#beeblelorps

Somehow, you managed to avoid being mangled by the bad Beatles. The ones who wouldn’t hesitate to glitch you, or rearrange you, or any other of the myriad of horrible things. 

You don’t remember exactly how you found out you were never going back to your world. Maybe you always knew, at some level. Maybe you knew that you wouldn’t be able to go back even if it were possible, because you’d always have some part of you stuck here, leaving you unable to relate to anyone from your old life. 

Maybe you never really felt like you belonged in that world anyway. 

Regardless of anything, you took it rather well. You were shocked, of course-- how could this be real?-- but you adjusted fairly quickly, all things considered. 

You met Octoringo and moved into Dollar Circle. Soon, it was almost as if you had never lived anywhere else. Almost. 

Occasionally you’d your brain would suddenly scream at you how strange this world really was, at least compared to your old one. Or you’d remember your dreams for once, most of which had at least some elements of your old life, if not entirely comprised of them. 

But you’d disregard those; it didn’t matter how different or even utterly alien this world was-- you came to realise that your old world sucked. 

You’d never say it, but you found the worst of this world to be a lot better than the worst of yours. It may have become your reality, but it was still rather like a cartoon. 

You fell into a routine. You woke up, did your job, hung out with fellow residents, and perhaps went exploring in safe areas or traded with nearby towns, and then went back to sleep. 

You were lucky enough to have not become a cryptid yourself. The townsfolk outside of Dollar Circle were afraid of the cryptids. It didn’t matter how nice Octoringo or Doublennon were; they just knew that some cryptids had proven themselves dangerous, and that was enough for them. They wouldn’t prohibit cryptids from entering, no, they would just hide from them until they left. Maybe that was worse. 

After just a couple months, you were really settling in. You were really starting to feel like this world was yours. The world you left was starting to fade from your mind-- did you want that? It’s not like you could do anything to stop it.

But then you started feeling this presence near you, everwhere you went. You’d look behind you, but there was nothing there. Fearing it a cryptid, you talked to Octoringo about it. Glow George was behind him, staring at you. Watching. His glare reminded you of the presence, but it wasn’t the same. He felt protective, only to be worried about if you were a threat. 

“Oh, don’t worry, the force fields keep out anyone with bad intentions, and Glow George would have noticed if anyone had slipped through,” Octoringo said. Glow George nodded at the latter part. “But I’ll make sure to keep a look out. Maybe it could be a newly formed cryptid who doesn’t know what’s going on. They could still be dangerous, even without malice, so be careful.” 

So I’m being stalked by a potentially dangerous cryptid, you thought. 

Apparently Octoringo noticed something in your face or body language, because he said “I-it’s not necessarily a cryptid, either. Maybe the feeling could be something on your side, if you haven’t ruled that out, that is. If anything else happens, be sure to tell us!” 

You didn’t know what else to say besides ‘thank you’. For some reason, although you felt nothing, you wanted to cry. Your voice betrayed you, trembling as you said that simple greeting. You just walked away, trying to hide inside yourself as you did so. 

Just outside of his house, you felt the presence again. It was appearing whenever you were away from people, but ‘away’ was becoming closer and closer. You were just a few steps away from them. You were even able to feel it when you were with other people, if they weren’t interacting with you at the moment. 

You started crying. You felt fine just a minute ago. You felt so terrified, but you weren’t sure why. You tried to walk to your house, but a few steps and you fell. You were just so limp from fear. You were so, so tired, as well. The tiredness was gnawing you, now overtaking the fear. Your thoughts were ceasing. You stopped feeling like yourself. You were noöne. Noöne. Noöne. Reality was unraveling itself around you, but you didn’t exist. It was all a story. 

You woke up in your house. There was a note next to your bed. 

We found you passed outside near our house, so Glow George carried you home. He’s also decided to stand guard outside of your house-- make sure to meet him once you’re awake.  -Octoringo 

You still felt weird, as if you weren’t exactly in your body, but a second after realising, you went back to normal. Well, besides the... headache? No, it didn’t really hurt. But you didn’t know what else to call it. 

After a few minutes of doing nothing, you went outside, bringing a granola bar with you. You had to force yourself out the door. It’s not that you didn’t want to leave-- you knew that you should be fine, especially if Glow George were really there, but your insticts were screaming otherwise. You managed to exit, and Glow George took you to Octoringo. 

You told Octoringo what had happened. Your voice trembled half the time. He said that it sounded like a panic attack and dissociation.

“Maybe it’s really hitting you, that you’re... that this is where you live now..,” he said. 

For some reason, that bothered you, but you couldn’t place why. It’s not unreasonable, you thought. Maybe I’m just homesick. 

You still didn’t want to be alone. 

You especially don’t want to be alone, now that your head is filled with thoughts of gore. 

You don’t know whether they’re urges, but they horrify you either way, and you don’t want to find out in the wrong way. 

You keep yourself occupied. Try to help Octoringo with his garden, Win and Len (Doublennon) with their arguments, Glow George with... whatever he needs help with. You’re still not entirely sure what he was doing. 

You get less and less sleep. You can barely focus on anything when you’re not actively helping others. You’re losing yourself, your mind, your reality. 

You’ve started seeing these black Voids everywhere. And static. It’s a wonder you can do anything at all. It’s so thick. Noöne else has mentioned them, so it must be nothing, right? 

It feels like the static’s pushing you out of your own body, if not more than that. You can’t even focus on others anymore. It’s as if your body’s on autopilot, leaving you with yourself no matter what you do. 

And that damn presence. It never left. It’s just been getting stronger and stronger. You feel so empty. You think that it’s responsible. That it’s carving out your existence. 

You notice that you can’t feel your own body any more. It seems to act in accordance to what you want, but it doesn’t feel like it’s exactly yours anymore. Noöne notices. 

It feels like the presence is all around you. You can’t hide from it anymore. If Dollar Circle isn’t safe, then what is? 

You wanted to trust Octoringo, but he was wrong. What if it was intentional? 

The woods.

You’re not sure if it’s you or not, but your body runs off through Dollar Circle, its run becoming more and more beastlike, until it crashes through the barrier to the Cryptid Forest. 

You should be afraid. The least safe area, and you’re there. But you’re more afraid of your lack of fear. How can you be afraid when you can’t even register your own existence? 

Your body becomes number, a feat you hadn’t thought possible, and the static consumes your sight and hearing. You can no longer sense anything besides the presence. You’re not even sure that you’re not the presence, at this point. 

Suddenly, you feel a tug on your insides. As it gets stronger, you feel more and more yourself again, until a pain there causes your mental and physical selves to snap back together. 

You feel the hollowness of the presence from outside again. You feel like you’re nothing compared to it. Comined with the pain, you scream. 

You wake up in your bed again. There’s no note this time. You peek outside, there’s no Glow George. When you’re helping Octoringo with his garden, he asks you something. 

“I heard a scream last night; it sounded like you, but when we looked, you were already in your house sleeping. Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t want to concern him. 

You don’t want to admit that what happened to you was anything but a dream. 

You don’t want to admit that, a week later, you haven’t eaten anything since then. That you haven’t felt hungry, but you feel an emptiness where your stomach should be, and you’re afraid of what will happen if you eat something in this state. 

You don’t want to admit that you want to go back into the forest, or that you still feel the presence.