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It’s bedtime.
After shutting off the lights, Boxten heads to bed. He throws his blue bandana on a dresser. Pillows are fluffed up, and his night light is plugged in, tapping it three times for luck. The night light is too useful to throw away, no matter how the toons tease about it. Nightmares are not fun. Astro and Toodles don’t tease, at least.
Boxten leans his back against the wall and lets the chill concrete relieve his tension. Only a few breaths fill the dead air that hangs about the darkened room. He follows the old reliable: close your eyes and pretend to sleep, and soon it’ll soon be true.
His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Eyes close. He wills consciousness to fade, to slide silently out of the room, but it remains like a foot clogging a door. One moment of tranquility is allowed. All of the struggle fades away for a minute, only to return in a burst of energy.
Eyes shoot open. The breathing peaks, then returns to normal. With heavy eyelids and dry lips, the modest little music box pushes himself up. The room now seems darker. Everything dissolves into a soulless web of deeper shades, with no discernible features to speak of. Not a speck of salvation escaped a sight so dull. It's so dark he questioned whether he actually opened his eyes.
He needs Astro, stat.
Boxten crawls off the bed. The blanket is brought along simply since it’s cozy, and it’s gotten considerably colder. The blanket is drawn up like a hood, draping down to the floor. He scratches his cheek, the tips of his fingers touching bandana fabric around his neck. Boxten maneuvers through the bedroom once more.
After navigating the invisible minefield and opening the door, the outside is reached. However, its view is only marginally better.
Crankiness trails a shambling Boxten. Soft cloth shifts and rubs against floor and skin. Thank goodness he brought the blanket; the hallway is much colder than before. The blanket itself isn't a perfect shield from the cold, so the thought of walking bare is unsettling. A hand is constantly extended out to avoid accidentally running into something. Gardenview's warm and brilliant colors blend into melancholy shades. A throbbing darkness sets the atmosphere and a terrible chilly temperature manipulates the stage.
Boxten shifts to the outskirts and walks along them, becoming increasingly terrified the longer he remains. A trade-off for a general sense of direction seems worthwhile, albeit sacrificing the comfort of seeing both sides of the corridor. It's a lengthy journey to follow the wall, turning at each bend. The twists are troubling: Gardenview doesn't have complex architecture, yet turns appear randomly to where a loop should have occurred multiple times over.
However, all previous concern vanishes the moment Boxten's eyes brighten up once he spots the wonderful headshot of Astro on a door. The music box increases walking speed to the point that he nearly trips over the blanket.
Boxten does not barge in. He did not want to bother Astro; that would be inconsiderate, opting to knock.
Nobody answers the door. There is no mumble or other sign that a toon exists. He tries banging again. There's nothing new.
Any time he dares turn around, his entire being is punished with a crushing sense of dread and anxiety. Being next to the one who can solve all problems doesn't improve the situation. It could be exacerbating the situation; mere inches away from a solution but at risk of not getting it. Every time he ventures to turn around, nothingness takes on a hazy form of something living. It takes a different shape whenever he dares. Scared, he spews an announcement and goes inside.
The void follows inside and wraps the same blindfold as before. The room layout plays copycat. Oddly, however, it’s vacant. In the corner houses is a bed and that’s the extent of decoration.
The music box moves closer to the bed, holding out his hand to avoid bumping into it. When it comes into contact with a soft mattress, he feels a rush of relief. He pokes the comforter and politely asks Astro for help. No response.
The lack of a response isn't the strange thing. The strange thing is that there is no sense of a body beneath the comforter. Boxten prods the comforter for any hints of Astro. Pulling it back yields an unexpected result. In Astro’s place, a single trace remains: a sleeping cap. This is already worrying, but he needs to remain rational. Once more outside, Boxten directly follows the wall. Next is Rodger's room. He calls and knocks for him like previously. Regretfully, despite the next two attempts, nothing happens. Weary, he walks inside Rodger's room. The room is a perfect duplicate of Astro's. One bed in an empty room. Except for the headshot outside, there is no indication this would be a separate room. He walks over to pull back the covers. An inanimate magnifying glass waits for him.
His former rationale is starting to fail him. Exiting, no longer patient, the toon shouts for the others. The longer he goes without sound, the louder the calling grows; the louder the calling gets, the more desperate he becomes; and more desperation equals more frenzied action.
He goes door to door, hoping to see another toon, only to be met with the same outcome. A TV lays in Vee’s room, a strawberry in Sprout's, a bow in Poppy’s.
Soon, he's rushing down the corridor screaming for anybody. The blanket is abandoned between Tisha’s and Toodle's rooms.
Boxten backtracks to prior bedrooms in an attempt to converse with the inanimate objects. Of course it didn’t work, but he couldn’t think of anything else. In each room, he rambles to an object, hoping to hear a response.
In the end, Boxten gathers all the belongings representing a friend and sits in a mound of them. He cradles them as if they were a baby. He can’t even ramble without being interrupted by a pitiful, lonely whimper. His eyes brim up with tears, but his throat is too dry to scream.
Astro keeps Boxten's bedroom open with his body while intensely focused on levitating, sniffling Boxten to ensure that the magic doesn’t stop working unexpectedly. Something was clearly wrong when he observed Boxten sleepwalk into his room, prod at him, and then scream as he attempted to leave.
The sight makes Astro feel sorry for the poor music box. The streak of no nightmares was going strong until it ended in a horrible display of failure. Regular check-ins may be set in stone.
Walking past fallen decor, a non-working nightlight due it not being fully plugged in, and a removed bandana now clung to by Boxten, Astro arrives at an empty bed. Astro lowers Boxten onto the bed after carefully guiding him through air. Every time he hears the sniffles, his heart aches. With the intention of tucking Boxten in and using oneirokinesis to give a good night's sleep, he turns around to see the abandoned blanket in the halls. When everything is straightened out in the morning, they can have a chat.