Chapter 33: The Fissure in Reality

After that first night, my life was cleaved in two by an invisible wall. On one side, the counterfeit daylight of a life that felt staged; on the other, the creeping shadows ruled by the protocol.

I began to obey every rule with a paranoid devotion. I changed the locks, using only the brass key. I draped a thick cloth over the bathroom mirror—after one day, I'd caught a fleeting glimpse of my own reflection offering me a grotesque smile that wasn't my own.

I even tried to record Biscuit barking at an empty wall, but when I played it back, the video was utterly silent, the audio filled with nothing but dead air. My grip on reality, already frayed, was being methodically shredded.

The refrigerator became another source of quiet dread. It was always full, the food within perpetually replenished, its production dates always stamped with "Today." I once found a jar of a fruit preserve we'd loved a year ago but which had long been discontinued. Time itself seemed to have congealed within the walls of this house.

And Emily… she was becoming more and more "perfect." She no longer mentioned anything strange, simply going about her day—cooking, cleaning—with a placid smile and movements as precise as a program. Her concern was so perfectly timed it felt scripted. Sometimes I'd look at her and wonder if the woman I loved was being slowly formatted by the "Shelter" itself.

The fissure widened the day she tried to comfort Biscuit as he barked at a corner. The dog, who adored her, flinched away with a whimper. For a fraction of a second, an almost imperceptible rigidity crossed her features before the perfect smile snapped back into place.

A few days later, a new note appeared on the refrigerator door. The letters looked as if they had seeped out of the stainless steel itself, shimmering with a cold light.

[EMERGENCY SHELTER PROTOCOL V. 1.1 UPDATE]

Tom is a good friend, but he belongs to the "Outside." You must not reveal any information about the "Protocol" or the "Shelter" to him. (To speak of the Shelter to the Outside is to show "them" the way.)

If Emily begins to hum a tune you have never heard before, leave the room she is in immediately and lock the door. (That song is not for you. It is a summons.)

Do not consume any food brought in from the "Outside." (The Shelter will provide all you need. Food from the Outside is "contamination.")

The new rules sent a fresh wave of ice through me. They severed my last real connection to the world and deepened the terror I felt toward my own fiancée.

That weekend, Tom showed up unannounced. He dropped onto the sofa like old times and, without a second thought, grabbed one of the muffins Emily had just baked. I watched him, a knot tightening in my stomach. Could someone from the "Outside" eat food from the "Inside"?

As evening bled into the sky, Tom got ready to leave. It was then that Emily, who had been clearing the table, suddenly froze.

Her back was to us. She began to hum.

It was a tune I had never heard, a dissonant, grotesque series of notes that didn't form a melody. It had an inhuman quality, like the grating of metal on bone, and it scraped at my eardrums. It was a lullaby, but a lullaby for something not of this world.

My blood ran cold. Rule number eight.

"Go! Get out, now!" I seized Tom's arm, my voice trembling with a terror so profound it was visceral. I shoved him toward the door with all my might.

"What the hell, Jack! What are you doing?" Tom stared at me, utterly baffled.

I had no time to explain. I forced him out over the threshold, slammed the heavy door shut, and threw the brass lock.

Tom's angry shouts echoed from outside, but I couldn't open the door. I turned back. Emily was now facing me.

She stood silently in the center of the living room, that same gentle smile on her lips. But her eyes, fixed on the door I had just locked, were utterly vacant. An inhuman emptiness stared out from them. The bizarre humming continued to spill from her lips, a sound that felt like it was trying to burrow into my very bones.

Scrambling backward, I fled into the study and locked the door behind me.

I don't know how long I waited, huddled on the floor, before the humming finally stopped. Emily's voice, warm and normal once more, called through the door. "Honey? What's wrong? Dinner is ready, I made your favorite roast chicken… I'll leave some muffins by the door for you, okay? Make sure you eat."

I sat paralyzed, soaked in a cold sweat. The fissure in reality was no longer a crack. It was a chasm, tearing itself open right before my very eyes.