Ron: Who are you…?
Williams: I just said Williams.
Move, Arthur.
Hi, Reader. If you're wondering why I told him that—Arthur was sitting right at the edge of this long wooden plank we use as a bench… you know, the ones attached to a picnic table.
So when Arthur moved, Ryan and Tommy slid over with him since they were sitting beside him.
On the left side, Lina and Emma sit together at their table.
On the right side, Chris sits alone at another.
And all of us—Arthur, Ryan, Tommy, and even me—are sitting on one side of the picnic table, facing Ron.
He's directly across from us on the opposite bench, sitting alone, with every pair of eyes pointed straight at him.
Ron: What kind of nonsense is this…?
William: What?! The Reader needs this kind of information.
Ron: And why is that?
William: For starters, the Reader is blind.
Tommy: Then how could the Reader read?
William: I wrote you to be funny. This isn't even a funny joke.
Tommy: Wrote me?! Are you acting like some sort of author now?
William: From now on, I will think of a way to kill you.
Arthur: Are you here to help us?
William: No. I'm here to help the Reader.
Tommy: With what—plot armor?
William: You were supposed to be the funny side of me… you're just annoying.
Tommy: Come on now, my author… don't write me off.
William: Like I said, Tommy, it's compromise without compromise.
Anyway, Ron—can I tell you a story instead of answering the question?
Arthur: Wait. Who are you? The Reader seems to know you—we don't.
And how could you solve this?
William: Arthur… I could ask you the same thing.
What are you doing here?
Shouldn't you be looking for your son?
Arthur: I—
William:
Well… sure, they gave you the beautiful description—the poetic one—but that will not suffice.
Because illusion has two aspects:
how people collectively see things, and how they see them individually—
before the opening of the door.
If you stretch your hand toward someone and raise your arm, they will levitate.
If you pretend to suffocate someone from afar and tighten your grip,
the other person will choke… or pass out.
If you place your two hands in opposite directions—one above the other—
and someone stands in the space between your sight…
then you compress your hands together—
that person will be crushed.
And all of this depends on whether the other person sees you or not.
If people do see you, they will notice the one you're suffocating, crushing, or lifting.
They will see the scene as it happens.
Like a horror movie—
when an evil spirit attacks the protagonist,
but no one else sees it.
Everyone thinks he's crazy—seeing something that doesn't exist.
Do you understand, Arthur?
Arthur: Yeah… but the door is already open.
So that means none of this matters now.
William:
To you… maybe.
But it still means something.
What if your entire story existed because of this power?
I see how relaxed you look, Ron.
This affected you too.
And Arthur—your son is at the top of the tower.
Go.
Before his friend dies.
Go save him.
Don't worry about this mess.
Go.
"And just like that, Arthur left—no questions asked."
William: What are you doing?
Tommy: Narrating.
If you're the author, and we have a Reader,
then I'll be the narrator.
William: I seriously need to find a way…
to kill you in my story.
Ron: William, right…
You said maybe Arthur was affected by the illusion...
before Rady ever opened the door.....
We all know when we talk about the door,
we mean the door to the other life—
where devils and ghosts live.
That's why we don't see them.
But the door was always slightly open.
That's why some people experience abnormal things.
If Arthur met the devil himself,
then he was exposed to that illusion—
and everything he ever told us…
maybe it was all false.
But what does that have to do with me?
Ron: Tommy, I want you to narrate everything that happens
after I finish talking to the Reader.
Can you do that?
Can you not stop—
even if Ron decides to eat me alive?
Tommy: Even if he violates you…
I won't shut up.
William: You're too…
much.