Johnny is lying on his back in a room that feels wrong in every conceivable way. He doesn't know how he knows this, but he is very certain. That's been happening a lot lately, too.
He picks himself up. The room presses in around him, shuddering, unhappy. It exudes unhappiness, frantic, dissembling fear, hysteria and madness. This is not a stable enclosure.
There's also a tree in the middle of it. Not a real tree, but one comprised of wires and metal, with spherical lamps hanging like houses from its branches. It's beautiful. It's terrifying.
"Yggdrasil," he whispers, barely conscious as he does it. The connection is rooted complexly in his head, something he would be hard pressed to explain if anyone had heard him. A lot of his thoughts are instinctual right now; he's not comprehending, not thinking, just reacting. The tree is wrong, and the structure is alive, and its dimensions are inconsistent. It's the tree, no, the house, the house at 1 Ash Tree Lane -- or it's not, but it's so much like that. He doesn't know why this doesn't frighten him more. But there are other things to be frightened of at the moment.
He staggers back, and one of them touches him with a mottled, grasping hand.
no subject
He's not.
Johnny is lying on his back in a room that feels wrong in every conceivable way. He doesn't know how he knows this, but he is very certain. That's been happening a lot lately, too.
He picks himself up. The room presses in around him, shuddering, unhappy. It exudes unhappiness, frantic, dissembling fear, hysteria and madness. This is not a stable enclosure.
There's also a tree in the middle of it. Not a real tree, but one comprised of wires and metal, with spherical lamps hanging like houses from its branches. It's beautiful. It's terrifying.
"Yggdrasil," he whispers, barely conscious as he does it. The connection is rooted complexly in his head, something he would be hard pressed to explain if anyone had heard him. A lot of his thoughts are instinctual right now; he's not comprehending, not thinking, just reacting. The tree is wrong, and the structure is alive, and its dimensions are inconsistent. It's the tree, no, the house, the house at 1 Ash Tree Lane -- or it's not, but it's so much like that. He doesn't know why this doesn't frighten him more. But there are other things to be frightened of at the moment.
He staggers back, and one of them touches him with a mottled, grasping hand.