Chapter Three: Secure In Denial
~BlackRoseRaven
Last Call sighed a little as he dropped his head against the cupboard, mumbling under his breath to himself as he looked down at the half-drank cup of coffee on the counter. It tasted like ashes in his mouth, and that wasn't because he had made it too strong. Everything was flavorless and he felt exhausted, and he knew that in spite of his best efforts, he was going to end up collapsing, one way or the other. He was just... he was tired.
He was tired, and it was a kind of tired that went beyond physical or mental exhaustion. It wasn't a drunk-tired, either, or a sad-tired: it was a 'trapped in an endless gaping void' tired. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but something kept stopping him.
It was a weird feeling. Part of it was maybe a childish resistance to napping: he wasn't a foal or some old stallion, and he had already lost the entire day to Happenstance's stupid errand. The other part of it was a desire to do the same thing he always did when the stress got too much: retreat into the artificial womb of his office, surrounded by his work, his unfinished projects, his bottles of booze and all the things that made him happy.
If they made him happy, though, why the hell was he always so miserable?
Probably because he always felt like the choice was between living his own life, and living the life she had set out for him.
Last Call looked down into the coffee, then he studied it for a few moments before he murmured: “What a miserable piece of crap I am.”
He laughed a little, then he shook his head before he pushed himself away from the counter, licking his lips as he looked first towards the bedroom, then towards the office. He shifted uneasily on his hooves, then shook his head before he muttered: “I should stay up, though. I shouldn't sleep. Sleep is for the weak. Sleep is for people who deserve the rest.”
He sighed a little and let his head droop as he fought against tiredness, wandering slowly away from the kitchen and heading into the living room. It was perfectly clean, the windows that looked out onto the mowed yard just about crystalline: the only smudges were from him. Just like the only mess was from him ruffling the newspapers, and disturbing the logs by the fireplace.
He was always the one who made the mess. She even did the yardwork: what a stallion he was.
Last Call shook his head, then he turned around and headed towards the bedroom. He lingered outside the door, silently stroking over the wood before he sighed a little as he whispered: “Sorry.”
He turned away, lethargically dragging his hooves down the hall as he made his way to his office: the only room she didn't clean or take care of, because he didn't let her. Because this was his, and like everything else of his, it was a wreck, a mess, a mishmash of failures jammed together into some barely-coherent chaos.
Last Call slid himself slowly into the chair at his desk, staring at the papers in front of him. He stroked a hoof over the mess: here was a half-finished bar, there was a broken string of cords he'd jotted down that hey, they certainly sounded damn good in his mind, but where the hell was he going to put them? And there was Happenstance's jingle, that happy little song about happy little fruits and happy little vegetables that made it oh so clear that he was nothing but a hack.
He angrily swept his forelegs across the papers on the desk, sending them flying in all directions before he slammed his hooves down against the tabletop as he gave a short yell of frustration, and then he simply slumped, staring down at the empty desk full of empty promises written in blunt quills and sweat and tears across its surface.
He'd had such a good start. But he hadn't been aggressive enough. He'd let them push him aside. Had he wanted to fail? Back then, he'd been the provider, he'd been able to work a simple job while writing and performing music on the side, and she had been the follower, she had been the support, she had been the one who needed the help getting by...
When had that all changed? When had he let himself get pushed down, away from his hopes, his dreams, his fantasies? When had he started screwing it all up?
Hadn't it started because he'd let himself slip back a little, slow down his work? Hadn't it started because she had wanted to contribute more, and he didn't want her feeling bad? Hadn't it started because he'd been told to balance work and family more, so he'd missed a few appearances, stopped pushing as hard as he had been, he'd left himself slip...
He ground his hooves along the tabletop, then shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. That wasn't fair, was it? But at the same time, it was true, and it wasn't like this had been fair to him. This whole nightmare of a...
They were doing better. They had finally started doing better. He couldn't hold things against her for forever, that was ridiculous.
Last Call breathed out through his nostrils, then he dropped his face in his hooves. He was tired. He was tired and he wasn't thinking straight. He should go to bed and sleep.
Well, now he had to clean up his office thanks to his little temper-tantrum, but then he could go to bed. If he slept, things would make a lot more sense, and he wouldn't be such an asshole anymore. That was usually how it worked, anyway.
He sighed a little as he lowered his head a bit, then he simply rested his forelegs across the desk and dropped his head on them. He stared off to the side, thinking about how unfair life was, how idiotic it was that he had ended up here, of all places. When was he going to get his break? When was he going to get what he deserved? He had moved out here to make someone else happy... to make her happy. He thought if she was happy, he would be, too, but it wasn't really that simple, was it? Yet when he'd been happy, she hadn't been...
Maybe they weren't meant for each other. Maybe all those years they'd spent together had been just...
No, they had meant something. It had all meant something. It had meant worlds to him, and she wouldn't work so hard if it didn't mean something to her, right? For god's sake, she wouldn't cook, clean, do everything around the house and put up with the crap he piled on her constantly if she didn't love him.
But did he love her? Or was he just afraid of being alone? Or, worst of all, had he been so eager to give up everything because in spite of how miserable he was every day, life was so brilliantly easy when you had no responsibilities?
And yet if that was true, then why was it he only felt truly happy on those rare days when he was able to make his own money, so he could come home and feel like her equal, and tell her all about how he'd coached a class or tutored some kid or even just got to do some other stupid menial job that Furor had tricked him into doing...
But he wasn't much of a stallion, was he? He'd barely worked a 'real job' for any length of time in his life. The extent of the exercise he got was cutting pre-cut wood and carrying logs about twenty feet into the house. He snarled at everything, but ran away the moment anypony looked at him wrong.
He'd make a great dog. Except dogs were loyal.
Last Call sighed a little, stewing in silence, feeling miserable and exhausted and unable to move. He was well aware that he should at least put some effort into getting things back on the table, but it seemed better, more right, this way: sulking, with his entire life in shambles around him. Just like he deserved.
At some point, he nodded off, but it was only a brief spell before he was startled awake by a noise. He shoved himself up, staring back and forth wildly before he blinked a few times, then winced as he heard a tremendous thud-thud-thud that at first he thought was someone in the house, but then realized could only be one thing: someone at the door.
He nearly fell out of his chair, then stumbled out of the office, calling in a voice that cracked with his exhaustion: “Just a second! Just... I'm coming!”
He grimaced as he made his way into the living room, fumbling for the lights before he approached the door and yanked it open. He frowned in surprise as he found the sheriff standing outside, the grizzled old stallion frowning at him before he greeted tersely: “Last Call.”
“Yeah... uh... Sheriff Steel. What's wrong?” Last Call asked uneasily, knowing this wasn't a social call. He and the Sheriff weren't on the best of terms, after all: he'd never been officially arrested, but he'd spent enough time in the drunk tank, that, well... you could say we know each other.
Steel frowned as he studied Last Call for a few moments, and then he asked abruptly: “Have you been drinking?”
“No. No, I was... I fell asleep at my desk.” Last Call said, rubbing a hoof across his face. He hesitated, then blurted out: “I was running an errand for Happenstance today, actually. Sheriff, what's-”
“Last Call...” The sheriff hesitated, and then he sighed a little, and the grizzled, salt-and-pepper earth pony sighed as he reached up to take off his hat, shifting it in his hooves for a moment before he asked: “Were you at the parks office today?”
“I...” Last Call frowned, then he asked: “What happened?”
For a few moments, Sheriff Steel studied him, and then he slipped his hat back on before he asked: “Do you know Rainy Days? He works at the parks office.”
“Uh... yeah, I saw-”
“You know him. Okay.” Sheriff Steel cut him off, and Last Call clamped his mouth shut with a grimace. He'd dealt with the sheriff enough times to know there was a time to talk, and a time to shut up. “He didn't get home tonight. It's too late to search the trails-”
“Wait, what time is it?” Last Call asked uneasily, and the old stallion frowned at him.
“Going on eleven o'clock. Why, are you-”
“My wife. I... hey, are you here?” Last Call shouted as he turned away, looking back and forth almost desperately, but he already knew the answer. She would never leave him sitting alone in his office, any more than she would leave all the lights off. “Hey! Hey-”
“Call!” snapped the Sheriff, and Last Call winced before the old stallion said, in a quiet, serious voice: “Call, I heard you were out at the parks office. Were you?”
Last Call shifted uneasily, biting his lip before he said hesitantly: “I went to ask about something for Happenstance-”
“Happenstance hasn't been seen since this afternoon. When did you last see him?” asked the sheriff, and Last Call winced inwardly.
“I saw him...” Last Call bit his lip, then he said slowly: “I saw him walking towards the park office. The last time I really talked to him was when I was with Furor. Furor... Furor was with him after I was.”
God, what a piece of trash he was.
Sheriff Steel frowned a little, and then Last Call added suddenly: “I also saw Toadfall, he was... uh... walking to the parks office, too!”
“You saw him go into the office?” asked the Sheriff, and Last Call nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was a bad liar as it was, and he felt queasy, lying to a cop, selling out his only friend... but I can't just admit it. If Sheriff Steel came here, he thinks I'm the last person to see these people... sorry, Furor. I just... I just need some time.
Sheriff Steel studied him intently, before he said quietly: “If I hadn't been getting the runaround all night from Toadfall's people, I'd be dragging your sorry ass to jail right now, Last Call, and for a lot more than public drunkenness. Now, listen to me, and listen good: I'm going to be back here. Whether I'm back in a few hours or the morning depends on how much you've lied to me and how a deep a hole you've dug for yourself, you moron. What I recommend is that you get your damned head on straight by then and be ready to answer some questions, do I make myself clear?”
Last Call smiled uncomfortably, glancing awkwardly away, and there was silence for a moment before the Sheriff said finally: “Stay inside. One dumb kid missing doesn't mean anything, but a whole bunch vanishing all at once, and the way people act around the Alignment... just stay out of the way.”
“Are there any missing kids?” Last Call asked before he could stop himself, and Sheriff Steel frowned in surprise, cocking his head at Last Call. But since he didn't immediately jump on him, Last Call bit his lip before he said: “When I was at... er, walking to the parks office, uh... there was this filly. She had a raincoat on, big hat... she seemed uh...”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sheriff Steel asked, and Last Call smiled lamely as he dropped his head between his shoulders. “Call, go take a shower. I don't know if I believe you haven't been drinking or not, but you sure as hell need either a kick in the ass or a cup of strong coffee, and I'd recommend helping yourself to the latter before I help you to the former.”
Last Call nodded lamely, and Steel looked at him for a moment more before he sighed and said grudgingly: “Keep your head down. You're an asshole and an outsider, but there's worse in the village. And say hi to your wife for me. She deserves better than you.”
Last Call flinched and dropped his head, and Steel eyed him for a few moments more before he turned and walked away, vanishing into the thick darkness of the night. Last Call sighed a little as he let the door swing closed, resting his head against it for a moment as he whispered: “God. What have you gotten into, Call? And... everyone at the centre...”
He shifted uneasily, then he pushed himself back from the door. He stared at it for a few moments, then grasped at his head as he thought about all the stupid thoughts he'd been having, how he'd just sold out a friend for a few hours before he got dragged in and likely left to rot in a cell, and if they never found those ponies who had vanished...
This was just his luck, wasn't it?
No. There he was, whining, complaining, crying about it when he had a chance to do something. The police weren't going to search the forest tonight, but that didn't mean he couldn't, right? And as much as the thought terrified him... well, hell, maybe they really were all just lost out there in the woods. That was possible, wasn't it?
If he found them, he could be a hero. And he could maybe swallow some of that bile rising in his throat at the thought that the first instinct he always had was to blame everyone else and save his own sorry, worthless ass.
And if it was... well... if something had happened?
What if someone had... had hurt her?
Last Call trembled, but he gritted his teeth. He was exhausted, everything was running together in an incoherent jumble in his mind, he couldn't think right, and that anger he felt burn through him was more self-loathing than phantom hatred. He swore under his breath, then he stumbled around in a circle and ran towards their bedroom, shoving the door open.
It banged against the wall, then swung half-closed, the stallion halting in the doorway to stare into the bedroom beyond. The bedroom he hadn't set hoof in for weeks now, strangely sterile in its cleanliness, its perfection. From the clean, perfectly-made bed to the dusted tops of the bedtables, it was... hollow, in a word.
He took a breath, then stepped carefully into the bedroom, heading first to the closet to yank it open and grab a satchel out of the neat little shelves she had insisted they put in here. They had a spare flashlight in one of the drawers: he tested it to made sure it worked before throwing it into the bag, and it was joined a moment later by a map he grabbed from his wife's set of shelves, where she kept all the guides and maps and travel books...
He studied these for a few moments, then smiled faintly as he stroked over the spines of the latter, promising silently that he would take her wherever the hell she wanted one day, when things were better. He'd made that promise a thousand times, but this time he really meant to keep it: he knew she wanted to see the world, and he wanted to share it with her, to be... to be husband and wife again.
Last Call shook his head quickly, then he flung the satchel on before he hurried out of the bedroom. He stumbled to a stop in front of the door leading out, breathing slowly in and out before he mumbled: “This is stupid. This is incredibly stupid.”
It was an idiotic idea.
But was he really going to back out now?
The stallion gritted his teeth, and then he yanked the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, gasping a little at how it felt: it was like stepping into another world: like he had not only gone through a curtain, but like he had left everything that made sense behind, as he stood with the only light in the world spilling out from behind him into darkness that seemed eager to devour all life and warmth.
He breathed slowly, the night air scalding his lungs with how cold it was, his body shaking and head swimming. He was exhausted, but adrenaline was thudding through his veins, and in spite of all the things telling him this was a terrible idea...
Last Call bit his lip, then he turned around, staring into the light, the warmth, the safety, and the emptiness of his little household. So clean it was sterile. And too big, too vast, for one pony to live alone in.
He couldn't live alone. He'd never been able to put up with himself for very long.
Last Call hesitated a moment longer, then he reached out and grabbed the doorhandle, yanking it closed and cutting himself off from the light, leaving himself encased in shadows and darkness. He felt a strange mix of excitement and relief run through his veins, head swimming with emotions as he faced into the seemingly-endless night before he stumbled into the road and turned in the direction of the parks office.
He swore under his breath as he tripped almost immediately, barely catching himself. It was too dark to see. Before he could start shuffling in his satchel for his flashlight, however, he was caught by surprise when a faint light appeared down the road, glimmering quietly as if signalling to him.
Last Call looked at it apprehensively for a few moments, then he shifted briefly on his hooves before starting towards it. The little light never grew much stronger or brighter even as he drew towards it, and it weaved and danced down the street, zigzagging slowly away; but at the same time, it never weakened, nor moved so quickly that he wasn't able to gradually close in on it.
The stallion frowned uneasily as he drew close to the source of light, and he realized it was a candle being carried by a filly. A filly in a raincoat: the same filly who had haunted him before, who seemed to barely give him so much as a glance even as he caught up to her.
“Shouldn't you... be home?” he asked: stupid, he knew, but it was all he could think of. And slowly, the filly zigged to the other side of the road before she finally came to a stop, halting with a sigh as she looked off into the darkness, staring in the direction of the parks office.
“You should be in bed.” she said, and the stallion grimaced a bit as his eyes shifted off to the side. “What do you think you're doing, playing hero? Don't you understand that you're just getting pulled along by something so much greater and worser than you? That excitement isn't yours, not really: it's the excitement of the stars. And the greed of the things beneath the stars, who have already touched you and yours, who see you as nothing but sport.”
The stallion looked uneasily at the filly, before he blurted out: “What the hell are you?”
The filly smiled faintly, glancing back at Last Call as she answered: “Not so different. But not the same, either.”
Last Call scowled a little, and the filly gave a brief smile before she turned her eyes back in the direction of the parks office, saying quietly: “I can't really stop you from surrendering to its pull, though. But I can warn you, and give you advice and help you along the way.”
There was silence for a few moments as Last Call looked uncomfortably at the filly, before he asked: “Where is she?”
“Why don't you ever say her name anymore?” asked the filly, and the stallion only looked away. For a few moments, the filly studied him, and then she said quietly: “You should just go home and go to sleep. Things will get better. You'll move on, eventually.”
“I would never be able to forgive myself. Not again.” Last Call said quietly, and the filly studied him before she finally sighed, then nodded briefly.
“You know where to go.” the filly said, and then she simply blew out the candle, and Last Call winced as he was left in near total darkness. Alone, in the swollen shadows: the filly wasn't just out of sight, but her presence had been blown out as completely as the candle.
Last Call gathered himself as his eyes gradually adjusted to the minimal starlight, the stallion stumbling a little down the path. It wasn't much further to the parks office, at least, but he found it eerie that there wasn't a single sign of life here: not a sound, not a stirring, not so much as the faintest hint that anypony had been here for the longest time.
The stallion looked uneasily around: something told him it would be a bad idea to turn on his flashlight now. With his luck, he'd alert either Sheriff Steel or his deputy. It was hard to convince himself, especially after his run-in with the strange filly, that he was just going to rescue a group of lost ponies... but that had to be it, right? Nothing had happened, his mind was just playing tricks on him and he was paranoid and tired and letting some little girl telling horror stories get to him. All that Alignment garbage that had riled him up was supposed to happen tomorrow, anyway... Happenstance had probably just convinced her and a few others from the parks office to take a stroll, and they'd gotten lost on one of the back paths...
Because of course, she clearly didn't know every single path through this forest, nor was she experienced with trailblazing or star charts or anything like that... and I'm sure Toadfall just went along with it, since apparently no one knows where the hell he is, either...
Last Call grimaced as he slipped into the parks office, looking uneasily back and forth. What seemed like a tiny little box during the day now felt like a massive, empty expanse, Last Call's hooves seeming to echo through the room as he uneasily approached the counter. It was terribly dark, only the dim starlight filtering in through the windows to help him see, and the stallion moved mainly by taking tiny steps towards the few shapes he could make out-
Something moved.
Last Call froze as the darkness itself seemed to boil, a hump of shadows seeming to grow upwards behind the counter. The stallion trembled, holding his breath, his legs quavering and nearly giving out under him as he automatically squatted behind the counter wall, staring at the mass that seemed to undulate towards one of the windows: he had no word for how it moved. It was like a snake's slither, if that slither moved beneath its skin; it was like a squelching, but without sound nor slime; it was like a constant curling upon itself that rolled it without the thing ever twisting or turning its body.
For a brief moment, starlight shone upon it, and yet Last Call couldn't process it: all he saw was a mass, before he flinched and clenched his eyes shut tightly, ducking down low behind the counter, grabbing at his head as his mind filled with a thousand conflicting emotions. And then, it was simply gone, and last call breathed shakily out as he half-covered his mouth, nausea running through his stomach and confusion through his mind as he whispered: “What the hell was that?”
Was it some freak in a costume? Had some kind of magic gone wrong? Had something... dark and awful and terrible wandered out of the forest, was that what had...
No. No, no, no. He had imagined it. He had gotten so riled up, that he had imagined that horror: it was more likely that it had been some kind of animal that had wandered in through the open window...
Except the window wasn't open.
Last Call stared blankly at this: how had the thing just passed through the glass like it wasn't there? How had it been so ominous and awful and yet moved like vapour, or black air? Was it a ghost? Or was it something both lesser and morer, something... something...
Last Call slammed his hoof several times against his forehead, then he shook himself briskly and shivered a bit, muttering: “Just... just keep moving. You don't have time to think about it. You have to keep moving.”
He breathed slowly in and out, calming himself little-by-little before he hesitantly straightened, leaning against the counter as he looked nervously back and forth. Now that the thing was gone, it seemed strangely like it was brighter in here, like the shadow had pulled the darkness with it when it had left.
No, that was stupid: his eyes had just adjusted to the darkness, that was all. Last Call grimaced as he carefully made his way around the counter before his gaze settled on something on the ground, that stood out on the dusty tile because of its metallic glint.
It was a metal ring with several keys hanging from it, and the stallion swept this up and studied it before he muttered: “Right. She said they had to lock up the storage sheds because ponies were taking things from them and kids were sneaking into them to make out.”
He hesitated, then shrugged before slipping the key ring into his satchel: at worst, he could give it back later. But he knew there were supplies in the sheds: maybe they hadn't come back because someone had fallen off one of the embankments, or there had been some kind of accident...
God, what if someone had gotten hurt, and his wife was out there, trying to take care of them, and that... that thing wandered across her?
Last Call grimaced, then he shook his head quickly before he straightened and headed hesitantly to the window. He looked out into the darkness beyond, but there was precious little he could see: just a few feet of beaten dirt and grass, and then the deep shadows cast by the bulk of the trees, as they swayed and rustled in the breezy air.
He began to shift away from the window before he frowned slightly in surprise, moving sideways: it gave him just enough of an angle that he was able to look down one of the trails, and it gave him a strange sense of relief to see one of the lamps that marked the route glowing faintly. He knew those old oil lamps all had to be turned on manually, and if someone had gone through the trouble of doing so... maybe they really are just lost on a late night walk. What did she say about those lamps?
He thought for a moment, then muttered to himself: “They use them for evening walks in the summer, but in fall and winter it gets dark too quickly for it to be safe... in the summer, they have to send someone out every day or so to top up the fuel supply for all the lamps... maybe that's it, some of the lamps burned out and they couldn't light them up so they got lost because... the lamps went out.”
That sounded like a long shot. But at this point, the stallion was still willing to accept any explanation that made the world make a little more sense instead of less. And it did make sense, right?
God, he was so tired. He could barely think straight. He'd come barrelling out here determined to be a hero and now he was already so scared and exhausted he just wanted to run back home to bed...
Last Call grimaced and slapped at his own face a few times before he straightened a little, saying quietly to himself: “Okay. Okay, say I'm right. I should get some fuel from the back and... I'd need a ladder to reach the lamps, though. No, what about...”
He thought for a moment, then turned and felt his way towards the back room as he remembered something else that she had told him: when there were emergencies on the trail, they used flares to mark their route.
Last Call grimaced as he found the door, but it was locked. He almost gave up, but then remembered the key ring, pulling it out and fumbling around in the darkness with the keys and the lock, cursing every now and then under his breath until he finally felt the tumblers click and the handle turn.
He shoved the door open, then stared in disbelief: perched on one of the supply crates was the filly from earlier, her candle glimmering beside her, a faint smile lingering on her face as her sad eyes studied his hooves. “What do you think this is all going to lead to? Do you really think you understand at all what you're getting yourself into?”
Last Call mouthed wordlessly, and then he shook his head quickly before he asked weakly: “What are you? Are you real, or...”
“As real as everything else, I suppose.” The filly shrugged, then she carefully hopped off the crate and strode over to him, reaching up to gently touch him: Last Call shivered at how cold her touch was, and how strange her hoof felt: as a matter of fact, it didn't feel like a hoof at all.
He looked down uncertainly, but away from the candlelight, she was just a shape in the dark, one that warned him: “They crave to return to the world that was once theirs. But they've been sealed away for so long that all they know is starlight. They can't bear bright light for long, just as they can't see in the deepest, blackest darkness. They're reliant on sight for now, and on listening for your thoughts... every other sensation is new to them, after so long dormant.”
“What are you talking about?” Last Call asked in a whisper before he reached up to grasp at the filly, but then his eyes widened in shock as he passed through her limb like it was made of smoke. Through the darkness, he saw her smile faintly for a moment before she shook her head, as Last Call asked in a shaky voice: “What are you?”
“All that remains.” she answered, before she said quietly: “You'll feel them coming. If you do, hide. Either in the brightness of the light, or in the depths of the darkness. Don't get caught in the space in-between.”
“What the hell is going on?” Last Call shouted, but the filly was already gone, vanished into the shadows, like she had never been there to begin with. All that was left behind was her guttering candle on the crate in the store room as Last Call looked desperately back and forth, before he repeated in a whisper: “What the hell is going on?”
But there was no answer: only the oppressive silence and the greedy shadows that licked at him from all sides, as Last Call slowly sank back on his haunches, staring at the flickering candle in the storeroom as he helplessly searched for something, anything, to explain what had just happened.
Finally, he took an uneasy breath and decided that all he could really do was move forward, the stallion half-stumbling into the storeroom. He gave the flickering candle a wide berth, as if he was afraid touching it would cause another... delusion? Visitation? Who the hell was that filly? What had she meant by 'all that remained?'
Why had her touch been so cold, and alien?
Last Call rubbed slowly at his face as he looked around, before his eyes settled on a large box labelled with the item he was looking for. And to his relief, he found dozens of flares inside the box, the stallion grabbing half a dozen for now and throwing them into his bag.
He turned and headed back out into the office, looking uneasily back at the dying candle for a moment before he turned away. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw shadows move, dancing across the floor and window, but the stallion forced himself to ignore it as he stumbled towards the back door of the office, stepping outside.
He felt like something was behind him.
He felt like there were claws, reaching out behind him.
He felt a gaping maw breathe down the back of his neck and if he turned around he would see it, see the thing, he would go mad-
Last Call slammed the door behind him and leaned back against it, trembling and breathing hard for a few moments before he steadied himself. He uncertainly looked back over his shoulder at the plain door, trembling, listening... but all he heard was the faint rustle of trees and grass, and the regular thrum of insects through the forest.
Nothing. He was getting worked up over nothing.
Goddammit.
Last Call breathed slowly in and out, steadying himself, before he turned towards the path leading into the forest. He carefully stepped forwards, trying to put everything else out of his mind: all he had to do was find his wife, and everything would be okay. They could go home, laugh about this later, and... everything would be fine. Everything was going to work out fine.
That was all he had left to believe in.
For a few moments, Last Call gazed down the forest path, trembling a little as he looked at the beacon of lamplight in the distance before he finally squared his shoulders and stepped into the unknown, intent on doing everything he could to save his wife.
Intent on proving, once and for all, that he was more than just dead weight.