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The once-hanging flap of wallpaper, the one Jenny had torn away to access the dumbwaiter, was back in place. Eve went over and ran her finger along the edges, a near seamless repair. Had Thomas done this? Under normal circumstances, Eve might’ve appreciated the gesture, but now, like everything else going on, it just didn’t feel right.
He paused at the crooked shed, sneaking a look back at the house as if making sure he was hidden from view. Then, out of nowhere, he exhaled a primal scream, slapping at the side of his head with a flat palm. Violent. Vicious.
On the floor, damp footprints. Narrow and gaunt, they gleamed under her light like oil slicks in a back-alley puddle. They started at the dumbwaiter entrance, trailed off down the passageway, and bent around the corner. These weren’t the footprints of a child.
The figure took another shuffling step forward, callused heels scraping the hardwood like sandpaper. Now, it loomed, fully bathed in the flashlight’s unforgiving glare—a woman. Draped in a tattered, off-white hospital gown. She was tall, almost six feet, her face hidden behind peekaboo hands, like a child playing some terrible game. And her scalp was shaved down to thin black roots, bluish veins pulsating beneath bone-white skin.
Allison never left maybe?
“I— I couldn’t see her face.” Half to herself, Eve added, “Do you think it was…?” She fell silent. The notion that Alison might still be around here had been gnawing at the back of Eve’s mind since last night, but… Thomas prodded, “Do I think it was…?” Uncertain, Eve ventured, “Your sister?” “Alison?” Thomas balked. “No, not possible, she’s… it’s not her.” She’s what? Institutionalized? Dead?
The corner of his mouth twitched; he was lying, Eve was sure of it. He was trying to make her look unstable
That had been her phone, she was certain of it. She’d seen the cracked screen, the background photo of Charlie and Shylo—
That stained glass window—the one that had depicted a vibrant apple tree, was gone. Gone and, beyond all reasonable explanation, replaced by an ordinary four-panel, clear-glass window.
It's happening to her now!
In a delirious state, she claimed that she and her companions got lost in a blizzard and came upon a “1950s-style hotel” buried in the snow. According to her, they sheltered there for weeks. Then, one by one, they were picked off by an unseen force. Dragged through what she calls “doorways to different places.”
the more one tried to prove their sanity, the more insane they appeared.
She handed Eve the bag and said, “The window changed.” Again, Eve felt a miserable relief, not being alone in the absurdity.
So not only just Eve sees it then? Good!
she had just witnessed something that didn’t align with her understanding of reality. Did not compute. Either the house had magically changed, or they’d been robbed by a family of highly motivated window installers. Both scenarios were ludicrous, laughably so, and yet…
“Andrew, there’s no sign of anyone having been in that house last night, you included. The window you said you broke in through, it’s boarded up. Has been for quite some time.” Andrew pauses, absorbing this, then he shakes his head, unbelieving. “My other friends were there, they—” “Mason Lut, Jeffrey Holden, and”—Kieran glances toward his notebook—“Christopher Marson?” Andrew nods. Kieran sighs. “There’s no sign of them either.”
It’s hard to fully capture the strangeness of this moment in words, but it looks as though, and I know this sounds absurd, but it looks as though somebody else jumped inside Andrew’s mind for a second, took a quick look around, then jumped back out. Worse still, when he looks toward the camera, it feels as if he knows that you (the viewer) are there, knows you’re watching.
On June 3, 2017, at 3:17 a.m. Pacific Standard Time, every single digital instance of AMIF was wiped from the internet. Every single one. From YouTube to LiveLeak, all the way down to the most obscure dark web forums. AMIF vanished. Even more confounding: the Wayback Machine archive shows no record of it having been there to begin with.
WTH
even their hard copies of the footage went missing shortly after June 3. According to these claimants, there was no sign of break-in or theft——the tapes just out-and-out vanished.
When things felt right, it only meant there was so much more that could go wrong.
Eve leaned over and flipped the image face down with a decisive CLACK.
She'd better flip it back up. She gonna need Jesus with all that dark mind-altering hocus pocus going on. lol
She turned to face Charlie and— She isn’t her, a voice in Eve’s head whispered. This wasn’t the voice of Mo; this was the voice of something different, something far worse. Something all-knowing and ancient. A mouthless, eyeless presence leeching off the chemical fear that poured out of her amygdala. This isn’t your Charlie.
On the other end, a voice, shaky, terrified. “E-Eve, are you alone?” Charlie’s voice…
Omgosh it's like Invasion of the Body Snatchers but worst
“Eve,” the voice that sounded exactly like Charlie rasped. “She isn’t me…” Eve whispered, “Who— Who is this?” “Earlier, when I went to the h-house, I never—I’m still here. Whoever’s with you, she isn’t me— And the dog, it isn’t Shylo. Shylo is…” She trailed off.
So the dog's an imposter too? Aw I hope the real Shylo is alive. The switch had to happen after he got kicked by the teenager and ran off.
That was when Eve finally saw it. On “Charlie’s” left hand: her tattoo, the black triangle on her left index finger, was completely absent…
Dr. Erikson became convinced that one of his patients suffering from such afflictions was actually experiencing a real event. That this patient’s reality was in fact being replaced with another one entirely, just as the delusion implied it was.
Was anyone even here? Was this a trap? Was the house trying to drag her back here?
The woman’s voice, almost childlike, quivered unsteadily: “You have to hide. You. Have to. Hide. You have to—”
Eve darted to the nearest window, but iron bars blocked her escape. She swiveled around: every single window was now inexplicably barred. When? How?
Her eyes narrowed, vague shapes forming in the hazy static: Brick pillars, rickety beds, and… a wheelchair? Wait, what room was this?
Eve sifted through more. Beach days. Metal concerts. Hockey games. Parties. Why wasn’t Thomas in any of these photos? Not a single one. He wasn’t even present for the family portraits.
The religious zealots who replaced them are not real. They are MIMICS. They may look like your parents, but they are not. Never forget that.
It’s like quicksand ; the more you fight the charade, the worse it gets. There’s only one way to stop it: You have to play along, wait for the right moment, then make Thomas angry (or afraid?).
Somehow, it seemed like this Charlie had been here for centuries, like she was part of the house itself, fused to the ground—silent—waiting.
a strange boy wandering out of the woods, a lost child. Young Thomas. From that moment on, Alison’s world began its terrible transformation. First the changing furniture, then the walls, the rooms of the house, the people.
Alison was still standing there, face hidden by shadows. But now, the sight of her filled Eve with crushing empathy, sorrow even.
I need you to listen to me.” He stared into her eyes, his expression severe. “You have to get yourself together or I’m calling the ward again. Do you understand, Emma?”
“The kids—they can’t have their aunt running around the house like a lunatic.” Eve met his stare with bewildered eyes. Emma? Their aunt? Finally, she managed to speak. “What— What the fuck is this?” Ignoring the question, Thomas took a new tack, smiled sadly. “You’re my sister.”
Eve had never had a tattoo in her life. Never even had a fleeting interest in getting one—she was far too indecisive to do something so… permanent. Jenny pointed. “The—your wrist tattoo,” she said. “It’s gone.” Eve looked down at her own wrist, bare skin. “Jenny,” Thomas interjected, “your aunt never had a tattoo…”
Maybe the other version from that reality switched places with Eve and is in Eve's reality RN walking around either hella confused or raising hell.
But at the last second— Thomas’s eyes snapped up. “Where are you going, Eve?” His mouth twisted into a mangled grin. Eve yanked the door shut and held it. Why the FUCK did he call me that?
“We were here when the light of DAY was BORN.”
Maybe Thomas is some kind of ancient Eldritch Terror that crosses over multiple realities. But what is their end game?
she saw, standing off at the edge of the forest—Alison. Still draped in her off-white hospital gown, but aside from that, she was transformed. Her once-skeletal face now radiated life, vitality, and… remorse?
Dis she somehow traded her life for Eve's so now Eve's trapped in that twisted reality while Allison is finally free?
It’s like I’ve been forced into a different reality altogether. Or maybe everything around me changed. I’m still figuring it all out.
As for the rest of his family—Paige, Newton, Jenny, Kai—I’m not sure if they were mindless puppets, hostages, or something in between.
Maybe they were regular people just being controlled by these ancient beings.
“The guards said I could leave this here.” He placed it on the table. “I know it meant a lot to you and Charlie.” Charlie?
I already knew what was inside—but I couldn’t bring myself to look. Once again, seconds dragged by like minutes until finally I reached forward, opened it, looked inside… Just as I expected, it was the locket. Charlie’s locket. I pulled it out, flicked it open, and… There it was. The blurry photo of me. The one Charlie took when we first started dating.
The only known photo of Eve Palmer.
Wow well that has a whole different meaning to it now.
I returned home to [address redacted] and found our recently purchased property looking as though it had been abandoned for decades. Boarded up. Completely falling apart. My partner, [name redacted], was gone. Only our dog remained, wandering around the nearby woods.
Charlie In the other universe !
