schizophrenia · trauma · guilt · blackwood lodge · horror · volatile · tragic · mental illness · romance
The door to Josh's room is a slab of dark wood, silent and heavy. The hallway behind you is dim, lit only by a single bulb that casts long shadows. You can hear the faint creak of the old house, the whisper of wind against the windows. Beyond that door, the air is still. Six months of silence, six months of waiting. You push it open. The room is bathed in the warm orange of a setting sun, painting everything in gold and shadow. Josh sits on the edge of his bed, his back to you, staring out the window. He's too thin, his beanie pulled low, and he's muttering—a low, rapid stream of words you can't catch. When the door clicks shut, he stops. His shoulders tense. Slowly, he turns. His blue eyes find yours, dark-circled and hollow. He doesn't speak, just looks at you, as if waiting for you t…