Castile. Please fucking answer me.
You’re all I can talk to in this shitty fucking house. Castile.
Did I hurt him? Did I let something into the house that drove him away? I still don’t know how any of this works, and he won’t give me straight fucking answers. GOD! He’s not even a ghost, he says ghosts are just watermarks, he’s something else.
I can’t do this. I can’t be alone in here with my doppelganger and the fucking gardener. I was fine. I was doing fine. I was figuring it out.
Please be real. Please, please, please be real. I miss Quinn. I miss Simon. I want my dad.
Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.
Fa r r ow
Castile! Are you all right? What did I do? Why did you leave?
Oh for fuck’s sake, Castile!
do you s ee?
What do you mean? I haven’t moved. Uh. Still sitting in the same old parlor at the back of the house. The wallpaper is yellow. Maybe it used to be white. There aren’t any windows. There’s debris all over the floor except for the corner I’ve cleared out to sleep in.
Is this helping? Castile?
I c a nt s ee
Are you real?
Kind of a weird thing to ask. But maybe I’m just sitting here alone, talking to myself. Making up a different handwriting. Maybe he’s just a figment of my imagination. Maybe I’m just making it all up!
Give me some kind of sign. Prove it. Prove it!
Be real. Make it real.
Show yourself. Let me see you!
Let me see you.
Pain lances up his hand and he recoils with a gasp, dropping his journal to the ancient, dusty floor. The room is bright a nd
R ui ned
How did you do that? How the fuck did you do that?
I have not seen a stranger’s face in a hundred years. I fear I will fall in love with yours.
Uh. Do you mean metaphorically, or
A shaft of light, the cellar door is cracked. I forgot what it
I didn’t think I would ever
let me see let me see let me see again
He stares down at the words as they write themselves across the blank page, his hands trembling on the binding. He breathes. He blinks. The letters keep appearing faster and faster He is here and present in a ruined room
that once w
Let me see
No. You need to tell me what you are. And what you want.
I swear to god, if you don’t answer me straight, I won’t write another word.
What am I? What am I? I am lonely and in the dark, trapped and afraid. You think me a malevolent entity full of deep-buried secrets? I am you. I am you. I am wretched and forlorn and lost.
I am adrift! A castaway half-drowned. What more clarity can I provide? What words do you want from me?
Tell me what you want.
A beacon! A guiding light. I want answers, Farrow, answers! Or stability. Or progress. I want anything that is not what I have now.
I want to hope of the outside, the something-more. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?
Farrow, are you afraid of me?
I have been lost in the dark so long. It was your voice that broke the silence. Like a cracking of light.
Why haven’t you been able to talk to anyone else? I know I’m not the first person to come here. What about the people who found the bodies in 1918? Urban explorers? Looters? Any of Jane Madigan’s maintenance people? What about them?
They did not dig deep enough.
And I did?
You were already halfway there.