Source separation my ass bro. You wouldn't tell a non fictionfolk to "step away" from their entire identity, sense of self and memories so why do you expect fictionkind to do so?? 🤔🤔
If I'm having issues bc of my exotrauma i WISH, if not EXPECT for it to be treated as seriously as trauma would for someone who isnt fictionfolk
(This goes especially for spiritual fictionfolk. If you wouldn't devalue non-fictionfolk for their beliefs than why do you treat our past lives as lesser?)
The sound of someone whistling, melodic, well rehearsed. The creak of a couch follows, along with a muffled thud.
“You want- want some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I had some earlier, I’m good.”
“That’s handy given I don’t actually have any… Dunno why I offered. Felt- felt polite. My partner's always gettin' on my ass for- for fuck's sake- for bein' 'impolite to guests'...”
"...I'm sure they'll be happy to know that you've been a very good host so far."
Silence spans a few seconds.
“...Are you okay to answer a few questions?”
“Yeah, sure. Shithead- Start whenever.”
“... Please state your name and date of birth for the audio recording.”
Another series of thuds, this time growing in intensity and spanning nearly ten seconds. They then cease abruptly.
“Full government name or just…?”
“...Whatever you’d prefer.”
“Vague, thanks. I’ll go full government. My name’s- name’s Tobias Erin Rogers… I was born… 1994. November 15th… I’m pretty sure it was the- it was the 15th. Coulda been the 14th though. One of the two-”
“And what do you know about the Tall Man?”
All mumbling halts. Silence spans several seconds, broken only by the hum of cars outside.
“...What do you know about Him?”
“Not much.”
“Tell me.”
“... I know that he’s an urban legend, something parents made up to stop their children from wandering in the forest, getting lost… I know you told Natalie Ouellette that he made you stab your father to death nine years ago… That you told her that he watches you, and he talks to you… And that Jeffrey Woods made that exact same claim when interviewed about his mental state whilst being held in a juvenile detention centre back in 2012.”
“...Sounds about- fuck you- about right, yeah.”
“All of it?”
“Yup.”
Jane’s voice is slightly hoarse when she next speaks. The scrunching of paper is audible.
“... What is your relationship with Jeffrey Allen Woods?”
“Know him in- in passin', I guess. We’ve got a couple mutual friends, a couple mutual enemies…”
“Were you in contact with him before the night of August 15th 2012?”
“...That’s a little spec- specific... No. I met him in… 2013, back when I was-”
“Crashing on Ouellette’s couch. I know.”
“I wasn’t crashin’- I… I paid rent!”
“It’s not important. If you weren’t in contact with Jeffrey then how did he access your hospital files?”
“...He has my hospital files?”
“Yes. He quoted you, that’s what I just told you.”
“Okay… Wait- Why do you have my hospital records? Ain't that against some law?”
“Your file is open to the public. Has been for three years, ever since you were legally declared dead."
“...Huh.”
Papers are rearranged quickly before being slid across a hard surface. Silence follows.
“...Listen, lady, you’re doin’ what you can but… I- I ain’t seein’ a quote.”
A frustrated sigh. The scrape of a chair as it’s scooted across floorboards.
“There. Right there. ‘No one believes me, but he’s there. He’s always there. He’s always watching me and telling me to do things, to hurt people.’”
“Not really a quote… More just a - just a statement. Pretty run of the- of the mill.”
“That’s almost exactly what you claimed two years earlier while being treated at ████████ Hospital.”
More rustling of papers.
“‘He’s following me. I can see him and no one else can, he keeps whispering for me to… do bad shit.’”
“...Yet again… Not- not really a direct quote on Jeff's part, is it?”
“But it’s the same excuse.”
A laugh, one which continues for almost ten seconds before a thud cuts it off abruptly.
“You think it’s an excuse?”
“...What else would it be?”
Silence. A car alarm begins somewhere on the street outside.
“The truth.”
“...The truth? You mean to tell me that Jeffrey’s fictional stalker is real? That the Tall Man is… real? That he drove both of you to killing your family?”
“You say- say that like you don’t believe me… And for the record, I didn’t- didn’t kill my family. I put down a - a fuckin' animal.
The car alarm is switched off outside. Papers being reorganised fills the quiet. Jane hums. Toby mimics the sound several times.
“Okay... Okay. You put down an animal, I didn't mean to offend... But you have to understand, you have a history of experiencing… hallucinatory episodes. And sometimes human minds can lose track of what’s real and what’s not. It's perfectly natural to get confused... Especially in your circumstances.”
The couch springs shift once more. Toby’s voice is noticeably closer as he speaks.
“I know what’s real, Detective. I’m not some fucking nutso who stares at walls and screams that the- the stars are falling. I know He’s real. You might not believe me- me, but no- no one does if they ain’t seen Him. He- shit- He watches everything. He controls everything, Jane. Huh-. He whispers, makes everything shift. Shows you shit then crawls into your brain, puppets you around like a kid drag- dragging a fuckin’ blankie 'round a playroom.”
A hand hits a hard surface. Jane makes a sound of surprise.
“He finds the minds that are weakest, takes ‘em over then hollows ‘em out. Makes them kill, makes them violent, towards others… towards themselves.”
The couch springs creak. Pacing footsteps begin.
“Why?”
“Oh, good question. Y'know, after a decade, it slipped my mind to question Him! I'll- I’ll ask him next time before he shoves his- his hand up my ass and makes me a damn homicidal sock puppet.”
The only sound is the thud of feet against wood. For a moment, it changes to boots on tile, then returns to floorboards once more.
“...I think I should go. You’ve been... very helpful-”
“He makes husks outta people… He’s gonna make a husk- husk outta me one day. Shit- …He always does when we run outta uses. It’s what- It’s what he did to them, it’s what he does to everyone he chooses-”
The pacing stops.
“...Tim.”
“Who?”
“...He's a friend. You should talk- talk to him… He knows more than I do, he's seen more than I have...”
“...Where can I find your ‘friend’?”
“Don’t- don’t worry ‘bout it. He’ll find you… He’s good at that, f-finding people. He found me a while ba-...”
A tone of static begins to build, faint at first, but it slowly starts to attempt to drown out both Jane and Toby’s voices.
“Toby? Toby, what's wrong? Did something-”
“Shh.”
“What?”
“Shh.”
Movement, fast feet on floorboards. The sound of a curtain being drawn harshly. Jane’s voice is a whisper.
“What is it? What’s happening?”
“I told you shh… Just listen.”
Silence. Static.
“...Do you hear that? He’s whisperin'.”
“...What?”
“Be quiet… Listen close- closer… There. There, you hear that?”
“No. I’m sorry, I don’t hear anything… I think I should-”
The static grows louder, replacing the audio with several seconds of uninterrupted dead air.
“-Hear it… Do y-...Hear Him?...”
“-should go, Tob-... Thank-... -aving me.”
“-ait… -ould be waiti-... for you-”
Footsteps, louder than before. Running. Fractures of a slamming door and a fist pounding on its surface.
"-Jane!"
The static screeches.
End of recording.
Toby interview, yay! Probably not very clear from this, but Jane thinks he's completely insane. She doesn't believe anything he's saying, not even with literal proof in front of her 😔 Is my pacing bad? Yes. Ignore it, thanks. Anyhoo, hope you liked it!
