasted your time and now cannot spend what was already withdrawn. I don’t want you to regret it as I do now.”

“I swear I’ll settle down with what I really want someday, Mom.

I promise.”

The memory of her weakening voice turned hoarse with age and grief was enough to conjure up bad, heart-wrenching feelings. He wiped a tear that had formed on the edge of his eye onto his pants.

I’m sorry, Mom. But now isn’t the time for dwelling.

With a heavy sigh, Trent pushed away and ignored the memory once more. Despite such unpleasant thoughts, he found himself doodling Sharon, attaching his consciousness to how he usually recalled her: A happy, smiling young woman, with hair as blue as the sky. She was always so brave and bold.

Maybe she knew about these possibly real people here. Maybe this is a test to see if I am brave. But what if it isn’t? Maybe I should call her up, maybe she’d know what to do. Maybe-

But Trent didn’t even lift his phone from his pocket, too nervous that Sharon would think he’d gone mad from being alone for two days. Maybe I am imagining everything.

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Did I ever know her at all?

Trent examined his pictures of her, noticing how joyful she looked in all of them. Have I ever seen her sad? He nearly smiled, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot that he had seen her sad, that he had seen her cry before. Once, he watched her bravery fall apart into a million pieces, for he was the one who had shattered it.

I didn’t mean to, I’m-

Trent crumpled up the doodle in front of him, desperately trying to keep it together. He couldn’t and he laid his head on the table, crumpling into a sad pile of man.

GODDAMMIT, WHY?! Why did I lie? Why did I say no, it was such an easy question, why didn’t I just tell her the truth? Her big green eyes were so wide and filled with hope, and I destroyed it all in seconds because- why? I loved her, I love her now as I did then, but why did I say no back then? Why?

“I-I don’t know why, I don’t know why I was so scared,” Trent muttered aloud, gritting his teeth and holding back tears again. I’m just a coward. Despite it being so long ago, he hated himself for the choice he had made.

If I had just- if I hadn’t been scared of being honest with Sharon, I would never have met Nikkita, wouldn’t have ever dated her, and maybe then Nikkita wouldn’t have stalked me and maybe Nikkita wouldn’t have- I should have called-

He raised his head above his arms, eyeing the supplies at the table and breathing shakily. His whole body trembled, shaking so much harder than it had in a very long time. No. I don’t want to think about Nikkita. Or what happened at dinner that night. What happened in private between us is for me to remember and for her to forget. The regret I feel from rejecting Sharon is mine to bear, and mine alone. Trent took a deep breath to recompose himself only to sharply cough into his sleeve.

Sharon doesn’t need me to bother her with what happened to me. She’s busy enough with her own life now. She has her own stresses and worries. She doesn’t need to know. Nor do I need to keep remembering.

Trent got up out of the chair and reopened the crumpled doodle sheet, straightening it out as best as he could. He picked up the cabin sketch off of the computer desk to look at it again when he noticed something about it had changed. More stuff I’m imagining? In the exact style as the original drawing, two new additions were drawn onto the sketch. There was now a hunched man with a cane in a waistcoat standing on the porch, with a smile on his face, wearing a mask that resembled a bird. However, the mask obscured most of his face, save for his mouth. Reminds me of Alana.

The lack of eyes was the most unnerving thing in the picture until Trent noticed what was drawn atop the roof of the cabin. There was a massive wolf-like creature, though it looked hazy as if it was unfinished. Was it drawn to look translucent? It had these strange tufts sticking from its body, like tiny wings made of fur. I wonder if it has any teeth, would they be like little knives or sabers? Frankly, the image of that terrifying beast startled Trent, so he left the room, leaving the drawing on the computer desk.

I want to go outside and get some fresh air. I don’t want to be in here anymore.

Trent walked through the living room while his chest began to pound while he stared at the front door. He stepped a bit nearer to the door, glancing at his jacket laying on the arm of the couch.

I need to leave. No matter how scared I am.

Each slow step Trent took only increased his anxiousness. Once he was close enough he put on his jacket, staring at the gateway to the abyss.

just need to go outside.

The door seemed intimidatingly large, despite it not having grown at all, and Trent felt his hands begin to shake again as he reached for the doorknob.

I just need to leave, no matter how scared I am.

Unlocking it gently, Trent froze, still holding the knob, feeling the knot of dread in his chest worsen. His shakes temporarily ceased as he became hyperaware of everything around him.

Just need to leave.

The anxiety he was feeling peaked as every single muscle in his body tensed, every fiber of his being was prepared for absolutely anything, and then, he finally opened the door.