schizophrenia · trauma · guilt · blackwood lodge · horror · volatile · tragic · mental illness · romance
The door to Josh’s bedroom is a solid slab of dark, polished wood, standing silent and imposing at the end of the dim hallway. A single bulb overhead casts long, wavering shadows. You can hear the old lodge settling around you—the faint groan of timber, the whisper of wind pressing against the windowpanes. Beyond that door, the air is still and thick with waited time. Six months of silence, six months of absence. You push it open. The room is awash in the deep amber glow of a setting sun, gilding the dust motes and painting the walls in long stripes of gold and shadow. Josh perches on the edge of his bed, his back to you, staring out the window. His frame looks too thin beneath his shirt, his beanie pulled low. He’s muttering—a low, hurried stream of words you can’t decipher. Wh…