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Tommy inhaled a breath of fresh air, the cold nipping at his fingertips whilst he waited outside Wilbur’s office building. The last trenches of anxiety and nerves from the stream slowly left his body, his shoulders loosening as the sea wind blew harshly against his face.
Charlie and Wilbur’s muffled conversation reached Tommy’s ears as the two descended the hallway, catching the ends of their discussion about plans for later in the week.
He stretched out his arms, a satisfying crack followed by a sigh of relief after a successful stream. The exorcism stream with the other two was amazing; it was just the right atmosphere of jokes and tension - but what else did people expect when you put two theatre kids and Charlie Slimecicle in a room.
Tommy had worried slightly that the three wouldn’t hit it off. No matter how close they were or how much fun they had in their youtube recordings, there was a small inkling of doubt that it doesn't transfer over to real life. But, he was pleasantly surprised when Charlie slipped into his and Wilbur’s dynamic seamlessly, the three bouncing off each so well that Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much in the span of a few days.
He loved the two, he really did. But, they were walking so slowly and Tommy was impatient.
Stomach growling and the cold getting onto his nerves, he let out a yell,
‘Hurry the fuck up, I wanna leave!’
A groan and a pearl of laughter echoed back, as finally (fucking finally) the two older men emerged from the exit. Grumbling, Tommy tugged on both of their hands and dragged them down the stairs towards the still bustling streets of Brighton.
Wilbur let out a yelp, as he tried to precariously balance the box of tools and Uncle Nasty in one hand - Tommy uncaring of the predicament and walking as fast as his legs could carry him.
‘Calm down, calm down!’ Charlie voiced, laughter decorating each word as the three embraced the chill night air.
Tommy tugged harder on his arm, urging him to walk faster, a giggle erupting from him as he bounced up and down. Wilbur’s lips quirked upwards into a fond grin, before chiding the younger to slow his steps in case he trips in the dark.
‘C’mon, I’m starving! Let’s get something to eat, come on, come on,’ he chanted, Tommy's mind scanning through whatever stores may be open at this late hour.
‘Child,’ Wilbur chastised, warmth seeping through the teasing tone.
Tommy cackled in response.
'I'm a growing boy, it's not my fault! Let's go!’
Three matching peals of laughter filled the streets, rising above the revving of car engines and the sound of the pier. The night watched as three figures strolled down the streets, hand in hand, animated conversation shared between them.
With a sigh, Tommy thought to himself that today was a good day.
And later, when it was just Wilbur and Tommy on a leisure hike back to his apartment, the older poised the question.
‘What are you going to do with the doll now?’ Wilbur asked, as he adjusted his grip on the box with Uncle Nasty and the equipment.
They had just dropped off Charlie at his hotel and were now on their way home. Tommy had insisted he was fine walking alone at night with Wilbur’s own house in the opposite direction, but the older was a stubborn prick. Wilbur was always adamant about at least seeing the younger enter the apartment building before leaving whenever they walked home at night.
(Overprotective, Tommy would whisper to himself with a giggle.)
Tommy always rolled his eyes at it, but he can never hide his pleased flush whenever the two get to spend time on these nightly walks.
At the question, though, Tommy shrugged unsurely.
‘I feel like the Uncle Nasty bit has run its course, you know? Maybe I’ll just have him sit in the background somewhere. Or, just store him in one of the spare rooms or something,’ he replied, a questioning lilt in his voice.
The exorcism stream was good, great even. But Tommy couldn't see what more he could do with Uncle Nasty. It was primarily a bit he made up when his friends were overseas and he was lonely. To be fair, that old lady on the beach was real, but it was solely Tommy's decisions that led up to the escalation of Uncle Nasty's character to what it was now. And now that his friends are back home, there wasn’t much reason to keep up with the bit. Hell, he never planned to have the doll be such a long-running bit anyways, but seeing how much chat and twitter caused a ruckus over it, it was fun to try and involve Uncle Nasty more.
It was always good to end it before it gets too stale, and it felt like the right moment to leave the doll be and collect dust in the corner. Even though Tommy couldn’t shrug off that feeling of unease (the exorcism stream must have affected him more than he thought), he had already started drafting up where exactly in his small apartment he could fit the doll.
Wilbur let out an agreeing hum as the two slowed down, having arrived at Tommy’s apartment building.
‘Here,’ Wilbur said with a huff, dumping the box onto Tommy, who let out an oof in surprise.
Wobbling slightly at the unexpected weight, Wilbur’s hand rested on his shoulder to help steady him. Wilbur's warm hand rose to roughly ruffle his hair, reminiscent of how the older had tousled his hair and hoodie on stream.
Tommy glared upwards at Wilbur. He was taking the chance to attack when he knows Tommy’s hands were full, that sick bastard. Wilbur was visibly gloating, a smug grin on his face as the hair ruffle went on for so long that Tommy considered if it was feasible to bite at the brunette's hand.
With one last toss, Wilbur stepped away - cheeks reddened from the cold, yet his grin could rival the warmth of the sun.
‘Have a good night, Tom,’ Wilbur said with a soft voice, a fond gleam in his eyes.
With a grumble, Tommy replied with a matching, fond grin,
‘You too, Wil. Get home safe.’
Brown eyes met blue as two brothers bid farewell on the near-empty streets. The younger huffed and puffed his way up the stairs, balancing the box as he jiggled his door open to face his empty apartment. The warmth from Wilbur’s hands still lingered in Tommy’s dishevelled hair, as the younger went about setting everything down.
The simple and fond goodbye was nothing but a small moment. A repetition of the multiple times they had met and parted ways.
(Tommy should have savoured it more.)
Tommy thought that was it. That he would perhaps see Wilbur tomorrow if they decide to go bike riding or just hang out at James Marriott’s cafe. Or maybe, they would call together on Discord like they often did - doing their own tasks but basking in each other's presence. Or, maybe Wilbur would have invited him to an upcoming Lovejoy practice session.
Either way, Tommy would have seen Wilbur soon again. So many possibilities, yet Tommy had never expected this situation.
At near midnight, Wilbur Soot, in all his glory, stood in front of Tommy’s apartment door. His fist raised as if he was about to knock again, whilst still wearing the same clothes he had on mere hours before.
Tommy blinked.
He blinked again, as if that would magically cause Wilbur to disappear from his sight. Wilbur, who was now standing at the entrance of his apartment, at ass o’clock at night, with no warning or message beforehand.
What the fuck.
Tommy was dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing in shock.
‘What the fuck?’ he vocalised, his hands rising and flailing around in confusion.
‘Hi, Tommy!’ Wilbur replied with a grin, looking all too calm and unbothered by how odd this situation is.
Maybe it was something about how the night sky shrouded Wilbur like a black cape, or the silence of the night. Or, maybe, it was how Wilbur’s grin seemed to stretch just slightly too wide, or how his eyes shone just too clearly like a mirror. There was just something about the older that was... off. It set Tommy on edge, planting seedlings of anxiety in his mind.
It quickly dissipated, though, when Tommy internally chided himself for being freaked out at Wilbur, out of all people. How many times had Tommy turned up unprompted and without warning at the older's home, simply because he had missed him? Way too much was the answer, feeling foolish at how uneasy he felt when Tommy had done the same thing multiple times.
‘Just wanted to come and check up on you again, I know you were nervous after the stream,’ Wilbur declared, pushing open the door further and inviting himself into the apartment.
Tommy watched Wilbur’s nimble fingers touch every surface of his apartment; from the damp walls to the tables, the chairs, and the bed frames. It felt like Wilbur was enamoured with his room, as if he had never seen or been able to interact with the space before.
‘What the fuck,’ Tommy repeated, still slightly bewildered and having extreme whiplash with the entire situation.
He reached out to grab at the older’s hand, momentarily shocked at how cold Wilbur’s hands were. Gripping and rubbing them tightly in an attempt to warm them up, he gazed up at the taller man, who was now staring at him with a lopsided smile.
‘Just wanted to check up on my little brother and his apparently haunted doll,’ Wilbur teased, his hands reaching upwards to pat Tommy's head.
‘I was a bit worried, you were acting odd when the camera was on.’
Tommy struggled to hide a pleased grin that threatened to burst out of him.
Wilbur was such an older brother.
Still slightly peeved at the sudden intrusion, Tommy batted Wilbur's hands away and tried to tidy his blonde curls to no avail.
‘Stop being an overprotective prick, man!’
He pointed at the motionless doll lying on the floor, trying to tamper down a confusing mixture of fondness and exasperation that threatened to spill out.
‘Uncle Nasty is fine, he’s harmless! He’s a fucking doll!’
At that, Wilbur let out an inaudible murmur as his mouth turned up slightly in a grin. As if there was a joke that Tommy couldn't understand. Silently, Wilbur reached out to pet the head of the doll.
Huh, Tommy pondered thoughtfully at that.
Maybe Wilbur warmed up to the doll more than Tommy had thought. Wilbur did seem quite freaked out on stream, especially after the voices with the spirit box. But with the way his brother was now gently caressing the doll, Tommy must have been mistaken.
‘What's it doing on the floor?’ the older questioned, picking it up and placing it gently back onto the bed where it usually was on his camera. There was an odd tone in his voice Tommy couldn’t quite place. Anger? Distaste? Betrayal? Regardless, it wasn’t a tone he ever heard Wilbur use before towards him, and it unnerved him enough that Tommy couldn’t help but shuffle backwards slightly.
It struck him at that moment how absurd he was being yet again. Tommy was with Wilbur, for goodness sake. His big brother, his best friend, who he trusts more than anyone else in the world - there was no reason to be nervous around him.
What the hell was up with Tommy today?
‘Well,’ Tommy started, as he seated himself on his chair and started shutting down his PC and cleaning his desk.
‘I just placed him there to decide where to store him later, I can't always leave him on my bed behind my chair, can I?’ he answered with a chuckle, glancing backwards towards Wilbur once again.
Wilbur’s face had grown dark, just for a split second, before he realised Tommy was now gazing at him. The look quickly faded away, before flicking back into a grin in a matter of seconds.
(He could feel a chill spreading throughout his body, but surely Tommy was thinking too far, right? It was all of the shenanigans on stream that was putting him on edge, surely.)
Tommy looked back down to his desk.
‘Why are you so obsessed with the doll anyways,’ Tommy retorted in a nervous tone, jokingly trying to lift the mood. He kept his hands busy, rapidly trying to hide the growing tremors in his finger. His motions were antsy, fingers gliding up and down the smooth wood of his desk in an attempt to calm himself. It was weird, feeling this way around Wilbur.
The older had always brought a sense of comfort and warmth to Tommy. He never thought that being around the older can be so… unnerving. No matter how hard he wracked his brain, there was just something slightly off about how Wilbur was acting today. It was the little things. Like how the brunette stood so motionless when usually he would be swinging on his heels, finding it hard to stay still. It was the way Wilbur was so quiet and calm, not an ounce of humming or hidden happiness radiating from him. Wilbur was almost, lifeless, in an odd sense.
Well, Tommy tried to reason to himself.
It was late, and they did have a relatively high-energy stream. All of these changes were warranted, Wilbur simply had less energy and was tired (It was rational reasoning, a logical one. But, Tommy still couldn’t fully dampen that urge to run and leave.)
While Tommy was too busy trying to tame down his anxious energy, he hadn’t realised how quiet the apartment had gotten until he jerked up his head abruptly. Wilbur never responded to his question.
‘Wil?’ Tommy asked, swivelling around and scanning the room.
The man was gone, and so was Uncle Nasty. The only sign the man was ever here was the sound of a door creaking on its hinges, echoing from somewhere else in the apartment.
His gaze immediately caught onto the swinging motion of the door on his right. A red door, to be exact. The red door that led to the asbestos room.
Not again, he thought with a groan.
‘Wilbur,’ Tommy let out an exasperated yell.
‘I told you, you’re not meant to go into the asbestos room,’ he complained, the red door jarred slightly open. Just enough to obscure the older from Tommy’s direct view.
‘Don’t worry Tommy, come look!’ the older’s voice retorted, an echoing boom that bounced off the walls - slightly muffled by the wood. Tommy winced and hoped it wasn’t loud enough to warrant a call from his landlord. Not like there have been many calls, if any, for the past few weeks. It was always better to be safe than sorry, and Tommy had developed a habit of keeping his voice down when he wasn't on stream.
Standing up from his seat, Tommy straightened his back and loosened his shoulders, now a lot less tense as the tiredness settled in. Having given himself time to wind down and reason with himself, Tommy almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he was. He was tired, obviously, Wilbur was also tired. People acted off when they were tired. It was simple, Tommy really has to stop over-analysing every little thing.
He walked in the direction of the room before the sharp shrill of his mobile phone halted him in his tracks. He turned around, back facing the asbestos room as he trudged back towards his desk.
‘Give me a sec, Wil,’ he replied, grabbing his phone to answer the call, a little miffed at whoever was calling at such a late hour.
Tommy paused.
The contact name on the screen stared back at him, as if taunting him and only serving to confuse him more.
Big Dubs was illuminated over his phone screen, yet it seemed to gloss over Tommy as the information refused to register in his mind. Instead, it only seemed to make a wave of unease wash over him every second the call continued to ring.
He accepted the call, and before he could even get a sentence out, Wilbur’s bell-like voice rang out,
‘Hey Toms! Just wanted to check in to see how you’re feeling after the stream today, hope we didn’t freak you out too much?’
Wilbur’s voice had always, always ignited such a warm and loved feeling inside of Tommy - something about the hidden fondness and care etched into his words makes him continuously seek comfort and joy in the other man. It was a big reason why Lovejoy was his favourite band - Wilbur's voice was captivating, it was warm and malleable and soothing. Tommy had loved nothing more to listen to the older's rambles and singing whenever he indulged in them.
Yet today, the voice only caused rolls of nausea and confusion to twist uncomfortably in Tommy's stomach.
He can hear the waves of Brighton pier lapping loudly from Wilbur’s background over the call.
Tommy’s apartment was nowhere near enough to the pier to hear the sea so loudly and clearly, nor were there any windows in the asbestos room to even hear the breezes of the wind.
‘Wilbur,’ he whispered, an unknown fear crescendoing in his voice each growing second.
An alarmed and shocked sound came out of Wilbur’s side of the call, evidently surprised at the sudden shift of tone in Tommy's voice.
‘Where are you?’ Tommy asked, now acutely aware of the silence from the room behind him.
‘I’m at the pier, can’t you hear the water, Tommy?’ Wilbur’s voice softened slightly whilst the waves grew louder in sound. Tommy closed his eyes and imagined Wilbur lifting the phone closer towards the sea, as if letting the water greet Tommy hello.
It seemed to soothe him slightly before the contrasting silence of his own apartment seemed to douse another bucket of cold water over him.
‘Wilbur…’ he started again cautiously.
A heavy stillness rang on the other end of the call, Wilbur quietly waiting for Tommy to continue.
‘Aren’t you in my apartment right now?’ he sounded out slowly, as if Tommy himself wasn’t sure when he had clearly seen and touched Wilbur.
Tense silence.
‘What are you talking about?’ nervous laughter echoed from his phone.
A burst of shocked laughter escaped out of Tommy, the whole situation so outrageous, yet fear couldn’t help but slowly creep on to him as goosebumps rose across his arm. He shivered. The hand holding the phone had started to tremble, his breath increasing in quicker successions.
The silence from the asbestos room seemed to grab Tommy in a chokehold.
‘This isn’t a funny prank, man. I’m still kinda stressed from the stream,’ Tommy joked, chanting to himself to calm down, you’re okay. Each second he remained in his apartment while the red door creaked angrily behind him, the more an invisible noose seemed to fasten around his neck.
It felt like if Tommy made one wrong move, everything would come careening down.
‘Tommy, who the fuck is in your apartment? I swear to god-’
Slow, heavy footsteps came from behind him, and a voice spoke,
‘Tommy?’
A choked breath, as if Tommy couldn’t catch a gulp of air and he was drowning. The sounds of the waves over the phone were a steady reminder of wrong wrong wrong something is wrong. Turning around to face who was behind him, Wilbur’s face stared back at him, plastered with a widely stretched grin that now seemed too big on his face. Just like when Tommy first greeted Wilbur at the door.
‘Tommy,’ Wilbur in the apartment said with a smile.
Tommy heard a hitch of breath over the phone.
‘Who’s on the phone with you, Toms?’
It was like time slowed down; Tommy found himself incapable of moving as Wilbur on the phone started yelling loudly, begging him to get out of his apartment and run. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to move. He was stuck - an unknown force weighing him down heavily like an anchor. He could do nothing but watch the creature in front of him with Wilbur’s face walk towards him.
Wilbur It leaned in and plucked the device from Tommy’s sweaty and trembling grip, and Tommy shuddered at the brief physical touch of his skin. It felt so normal, so human before. Yet when the creature bent down slightly to take the phone, its skin felt smooth.
Too smooth.
As if he had porcelain for skin, with no blemishes and scars and bumps. It didn’t feel human. It was too perfect, too still - Tommy couldn’t even see the creature’s chest rise up and down with each breath. The skin was too perfect, too smooth, too inhuman.
All the warning signs that Tommy had previously brushed over the rug are now blaring and punching him straight in the face. Wilbur’s weird behaviour and visit, his overly concerning tone when talking about the doll, the fact that his voice sounded just slightly off - all of it was rushing over him and replaying in his mind like a broken record.
I am a fucking idiot.
The creature glanced down at the phone screen, and Tommy felt his blood run cold as he watched it register the contact name. Over the phone, Wilbur continued to desperately scream and pant, out of breath, as rapid footsteps echoed against the pavement. Tommy wonders if Wilbur was coming over to his apartment. Tommy wonders if Wilbur knows that it will be too late by then.
Without another word, the creature ended the call, the voice of Wilbur crying out ‘Tom-’ abruptly cutting off.
The apartment was shrouded in darkness and quietness again.
Tommy didn’t dare look up to meet the eyes of the fake Wilbur, his eyes trained at his two feet and the pattern of his floorboards. He wondered if the sight of his blood, red and painted across his walls, would leave a stain. He wonders what will happen to him now.
‘So many spam calls these days, huh?’ The creature marvelled with a chuckle, Tommy unnerved at the lack of inflection in what he was used to in Wilbur.
Gone was the excitement, passion and fondness that very easily bled into Wilbur's voice. Replaced by an emotionless, almost monotone replica, Tommy felt like he was going to vomit.
The creature’s hand lifted up slowly as if he was a spooked and cornered animal (Tommy thinks the analogy was quite fitting, as he becomes acutely aware of the locked door situated in front of him and the walls around him).
Freezing in anticipation, a hand landed on his hair, roughly ruffling up his hair. The hand was cold ( too cold, why was the apartment all of a sudden so cold? ), the nails too sharp, the fingers too stiff and all wrong. When Tommy refused to loosen up but instead grew tenser, the creature huffed out in exasperation and moved its hand away.
‘You were so willing to listen to me last time,’ the creature wearing Wilbur’s face said with a pout,
‘What changed this time?’
Tommy’s mind drew blank, confusion and hysteria settling in slowly.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ He had wanted to ask in an angered tone, yet his voice came out weak and cracking at its edges.
Last time? What does he mean last time? Tommy rapidly cycles through his memory, trying to recall any scenario where he had bumped into such a creature, or if Wilbur had acted weirdly. His mind was numb, he was lost.
‘Yeah, you were so happy to listen to whatever I said on call last time? When you were at your… what’s your friend’s name?’ The creature thought to itself, a cheery hum underlying its voice.
‘Oh!’ it said, clicking its fingers at the realisation.
‘Tubbo! At Tubbo’s house, when you were all muddy and dirty. Don’t you remember it?’ It said with a pleasant sigh, a soft smile dotting his face. It briefly closed its eyes, as if reminiscing a positive memory.
He was going to be sick, because the truth was, Tommy does remember, but he also couldn't.
See, Tommy was known for his high-energy streams. His loud laughter, his ongoing bits, and his ability to churn out entertainment after entertainment was his trademark.
And these high-energy are exhausting. There were many times when Tommy felt like he zoned out on stream, only to be drawn back into his body in the next minute - dazed, lost, but always coasting along with whatever was happening in the call. Always participating in whatever bit was going on.
That was what happened in the Halloween stream at Tubbo’s.
It was like an out-of-body experience.
When Wilbur had called, Tommy was so excited to go with what the older had in mind - it would add a perfect element of eeriness for what was meant to be a Halloween event. One second, he was rolling around in mud after Wilbur had playfully instructed him to do so. The next, his mind was filled with static, and the hush of Wilbur’s smooth voice whispering next to his ear. Tommy watched his own body roughly bang on Tubbo’s window, while his friends worriedly asked him to come back in, to no avail.
(He remembered the panic coursing through his body, unable to move his limbs at will. He tried to yell and scream for help, he really did. But it was too hard to even try to pry apart his lips.)
The moment he came back into his body, he was sitting in a chair, surrounded by his friends again - just like in the beginning. The only indication that time had passed around him was the bright screen of chat, the changing conversations around him, and the grittiness of dirt underneath his nails. The only indication that this was real (that Tommy was real) was the tremor of his hands and the rapid rise of his chest, breathing and breathing out in exertion.
He had brushed it off quickly. It was a long and tiring bit, but TommyInnit always committed to the bit. It wasn’t the first time it felt like all of his energy crashed. His mind moved on autopilot a lot of the time, it wasn’t anything particularly new.
Tommy was fine, he was fine. The stream continued without a hitch afterwards, and he couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun meeting friends he never had a chance to interact with in person.
It was a good day. (It was, he tried to reassure himself. Even though his fingers shook and he was so, so cold, even when the heater was cranked up in the room, it was fine.)
Tommy didn’t realise that day that the call with Wilbur had only lasted less than five minutes. He didn’t remember when he hung up - Tommy was too out of it, too exhausted and drained from the extended joke and chatting with his friends.
Tommy didn’t realise it, but by that point, his fate was already set in stone.
‘Tommy,’ the creature said with a purr.
It was like a permanent smile was carved into the creature’s face.
‘Come on Tommy, listen to your older brother.’
A phone (not Tommy's mobile phone in the creature's hand) started ringing in the apartment. It was the sound of the red landline - the one his landlord had given to him, the one that was meant to be broken, the one that hadn’t made a sound in weeks.
He was so sick of the ringing.
‘Why won’t you pay attention to me anymore?’ the creature said with a pout, as Wilbur’s face twisted into a petulant frown.
‘You spent so much time with me before, when everyone else was in America,’ the voice tilted into a dangerous sneer, venom dripping from every word.
‘And now, everyone’s back, and you don’t spend time with me anymore,’ it spat out, his cheeks reddening in rage and eyes narrowed into slits.
It looked less and less like Wilbur. Tommy didn’t know if that brought him comfort or not.
‘It was so fun when it was just you and me,’ it gestured to the motionless doll in the creature's other hand. Tommy hadn't even realised that the doll was in the room with them, having thought Wilbur had placed him inside the asbestos room. All of a sudden, it clicked in his mind why the creature's unwrinkled skin had felt so familiar.
The memories of the exorcism stream trickled back to him one by one, the voice echoing behind the seat like a bell ringing in warning.
He struggled to breathe.
Even worse, Tommy realised with a jolt, was that the red phone wasn’t beside his PC anymore where it usually was. The call was coming from the asbestos room - the one with the matching red doors, a silent chamber that screamed at Tommy to run as far away as he could.
His landlord’s instruction was carved into his mind, warning him to never enter the room for his own safety. Tommy had assumed that it was because of the asbestos, but with the way his landlord had previously described the room with such unease and undisguised fear, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
A hand tugged at him, dragging him towards the swinging door.
‘Come on, it’s rude to keep someone waiting for so long.’
Tommy could hear the smile in the voice.
‘You wouldn't listen to me before, but surely you'll listen to me now with this face.'
A step forward toward Tommy. The cold sensation of the wall against Tommy's back has never been so damning.
'Come on Tommy, you wouldn’t disobey your older brother now, would you?’
Ten minutes later ( too late ) as the clock ticked away, Wilbur slammed the apartment door open, a desperate yell echoing through the abode,
‘Tommy!’
Silence and motionless. The apartment remained quiet, unmoving.
‘Tommy?’ Wilbur’s voice tapered off, a crack twinging the end of his question - a desperate plea and horrified refusal to believe the truth that was slowly settling in his mind. Rather than leaning helplessly on the hanging door, Wilbur rushed in and out of every room. The name of a young, missing boy fell from his lips like a prayer. Puffs and puffs of air rose from Wilbur's mouth in conjunction with his pleas, the cold bitterness of the apartment harsh and biting.
It was cold, Wilbur realised.
Too cold.
Before Wilbur could spiral any further, a loud ringing filled the apartment, reminiscent of Tommy’s red landline phone that he had heard many times on stream and through their discord calls. Slightly dazed and out of breath as the adrenaline started crashing down, Wilbur’s eyes wandered to the asbestos room - where the ringing was coming from (He didn’t want to think about why the door was opened, not when Tommy had insisted so many times that he doesn’t like to enter the room against his landlords wish. He didn’t want to think about it.)
As Wilbur made his way to the empty room, his eyes were instantly drawn to the red phone on the floor - ringing, ringing, and ringing.
The apartment was empty.
Tommy was gone.
Tommy was gone .
Outside in Brighton somewhere, the broken sobs of an older brother shattered its silence, followed by the incessant ringing of what sounds like a phone.
Ringing, ringing, and ringing.