Chương 99: Chapter 99
It was dark in the corners of the house. Always dark. No matter how many lights were switched on, how much sunlight filtered through the windows, those corners remained untouched by brightness.
At least, that's how it seemed to Jonah, staring out of the window late one night, unsure whether the passing seconds or hours meant anything anymore.
There were things living in the corners. The corners of his house, the corners of every house. He'd seen them, felt them, watched them when he thought he wasn't supposed to. They didn't come out much, only when it was quiet.
And when it was quiet enough, they crept closer, crawling from the edges of his vision. Jonah had learned to ignore them. He'd heard stories about them growing up, whispers from older people, warnings murmured when no one else was around.
Flowgil.
That was the name they'd given it. It was the thing that waited in the corners, and it had one rule: if you made eye contact, you'd become a doll. Not a wooden toy, not a ragged thing, but a perfect, lifelike doll.
The kind that would fool anyone. You wouldn't be able to speak, move, or live your life ever again. You'd be trapped somewhere else, in a space where time meant nothing, only stretching on forever in a cold place. A place where you couldn't even feel the world around you.
Jonah had never fully believed it. He'd laughed when his parents talked about it, figured it was just another superstition to keep him from doing something dumb, like going out in the dark too long or standing too close to the edge of the balcony. But that was before.
Now, his thoughts were tangled, his brain stretched to its limits. The house was so quiet tonight. So still.
Jonah's eyes flicked to the far corner of the living room, where the light from the kitchen didn't quite reach. He hated that corner.
The more he thought about it, the less he could remember when it was empty. It felt like something had always been there, something that watched him. He turned away quickly, trying not to give it too much attention.
But something was different. The air felt cold, heavier. The lights buzzed a little, like something was pressing against them. Jonah's hands went clammy. He shook his head and tried to focus on something else.
That's when he heard it. A soft rustling sound, like fabric dragging against the floor, just barely above the hum of the fridge. It came from the corner.
He froze. His heart jumped.
Then, there was the faintest movement—just the tiniest twitch—coming from the very edge of his vision. A figure. No. Not a figure. Not exactly. Something. It was something he couldn't describe because his brain wouldn't let him.
Jonah stood still, not wanting to blink. His skin felt tight. His body had gone cold, but the sweat on his forehead burned. He forced his feet to move, forced himself to look somewhere else, anywhere else. His body wouldn't listen, though. He was already too far gone.
The thing in the corner shifted again, closer this time, a shape that seemed to grow with every heartbeat.
Jonah turned and forced himself to walk towards the kitchen. He couldn't stop. It was like something inside him knew if he looked at it for too long, he wouldn't be able to leave. Not ever. He stepped forward again, slower now, eyes darting back to the corner in fear.
Then it happened.
His eyes locked onto it.
His heart stopped.
For just a second, everything fell apart. His mind couldn't cope with what he saw. It was too much. Too unnatural. The thing in the corner wasn't a shadow or a trick of the light. It was human, but it wasn't human. It had a face, or rather, a mask of human features, molded so carefully, so perfectly, it was almost unreal.
Eyes that were too large. A mouth that was a little too wide, but nothing about it seemed wrong at first glance. It was like looking at a person who had been stuffed into a body that wasn't theirs. A doll.
The realization hit Jonah like a frying pan.
And then, the corner—no, the house—broke open. It wasn't physical. It was something deeper. The walls felt thin. The floor gave way beneath his feet as if he were floating, slipping through cracks that had never been there before. His body didn't obey him. His hands trembled uncontrollably. He couldn't scream. Couldn't do anything.
His vision blurred, snapped, and he was suddenly somewhere else. No light, no warmth, just cold. The same lifeless cold that he had felt when the thing in the corner's gaze met his.
Jonah could no longer move, but he could feel. The suffocating silence pushed down on him from every side. He was somewhere else now, trapped in a place without edges or anything to measure time by. He knew that he wasn't alone in this dimension. There were others here, voices that echoed in his mind, but they weren't voices that belonged to people.
It was too late. He was gone.
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In the living room, Jonah's body still stood, eyes open. The lights flickered above it. His parents walked in, talking to each other quietly, not seeing the unnatural stillness of their son's figure. They didn't notice that he hadn't moved in hours. They didn't hear the soft, unsettling sound of the fabric brushing against his skin—the sound of him being replaced.
His doll body stood there for days, weeks, until it didn't matter anymore. Time had no meaning. No one ever knew what had happened. And no one ever questioned it.
His doll body was perfect. A perfect replica of Jonah. His face was as normal as it had ever been, his eyes wide and lifeless. It looked as though he was still alive, still breathing, but there was nothing there. Not a soul.
The house would move on.
And somewhere, in a space without space, Jonah's mind could only scream, trapped forever in the inescapable silence.
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