The sky was the color and consistency of fountain pen ink. Small beams of light poked through, shining the ghosts of unreachable stars. Brother Thomas sits on his sparse bed, looking out through the window at the night sky. He is trembling.

His bony hands are clasped in prayer against his ribcage. His muscles are an afterthought, his body is just sharp angles from bone, draped over by tight skin. “Pater noster qui es in caelis sanctificetur nomen tuum” he repeats for the 47th time. The words from Brother Michael are ringing in his brain: “You fear God’s judgement too greatly and His mercy too little.”

Brother Thomas gets up from his bed and stares at the fresco of Christ enthroned. “Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo” he whispers. He goes for the rope he took from the stable.

Just then, the black inkiness is broken up by a small flame of light. Some might think it was a shooting star, or a sign from God. It is actually 4 Vesta, making its orbit from the Asteroid Belt.

As the flame makes a turn, Brother Michael enters Brother Thomas’s dormitory. He sees his fellow monk swaying from the ceiling, blocking out the image of Christ’s face. Brother Michael falls to the floor and cries out to God, asking why He has forsaken his Brother.

Craig stares out the train window at the inky black sky. The smudges on the window obscure the stars. Craig is counting in his head, because if he doesn’t, the train will crash. “47 48 49 50, 1 2 3 4….”

Craig shakes his head and turns his eyes down from the sky to the ground. The white snow is a strong contrast to the blackness everywhere else. He looks around the train. It’s completely silent. Craig is the only one awake. He puts on his headphones and pulls his laptop out of his bag. The yellow pixelated text under the blocky logo reads “Also try Limbo!”

Craig takes a deep breath and works on his farm. He hoes the block and breaks it three times before planting the wheat seeds. In his pocket, he feels a buzz. It’s his mom texting him.

“Are you almost there?”

“I just got to Massachusetts” the keyboard clacks as he types.

“I love you, you got this” his mom texts back after a short pause.

Craig puts his phone back in the pocket and continues his ritual.

Craig pulls his luggage hard through the snow. He stares at the campus. The sienna bricks and towering dead trees against the darkness of the sky and the whiteness of the snow are strangely soothing for him. The only light is coming from the lamps outside the door, causing Craig’s glasses to have an obscuring glare. Craig looks at the sign in front of the building.

“Ashton OCD Institute - West House”

The words hang in his head. He feels like he should feel something more, maybe anticipation or fear, but he just feels numb and cold.

He texts his mom. “I’m here.”

Craig gives up trying to pull his luggage. He strains and holds it in front of him. He trudges up the stairs and rings the doorbell.

After a few seconds, the door creaks open. A skinny blond man is standing there with a comforting smile. “Craig Castles, right? Great. We were wondering when you would arrive.”

Craig responds. “Sorry I took so long. I got kicked off my first train for having a panic attack.”

"Don't worry about it. My name’s Jeremy. We have to do your intake first. Come in, I’ll show you to the nurse’s room.” Jeremy flashes a smile.

Craig looks as the nurse takes bottle after bottle from his luggage. The noise of shaking pills combine with his heartbeat, making very depressing music. Craig wants to ask for reassurance.

“I know what you’re thinking,” says the nurse. “We help a lot of people here. My name is Daisy.”

Craig looks at Daisy. He thinks she’s very pretty. Her hair is in a bun, and her thick glasses sit comfortably on her nose.

“So how many milligrams of Remeron do you take daily?”

“Uh, 7 and a half. To sleep.”

“And the Rexulti?”

“1 milligram.”

Craig’s mind drifts. Daisy continues talking, but he is staring out the window. He sees a tiny flame of light shooting across the sky. He suddenly gets a flash of fear and starts hyperventilating.

Daisy immediately notices. “Craig, something we teach here is sensory techniques. Cold temperatures are grounding for anxiety. Do you want an ice pack maybe?”

“No, I’m okay.” Craig tries to regain his composure.

“Okay, well come here if you do. We’re done with the intake. Jeremy will give you a tour of the place, and then you can meet the patients.”

Craig sits in the dining area playing Minecraft. The tour made him depressed and homesick, but he remembers where the food is served now. He continues breaking and replacing blocks. Suddenly, he is interrupted by an enthusiastic voice.

“Hey, you’re Craig right? You were gonna be my roommate!”

Craig looks up. A tall young man with a nose piercing is standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, hey. What’s your name?”

“I’m Liam! What happened? They wrote your name on the board a week ago!”

“I, uhh, had a panic attack and got kicked off the train.”

“They did that to you? That’s so fucked up. Well come on, get up, you have to meet the other patients!”

“What kind of OCD do you have?” Craig asks, getting up.

“Oh, major scrupulosity. If you look around, you can actually see the posters they made me put up. Crazy shit, with pentagrams and everything! And, oh man, a few that say Liam might kill his brother. But come on, let’s be friends! I’ll show you the other friends you'll get close with!”

Craig walks out, leaving Minecraft still running on his computer.

The hallway is bumping with the bass of Charli XCX from Amelia’s speaker.

“Slay!” says Liam. “Amelia, this is Craig. He was gonna be my roommate!”

“Oh hey, Craig.” Amelia goes back to her phone to find another song.

“One thing you’ll learn about me is I loveeee Charli XCX, Craig,” says Liam. “One time off my Ambien, I was actually twerking to 360 right here. Amelia, you gotta show Craig that video.”

Craig laughs. “I mean, I take Remeron. That never happened to me.”

“Come on, let's go the group room! You can meet Noah and the others! I love Noah.” Craig feels like he gave the wrong response by bringing up his Remeron, and might’ve made Liam not like him anymore, but he fights the urge to say something else.

They walk to the group room. Noah sits surrounded by two other patients, watching Italian brainrot on the group TV and laughing. His baseball cap is shaking slightly on his head.

“When John walked in, I felt bad. He’s like 80. This video probably gave him a stroke,” says Noah.

Craig feels better about it all. “Hey, I’m Craig. Italian brainrot, huh?”

Noah responds succinctly. “Yeah. I’m Noah.”

Craig is worried that Noah hates him.

“Craig, this is Kimberly! She’s amazing. I love her!” Liam says cheerfully.

Kimberly’s nose ring glitters in the light. “Hiiiiii” she says. She waves a hand that’s deep in her sleeve.

“And this is Antonio. You’ll love Antonio.”

Antonio speaks in a thick Peruvian accent. “Noah, can you shut this off. This is giving me a headache.”

Craig looks at the screen. Bombardino Crocodilo is humping Tung Tung Tung Sahur and the noise is overstimulating.

Suddenly, a tall man with a beard and a thick Boston accent enters. “Guys, turn this off. I want to watch a movie.”

“This is Erik!” Liam beams.

Noah shoots back. “We’re kind of busy.” Tralalero Tralala is rotating on screen.

“What do you want to watch?” Kimberly cheerfully asks.

“Your mother’s sex tape.” Kimberly’s mouth opens wide. “No, I’m fucking with you,” Erik adds. “Me and Isabella want to watch a horror movie. We don’t know what yet.”

“Okay,” Craig says. “I’m gonna go put my stuff in my room. I’ll be back. Thanks for introducing me to everyone, Liam.” Craig walks to his room.

Craig unpacks his books and clothes as he introduces himself to his roommate.

“Hey, I’m Craig.”

“What’s up man. I’m Sven,” the tall lanky man with flowing blond hair and a lisp says.

“What kind of OCD do you have?” asks Craig.

“Oh, a lot of perfectionism and doubt mostly. You?”

“All of it,” Craig laughs. “What are you into?”

“I’m into reading and writing. I like philosophy.”

“Nice,” Craig responds. “Me too.” He waves the book he just took out of his luggage: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

“I never read it,” Sven replies. “What kind of philosophy do you like?”

“Umm, I like absurdism. I feel like we’re all, especially the people here, are just Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill. And you?”

“I like Buddhism,” Sven lisps, his hand resting on a Buddhist text on his perfectly neat side of the room.

“Interesting. I highly recommend Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Changed my life.”

“What’s it about?”

“It actually ties to absurdism. It’s about how life is meaningless, pretty much. Earth is just a supercomputer that gets destroyed to make way for a space highway. But you just got to create your own meaning.”

“Nice, man. Well I’m gonna go to the dining area.” Sven leaves and gently closes the door behind him, leaving Craig to set up his Garfield mood light on the bedside drawer alone.

Craig walks back to the group room, his Minecraft crocs squeaking on the hard floors. He’s thinking about the people he’s just met. They seem to be pretty wacky. Maybe they would like the movie he made in college?

“I’m gonna show them. I’ll probably never see them again,” he thinks to himself.

He enters the group room. The lights are off now. The Witch is playing. Erik has a big bowl of popcorn that the group is sharing from.

“Anya Taylor Joy is hot,” says Erik.

“If I was straight, I would be into women like her. Oh, and Charli! You know whats funny, a month ago I wouldn’t be able to watch this movie. It would be too triggering,” says Liam.

Noah and Amelia are sending each other TikToks on their phones and not paying attention to the movie.

“Hey, when this is over, can I show you guys the movie I made in college?”

“I would love to see it!” exclaims Kimberly. “Craig, your name was, right?”

“Yeah, it’s very weird though. But you guys seem like you would like it.”

The screen shows a scene where a crow is pecking a bloody nipple, but no one in the room shows the slightest shock.

“So have you ever heard of the Penis Monkey?”

“Yeah,” says Noah, not looking up.

“What the fuck is that?” asks Erik.

“It’s a meme creepypasta. It’s about an analog horror monkey who steals your penis if you jerk off.”

Noah puts down his phone. “I’m interested.”

“So basically, in college, me and my friends made an hour and half horror movie about it.”

Craig grabs the remote and pulls up the movie Penis Monkey 3 on his YouTube channel. The opening credits kick in. A Willy Wonka style font is crediting Officer Schmeagle and Officer Will. The song *Beware* by Death Grips is playing, but the Manson rant has been replaced by an angry Uber driver’s rant. The credits continue playing. Donald Trump and Ronald Reagan are credited as playing themselves. There’s a cut and Craig and his friend are sitting in a garage both pantomiming the act of driving while sitting on a footstool. Officer Schmeagle opens the garage door to “pull them over.”

Craig is staring at the patient's reactions. His internal monologue is loud. “I shouldn’t have shown them this, they think I’m weird, they hate me.”

Craig’s friend starts making stimming noises as he’s arrested.

“This is somehow even more weird than what Noah was showing us,” says Antonio. But he continues watching, eyes transfixed.

Everyone is watching as the Penis Monkey comes into the frame with a chicken wing hat more intently than they were The Witch, but Craig is certain they are weirded out by him.

Everyone is staring as Officer Schmeagle’s Willy Wonka hat falls off in the climax of the film as he walks into his office. “You lose! You get nothing! You nutted on the cop, you bumped into the ceiling which now has to be washed and fucking sterilized! So you lose, good day sir! Will, escort him out!” shouts Schmeagle.

Craig’s character walks sadly off screen.

“This is very… postmodern,” says Sven, who entered the room halfway through and hadn’t left.

“Yeah, I love postmodern art. I consider this movie Gen Z dadaism,” responds Craig as he taps his soda can 5 times.

Craig’s character puts a condom on Schmeagle’s desk. “So shines a good deed in a weary world,” says Schmeagle movingly. “Oh Craig, get in here! You won, you did it! I just knew you would!”

Kimberly’s voice is shaking. “Why is this actually making me emotional? It’s like childhood nostalgia.”

A counselor comes in. “Oh hey Clint!” says Kimberly.

Clint drinks his coffee and chuckles lightly as Schmeagle and Craig get in the Wonkavator, which is just a closet. They fly up out of the apartment and see the college campus from an aerial view. “Look, a level 10 gyatt!” Craig’s character says as he points at a twerking Vegeta superimposed on the quad.

Clint speaks up. “Look, this movie is funny, but it might be triggering for other patients. You have to shut it off. Also, it’s past curfew. Time for bed guys!”

Craig shuts the TV off as the closet flies off into the clouds to the song Pure Imagination. His heart is beating rapidly.

“Hey, see you tomorrow, Craig!” says Kimberly as they depart the group room. “Yeah… see you tomorrow,” adds Antonio.

Craig’s Minecraft crocs squeak again as he walks back to his room, but he can’t hear it because his mind is racing.

“So, do you believe in reincarnation?” asks Craig to Sven as they’re laying in their beds across the room.

“No, I don’t believe in an afterlife, man. I just believe attachment leads to unnecessary suffering,” Sven asks as his head is buried in The Gay Science.

Craig shovels crackers into his mouth. Crumbs are getting all over his bed, but he doesn’t care. “Sorry, this Remeron makes me hungry. And food tastes so good after I take it.”

“Do you believe in an afterlife?”

“I believe that when the universe ends, the same conditions repeat all over again on the next Big Bang. So the same exact universe occurs again, and again, and again. For infinity. We’re doomed to have this exact conversation endlessly.”

"You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine. You know, that’s kind of similar to Samsara.”

“Okay, the Remeron should kick in soon.” Craig reaches to his Garfield light and shuts it off.

“I’m gonna continue reading in the hall, dude. I’ll be back when I finish a few chapters.”

Craig closes his eyes but feels wide awake. He tosses and turns and turns and tosses, but cannot fall asleep. Eventually, Sven re-enters.

“I can’t sleep,” Craig groans. “I’m going to the dining area. I need more crackers.”

The asteroid screams in a frequency of pure agony as it goes through the inky void. Earth is a tiny dot eclipsed by the blinding brightness of the Sun. On Rheasilvia, Brother Thomas’s bony hands bleed from the center as he cuts them with a knife. The voice speaks to him. It sounds soothing and feminine. “Keep going. This is penance.” Brother Thomas looks out at the pitch black nothingness. He believes he is in Hell. He puts a finger to the grooves in his neck.

“Why have I been forsaken?” he screams.

“You have not been forsaken,” the voice comfortingly hushes. “You have a function in this world.”

The voice manifests as a bright flame in his sight, blocking out everything else. “Let me show you truth.”

Brother Thomas is standing in a temple. A young girl, seemingly around 6, tends a beautiful flame in the center. The blaze shoots out in a blinding light that brings Brother Thomas to his knees.

“She is a Virgin in my service. You are much like her. A flame must be stoked. It must have fuel. You are that fuel, Thomas.”

Brother Thomas blinks and a tear rolls down his cheek.

“But I am hungry.”

“Oh thank God.” Craig rummages through the cabinet and pulls out Nutter Butters. He begins to stuff them into his mouth.

“Craig, I liked that movie. Even though it was weird as shit,” Erik says, also eating Nutter Butters.

“It’s my favorite thing I’ve ever made,” Craig says in between bites.

“Do you like dystopias?” asks Erik.

“Some,” Craig responds.

“I love dystopian fiction. What’s your favorite book?”

“Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,” Craig instantly states.

“Never heard of it. But it sounds interesting. Tell me more.”

“So this guy named Arthur lives on Earth. His best friend is a secret alien, who saves him from getting killed when these disgusting aliens called the Vogons destroy Earth to make way for a hyperspace express route. They hitchhike on the Vogon ship. But its later revealed—do you mind spoilers?”

“Nah, go ahead.”

“So Earth was not a typical planet. It was a supercomputer meant to calculate the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. The Vogons destroyed it before they could get the answer, which was 42.”

“That’s fascinating. Do you have it here?”

“Of course, I bring it with me everywhere.”

“Can I see it?”

Craig goes to his room and brings out the deluxe edition of the book. On the cover, the words “Don’t panic” are embossed in gold cardstock next to a dolphin.

“Tell me about this cover.”

“Well, the book in the book, the Hitchhiker’s Guide, has that as the number one rule of hitchhiking through the galaxy. Don’t panic. No matter what happens. The dolphin is there because they are the second most intelligent species on Earth, above humans. Before the Vogons destroyed Earth, they left, and said ‘So long and thanks for all the fish.’”

“You like cool shit,” Erik spits through a mouthful of crumbs. “I want to show you my favorite book.”

Erik leaves and Craig pours himself a glass of milk.

Erik comes back with a thick paperback and plops it on the table with a thud. “Don’t call me a pretentious dickhead, but this is my favorite book. Infinite Jest.”

“I’ve heard things about it. Isn’t it really complicated?”

“It’s wicked complex. That’s why the pretentious dickheads love it. But the guy who wrote it actually went here. For depression and substance abuse. I relate.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spent half my fucking life in a halfway house. When I was your age, I used to be crazy addicted to shit. Drinking, drugs. I gotta say, the guy did his research on halfway houses.”

“What kind of OCD do you have?” Craig asks.

“Oh its fucking bad. That's why I drank so much. Numbed that shit. My OCD is about dates. Tell me any date, I can tell you who was born that day. And my fucking eyes too. I have a fear of going blind. Don’t get annoyed if I ask you for reassurance about my glasses.”

“I won’t.”

“Listen, what do you say we swap books? I want you to read this. It’s basically about the shittiness of institutional treatment, and the way we numb our pain with bullshit.”

“Yeah, I’ll read it,” Craig and Erik slide the books across the table.

“I’m clean now,” says Erik after a slightly too long silence.

“That’s great. You seem tough. What do you guys do for fun around here?”

“Well, we watch movies mostly.”

“You like urban exploring?” Craig asks.

“You fucking kidding? Love that shit.”

“What do you say we do that tomorrow? I researched this place. There’s a huge tunnel complex under the campus.”

“I’m in. Sounds sick.”

There is another long silence. The Nutter Butters have long since been eaten.

“October 8,” Craig finally says.

“Huh?”

“My birthday, October 8. You said you could tell me anything about dates.”

Erik sighs. “1956, perfect World Series game. 1967, capture of Che Guevara. 2001, founding of the Office of Homeland Security. It’s a fucking curse dude.”

The leader of the group is an old lady, but she has the vigor of a 20-year-old. She writes on the board the words “Possible, not probable” and underlines it with red marker.

“This is what you need to remember. Now, thank you Ashley for being so vulnerable. Do you mind if I use your obsession as an example?”

Ashley speaks in an almost inaudible voice. “Yeah its fine.”

“Now it's possible Ashley could be a pedophile, but is it probable?”

The lady continues on. Craig is fast asleep in his chair.

“Craig. Craig?”

Craig jolts awake.

“I, I’m sorry! I had a rough first night!”

“It’s okay, Craig. Do you mind sharing any of your obsessions?”

“I’m… uhh… worried the people I met here… don’t like me.”

“Excellent! Maybe they hate you! Maybe they think your movie sucked! Do you mind if I write this on the board?”

“Go ahead.”

Above “possible not probable,” she draws a bubble and writes “People may dislike me.”

“Now, Craig, are you looking for evidence that they like you? Are you scanning their faces?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Stop it! It doesn’t fucking matter! Your brain will find evidence regardless! You have to realize everything is possible. Ashley could very well like little boys. Craig may very well have the people here think he’s a weirdo. But you have to understand everything is possible, but not probable.”

Craig darts a bloodshot eye to the clock.

In the Veneneia Basin, the Aviator sits scratching a piece of dirt on his decrepit leg with a long yellow fingernail. His stomach grumbles as blood gushes from his wound. He is shaking heavily. The flame appears to him and speaks in a voice that puts him at ease. “My son, cleanliness brings you closer to me. Continue.” The Aviator scratches harder.

He looks out to the asteroid. Thousands of shaking, twitching, and pulsating fleshy masses are writhing on the ground. All in their own personal hells. The flame speaks again. “I must depart, my children. I am growing famished.” The flame dissipates, leaving the souls to their own devices.

The Aviator is approached by Brother Thomas. “Hello,” he states simply. “What was your sin?”

“I don’t have a sin. I had it all. I lost it all. That damn fucking plane crash.”

“This is Hell. Or Purgatorio. This is where the unrepentant sinners go. I destroyed the body that God provided me.”

“Look around you. There is no Hell! This is outer space, man. I built the damn technology they’re using. They must have revived our minds or something. Maybe they’re studying how we interact.”

“Thy words are strange to me.”

“That flame. It's a hologram. I’ve been talking to the Scientist. He built machines like that. This is a test by those damn eggheads, or something. We’re here for a reason. Where are you from?”

“Europa.”

“My God. The moon or the Middle Ages?”

“The Earth.”

“I don’t know why you’re here. But this is a test. I’m sure of it.”

“You ever watch As Good As It Gets?” Craig asks, stepping carefully in the dark down the staircase.

“Yea,” says Erik.

“You remind me of Melvin Udall.”

“I would bend Helen Hunt over a table if I was in that movie. Do you know the counselors at all yet?”

“Not really. I met Jeremy. And Daisy did my intake.”

“Oh my God. Daisy is hot as fuck. She’s the kind of girl who would fix me. Do you think she’s pretty?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Listen, Craig. You don’t understand. She is the perfect girl. I would be her slave. I’m serious. I asked her about Infinite Jest, and she actually read it. She told me the theory that Dr. Incandenza surgically implanted the sole copy of the movie in his head.”

“I do like when girls are well-read. But I haven’t met a girl who’s read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.”

“Shut up for a second.”

They stand in silence. They’ve entered the tunnels. There is a slow drone of the heaters humming. The only light is the faint fluorescent lights, illuminating exposed pipes and bare walls reinforced with wood sheets. The floor is stained linoleum. Craig finally speaks up.

“This reminds me of the Backrooms.”

“Fucking right. It does. This is sick dude.”

They walk deeper into the belly of the mental illness beast, the only sound being their breathing, the squish of Craig’s crocs, and the tap of Erik’s sneakers.

“Dude, I’m serious about the Backrooms. Look at this,” Craig says as he points up to an exit sign. It’s pointing to the beginning of a hallway that is abruptly cut off by a sheet of wood, preventing entry. “This is some non-Euclidian shit.”

“Have you read House of Leaves?” Erik asks.

“No, but it's on my list. I played a Doom mod based on it. It’s called myhouse.wad.”

Craig’s mind is screaming that he must repeat his words, because if he doesn’t he will “taint” the concept of his favorite Doom mod.

“No, but it's on my list. I played a Doom mod based on it. It’s called myhouse.wad. It’s really interesting.”

“You always like cool shit. Tell me more.”

“Yeah, like I said, its based on House of Leaves. It takes place in a single house. In the beginning, there’s a Navidson Realty sign in front of the house. I actually want to get a tattoo of that sign. But anyway, the house keeps changing. It becomes more and more liminal with impossible geometry and the rooms keep changing. There’s a beautiful poem at the end of the game.” Craig gets out his phone but can’t look it up.

“Fuck, there’s no service down here. I actually have it saved to my gallery. Hang on.”

Craig scrolls through his photos for a while. The tapping on his screen matches with the faint water drips of the pipes.

“Ah here it is. ‘Somewhere in another dream, the version of myself that winked back is sitting on the real beach, happy and content, knowing life is finite, there is no afterlife, and happiness is found in the small things around us that we can control. Happiness has to be fought for.’”

“That’s fucking beautiful du—”

Just then, the faint fluorescent lights all fizzle out simultaneously. In perfect unison. Craig’s face is illuminated only by the light of his phone. Erik’s, a strange floating flame that materialized in front of him.

“You are beautiful,” the disembodied voice says to Erik. “Your suffering is just.”

The voice is very reassuring to Erik. He begins crying tears of ecstasy. Craig can’t see the flame or hear it.

“Erik, what the fuck is happening? Are you okay!?”

He looks at Erik, Erik’s face in a wide grin with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m okay, Craig,” Erik says ethereally.

Suddenly, Erik’s eyes begin making squishing sounds. Like they’re being sucked with a vacuum. They are slowly emerging from their sockets. There is a sound of tendons ripping, a noise that makes Craig wince in pain. Erik still stands there with a perfect brain-dead grin.

The eyes fall out and plop on the floor with a sickening slop. Maggots start swarming in the now empty holes. The trance breaks. Erik falls to the floor, writhing in pain and screaming.

He puts his fingers in his sockets and starts trying to dig out the maggots. The screaming is echoing off the walls.

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” he screams.

Craig backs up to the wall in fear. The flame grabs him and consoles him, running its tip down his face.

“It is okay. This is just.”

Craig screams. He kicks and punches and bites. It does nothing.

“I will make my home here. Your suffering is beautiful,” the flame says in a holy voice.

The wall opens up and Craig falls through.

Craig is home. His mom sees him and immediately runs up and hugs him.

“I missed you so much! What happened?” his mom says.

“Where am I?! What’s happening?!” Craig says through gasping breaths.

“You are home,” his mom says as she begins melting.

“Mom! Mom!”

The voice speaks again. It is soothing and pleasant. “You must count, Craig. You can prevent this.”

Grains of rice begin filling Craig’s house. Millions of grains of rice, coming through the windows, the doors, the oven, the microwave.

“Count them all, my love,” the voice speaks.

Craig is crying. He gets down on his knees and begins counting for what feels like ages. He loses track at grain 4 million. His mom further melts.

“Start again, my love,” says the voice.

Craig starts from one again. The flame gets bigger and bigger, and eventually all he can see is fire.

There were 70 million grains of rice. Upon the 70 millionth grain, the walls rearrange again. Craig is back in the tunnels. Erik stands there.

“Where’d you go bro?”

“What? What happened to your eyes!?”

“Come on, don’t bring that up. You know I have OCD about that. We’re supposed to be exploring and you just vanished bro.”

“The eyes! Your eyes fell out!”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“The grains of rice. I was there for centuries! What the fuck!”

“My mom… my mom…”

“You sound like me after I was up for 3 days on a bender.”

“Is this real?! Are you fucking real?!”

“Just tell me what you’re going all crazy about."

“There was a flame! It spoke to me! Your eyes fell out of their sockets and maggots started swarming in your sockets!”

“Dude, that’s wicked. That sounds like It.”

“It was real… it was fucking real…”

“Do you want to go back to the unit?”

“...”

Craig doesn’t say anything for a while.

“Okay, lets go back. I want to talk to the psychiatrist.”

The voice whispers to itself from the wall. “His fear of developing schizophrenia is beautiful. He will be the perfect fuel.”

“Please believe me,” Craig says as he shakingly walks back to the exit of the tunnels with Erik. “I’m not making this up.”

“Listen, I read a lot of horror, dude. And I believe in cryptids. The Dover Demon? Fucking crazy. What do you say we get the others and investigate this. We need more evidence for this ‘flame’ thing, right now you sound like you belong in Applegate House." He gestured vaguely. "That's the high-security unit, dude. For people who've really lost it."

“Okay. I’m not making this up. I swear.”

They walk up the stairs and begin to trudge in the snow.

“You look scared, dude. I know I just met you, but you seemed cool,” says Erik. “Listen, whatever you think you saw, it can’t hurt you. I’m here, there’s security here. Let’s talk about something else. What music do you like?”

Craig tries to say something but he is distracted by his skin picking.

“....I like… Penelope Scott…”

“Who’s that?”

“She…makes, like, glitch pop music… I guess. Listen, I can’t really talk. I was in a simulation of my house, or something, I don’t fucking know, I was in my house for centuries.”

“Just tell me. You’re safe dude. Play a song by her. I got you dude.”

“She has… OCD. I think… I have service now. Let me pull… pull up a good song.”

The music sounds tinny and hollow to Craig.

“It’s called… called Soap… this song,” Craig stutters.

They reach the front doors of West House.

“A bit gay for my tastes. I don’t know, not into it. But I respect it.”

They enter the door and Craig stares at the inky black sky before going through.

Craig sits down in the group room.

“Guys… would you be down to… to explore the tunnels tomorrow…”

Craig doesn't want to mention the flame.

“This guy says he saw some kind of cryptid or monster. A flame that melted his mom and made my eyes fall out. Crazy shit!” yells Erik.

Craig shoots a glance at Erik.

“Sounds kind of schizophrenic,” says Antonio, his words sharp and overly pronounced.

“Cutie horror movie!” exclaims Kimberly.

“Listen… I know I'm new here… but I’ve never been diagnosed with schizophrenia….anything like that… all I have is OCD…” Craig sputters. “What happened… today… Erik… January 7.”

“Nikola Tesla died. 1943.”

“It has… to mean… something. We just need… proof… please come with us, guys…”

Noah looks up from his phone. “Demons don't exist, dude.”

Liam butts in. “They so do! Before my OCD got bad, I talked to one on a ouija board! I believe you, Craig!”

Sven sniffs. “Craig. It's understandable to experience something ‘paranormal’ if you're under a lot of stress. You just got to the unit.”

“Its… real…just come… you can prove me… wrong if nothing happens.”

Sven replies. “I would just recommend telling someone here, dude. Maybe there was an interaction with your medicine.”

“I'll go with you,” Liam said, breaking the silence. He grinned at Craig. “We’ll slay. I'll bring a GoPro.”