There was darkness in Troy Abernathy’s mind.
He thought it was perhaps a low, murmurred snippet of a conversation long forgotten that played out in the back of his mind. It escaped him just what it was supposed to be.
What had he been doing?
He hadn't fallen asleep. He wasn't sleepy before, so he shouldn't be-
Dr. Troy Abernathy lifted his head, sucking in a quick breath through his nose. For a moment he stared at the gray light before him, before realizing it was fog.
Several intuitive leaps crossed his brain before he made clear sense of them, and a jolt of terror made him sit forward, frantically searching the vague world around him. The quivering lumps of malformed flesh, the scrawling on the walls, little girls in white dresses-
-were nowhere to be seen. This apparent absence didn't stop Troy from being scared shitless, though. His heart rate had skyrocketed to heart attack proportions, and his breath was coming short and fast, sounding fragile and panicked in the thick air.
Wait wait wait.
A heartbeat. Breathing?
One shaking hand reached up to press against his chest- strangely, his trunk felt cold, but seemed to be gradually warming up. It was a discomfiting feeling. But Jesus fuck, he was alive! He jerked his hand back down to grip at the wooden bench he was sitting on, which stopped him short again.
Just where the hell was he? He blinked hard, and glanced around, the chill mist speckling moisture on his face.
God, it looked just like what Christabella would conjure up. But it felt different- the town had a bigger, more impassive feel now. In a way, it felt... more real, less like the nightmare conjured up by a twisted eight year old. Abernathy swallowed, letting his breathing slow down as he searched the alleys and road nearest him.
He stood, smoothing down his shirt nervously, still darting paranoid glances at suspicious figures which always turned out to be nothing. "Jesus," he rasped, his voice a little too guttural and harsh for his liking. It sounded like he'd been screaming too much. "I'm losing my mind." One long, knotty hand reached up and brushed across his short black hair.
The loneliness of the town was starting to sink in, a despair that he had pushed deep in his gut a long time ago starting to roil up. He pressed his lips together so they wouldn't start edging down, and took in a lungful of air, and let off a quick, "Hello?!" It rolled down the street, bouncing off some flat surface in the distance. He waited, listening for something- anything- to respond.
((OOC: Sorry for the wait, I had a tard moment and posted it to Abernathy's journal rather than the comm.))