"You're next." the creature from the film had whispered. But Reginald didn't flinch. He shook and trembled but he did not flinch. Something in his mind had unsnapped and he watched that thing advance on the projection room like it was still merely a film rolling on the screen.
And when the threat came, he closed his eyes and thought of Helen. The creature had demanded films and when he refused, it did its best to make him scared. But he couldn't bring himself to be scared of death when he already felt like a ghost.
The cartoon had laughed, muttering about "not being convinced" and "trying something else". And then its attention was drawn to the film canister Reginald was clinging to like a lifeline.
-
And it showed him the one thing that would have swayed him. This time, when it hounded him for films, he played the reels. Because he would remember his dear wife stepping from the screen, holding her in his arms once again after so many lonely years, dancing with her like they were young again.
And he could have that again and again as many times as he wished. As long as he kept this creature happy. It was worth it.
Even if the moment she faded away, it felt like the day he lost her all over again.
-
That first time, she had disappeared and his heart sank, a pit formed in his stomach and he couldn't stay on his feet. He tried to catch himself but he collapsed ungracefully to the ground, aching bones jarring with the impact.
And he cried. Ugly loud sobs that tore violently from his chest. He could feel the eyes of the creature in the projector room watching him, seething with quiet annoyance. It sat there raging as Reginald fell apart all over again.
When he fell silent, he didn't move for the longest time. Years ago, he'd been sat on a bench staring into the road at the passing cars, stuck in place. Now, he was crumpled on the ground in an empty picture house, unable to lift himself to his feet as an angry god watched.
It felt like hours before he dragged himself back to the projector room, with nausea so intense that he shook from the feeling. At Lux's request, he set a reel spinning in the projector with trembling hands. He somehow knew Lux would have no sympathy for his current state.
The film played on the silver screen, Lux would be satisfied for a short while. He pulled the reel from the other projector, the one that he'd kept safe for years and was so grateful that he did so. Oh so gently, he returned the film to its can. He picked it up and held it close. He leaned on the wall, sliding to the ground and hugging the can to his chest.
His breath caught and a fresh flood of tears reached him. In the years since he lost Helen, he'd cried less and less. Not that it had hurt any less, but feeling the same pain day after day, he ran out of the will to cry. But seeing her smile again, being able to hug her so tightly and hoping he'd never have to let go only for the illusion to fall apart, his heart was ripped from his chest all over again.
It was almost too much for him to bear.
He held the film can even tighter, metal edges digging into his chest as if it would quell the sickness squirming in his stomach like a wild animal.
He rocked himself back and forth, the motion managing to soothe him just a little. The rhythm of it took his mind away from his situation and brought his anxieties down for the moment.
Peace was something he didn't feel often nowadays, but this was the closest he'd felt to it in a long time. Simple motion, the whir of the projector in his ears and the chatter of a happy-go-lucky cartoon on the screen. It was an echo of peace at the very least.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't last. He could practically see the film playing out behind his closed eyelids as he listened.
It began to near the end.
His heart beat ratcheted up.
A charming melody played as the film closed out.
His tears fell down his face quicker.
The projector clattered as it ran out of film to play.
The nausea swirled inside him, twisting and clawing its way up his throat.
"Oh Mr Reginald Pye!" Lux drawled in a sing-song voice, footsteps marching their way up the cinema stairs as it approached.
Reginald trembled, doing his best to sink into the ground beneath him.
The door swung open with a loud thud, crashing into the wall beside it and rattling the entire room.
He flinched violently, curling himself up in a weak attempt at protecting himself. The sight of that thing filled him with cold sickly fear. It had never layed a finger on him but just the knowledge of what it could do had his mind racing and his stomach churning.
Until he promptly vomited onto the tile, one hand braced against the ground to keep himself upright and the other refusing to let go of the film can. It was mercifully brief, he didn't eat much nowadays. He gagged helplessly for a few moments, ribs aching from the motion, before he managed to catch his breath with a sour taste lingering in his mouth and shame prickling at his neck.
"Aw, poor Reggie Pye." Its mouth drooped in an over exaggerated frown, the contortion of muscles still managing to look impossible on the 2D imitation of a face.
It stepped closer, beginning to box Reginald in. He could only shuffle backwards across the ground, pressing himself into the corner just to get away from it.
But he had nowhere to go and the space between them would run out.
He closed his eyes and waited.
For something.
He didn't know what.
Maybe the nightmare would end.
But when was Reginald ever that lucky?
A hand brushed his face, gentle and...almost tender. An unwilling warmth bloomed in his chest, warmth he had felt mere moments ago when Helen held his hands and kissed him.
He didn't need to open his eyes to know it wasn't her. These hands were cold, a distant incorporeal quality to their touch despite being so very real.
(Because this thing had to be real. If it was real, so was Helen)
Either way, those hands held him. Lips touched the crown of his head and all Reginald could do was sob while something deeply horrifying and leagues beyond his comprehension whispered empty comfort in his ear.
