The rain had stopped that morning, but the sky still hung heavy — the kind that never decided between night and dawn.
Ethan hadn't slept in two days. Every time he closed his eyes, the world flickered. His mirror reflections lagged behind him, streetlights pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and the bookstore door appeared in his dreams like an invitation he couldn't refuse.
By the third morning, he couldn't take it anymore. He keeps remembering Mr. Abernathy's face that day, not angry, but afraid. Finally, unable to ignore it, he decides to go back to the bookstore, not for answers, but for reassurance. He wants to believe Mr. Abernathy again.
He found himself standing before the gold-lettered glass door again.
It looked exactly the same — too much the same.
Like time itself had been told not to move here.
He pushed the door open. The bell chimed, soft and thin.
The store felt colder. The air was thicker, and dust drifted lazily through beams of weak light.
Books were slightly out of place, tilted at strange angles, as if they'd been disturbed by a tremor.
Mr. Abernathy stood behind the counter, sorting a small pile of hardcovers.
He looked up slowly. His smile was faint, forced — and his face… paler than Ethan remembered.
"Didn't think I'd see you so soon," Abernathy said, voice hoarse.
Ethan hesitated, then stepped closer.
"I… I wanted to apologize. For how I acted the last time."
Abernathy waved a hand weakly.. "No harm done, boy. The mind plays tricks when it's restless"
Ethan looked at him — really looked , and saw the tremor in his hands, the shallow breaths, the faint glint of sweat on his temple.
"What happened to you?" Ethan asked. "You look—"
Abernathy cut in quickly. "Old. I know." He chuckled faintly, then coughed. A wet, choking sound. When he lifted a handkerchief to his mouth, Ethan saw the faintest stain of red before the man tucked it away.
Abernathy caught his stare and said quietly, "It's better than pain."
That line froze Ethan.
The same uneasy tone from his dreams. The same echo.
He swallowed hard. "Mr. Abernathy… the world—something's wrong with it. The cracks, the flashes, people freezing. I know you see it too."
Abernathy's eyes flickered up, calm but wary.
"You're still on about this?" he said with a soft, tired laugh. "Seems the break didn't work after all."
"I'm not imagining this!" Ethan snapped, his voice trembling. "I see things that shouldn't exist. I feel like I'm being watched. Just tell me the truth for once!"
"Enough," Abernathy said sharply — too sharp for the old man Ethan knew. "You should stop speaking about those things."
Ethan blinked. "Why? Because you know exactly what's going on?"
Abernathy's hands twitched. "And why would you think that?"
"Because it's you!" Ethan stepped forward. "It's you who's holding it together — or breaking it apart! You're the Gatekeeper, aren't you?"
Abernathy's expression faltered. The name hit him like a whisper from the grave.
He took half a step back, lips parting. "Where did you hear that from?"
"Someone told me," Ethan said, voice shaking. "Someone with blue eyes."
Abernathy froze — eyes wide for the briefest moment before his face hardened again.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, boy."
"Stop lying to me!"
Books rattled on their shelves. A gust of cold air swept through the aisles.
Ethan took another step closer, fists clenched. "What are you hiding from me?"
Abernathy coughed again — louder this time — and when he looked up, something in the air rippled.
The light shifted.
The bookshelves stretched — long, distorted — like reflections in warped glass.
A shadow crawled across the floor, thin at first, then growing thicker, reaching toward Ethan's feet.
"What the hell—" Ethan stumbled back, heart hammering. "Mr. Abernathy, what is that?!"
Abernathy didn't answer. His face was twisted with pain and guilt.
"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't pushed it, boy," he muttered.
The shadow surged forward — a hand-shaped silhouette tearing through the floorboards, gripping Ethan's shirt from behind.
Cold spread up his spine like liquid ice.
He turned slowly, breath shaking — and saw the dark, formless arm holding him.
"Let me go!" Ethan yelled, struggling, panic surging in his chest. "Stop this!"
Abernathy's voice was low — trembling.
"You don't understand what's at risk."
Ethan's eyes were wide, furious, desperate.
"Then make me understand!"
The lights flickered violently — and for one impossible second, Ethan saw something inside Abernathy's eyes.
A storm.
A plea.
And something that looked like regret.
Abernathy whispered, "You shouldn't have come back."
Ethan straightened, trembling but defiant. "Then stop me."
The world went still.
And then the lights went out.