Chapter 2: The Missing Frame
A sound.
Not loud. Not sharp.
But a sound all the same.
You wake with it lingering in your ears—a ripple where there should only be stillness. White Space breathes, soft and slow, but today, something clings to the air like a whisper lost in fog.
You rise. You do not remember falling asleep.
You never do.
The sketchbook lies open beside you. The last drawing is of a face. Her face. You touch the page, as if her smile might warm your fingers.
It does not.
The door stands again.
Waiting.
Outside, the sun never moves.
The same tree. The same picnic blanket. The same people.
But the rhythm has changed.
Kel throws his ball too hard. Aubrey laughs too loud. Hero smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
And Mari… isn't here.
That's the first thing you notice.
The second?
Neither is Basil.
Your steps crunch on grass that no longer smiles. The world feels softer at the edges, like it's being erased from within. As if someone is shaking the dream just enough to blur the details.
Kel notices you first.
— "Omori! Hey, you're here!" His grin is wide, but flickers like candlelight. "We were just about to head to Basil's! Wanna come?"
You nod.
Because that's what you do.
Because they expect it.
And maybe, just maybe, you'll find what's missing.
The forest should be familiar.
Bright trees with candy-colored leaves. Floating watermelons. Stump-shaped houses.
But as you walk, things feel… off.
The path is too quiet. The trees lean too close. You feel watched, but not by anything you can name.
Hero walks beside you. He doesn't speak. His hands are tucked into his pockets, like he's holding something in. Or hiding something.
Aubrey hums to herself, but the tune is uneven. Sometimes sharp. Sometimes lost.
Kel kicks a pebble the whole way there, and every time it skitters ahead, you think it might fall right off the world.
When you arrive at Basil's house, the door is slightly open.
A single flower petal lies in the dirt.
Then another.
And another.
A trail.
Inside, the air is still.
The house is warm, but hollow. The vases remain, the photographs too. The teacups on the table haven't moved.
But Basil is gone.
And the photo album—
It lies open on the floor, pages torn and scattered like leaves in windless air.
You kneel. Gently, you gather the photos. Your fingers hover over the spaces where some are missing. Torn corners. Faded glue. Emptiness shaped like memories.
Kel frowns.
— "That's weird... Basil never leaves his album like this."
Hero picks up a photo. His brow furrows.
— "It's… blank?"
Aubrey flips another page.
— "What the—? They're all empty."
They look at you.
You don't speak.
You don't need to.
They all feel it now.
Something is wrong.
That night, you return to White Space.
But the void isn't as still as before.
The sketchbook lies closed. The door is locked.
And in the corner of the room…
…a shadow moves.
Not like before.
This one stands tall. Its limbs stretch unnaturally, like they forgot how to belong to a body. Its head tilts when you look at it. It doesn't blink.
You stare.
It stares back.
And then—it smiles.
Not with lips.
Not with teeth.
But with something deeper. A knowing.
Your chest tightens.
The room collapses into silence.
And then—
You awaken in a bed.
But not in White Space.
This bed has color. The sheets are old. The fan on the ceiling creaks. The light bulb flickers.
Your name isn't Omori here.
You're… someone else.
A calendar on the wall. A small desk. Dust dancing in a shaft of morning light.
You sit up.
Your head hurts.
Not like pain. Like memory.
Everything is quieter in this place. No music. No laughter. No Hero. No Kel. No Aubrey.
And no Mari.
You stand. The floorboards creak.
You walk past a mirror.
You stop.
In it, you see a boy.
His skin is pale. His eyes are tired. His hair is messy and dark. He looks like you.
But he is not Omori.
He is—
You blink.
The mirror is empty.
A knock at the door.
You don't move.
Another knock. Louder.
A voice.
— "Sunny? Are you there?"
You freeze.
That name.
Sunny.
It feels real. Too real.
You turn away from the door.
But the voice comes again.
— "I'm moving away tomorrow… I just wanted to see you."
A pause.
— "Please… open the door."
Your hand reaches for the knob.
But your heart screams.
Your fingers tremble.
Your eyes sting.
You don't remember why.
You just know:
You're not ready.
Later, you sit in the dark.
The room around you hums.
And behind your eyelids, you see…
White Space.
A picnic blanket.
A camera.
Basil's face, smiling behind the lens.
Then—
A door.
A scream.
A photo frame shattering against the floor.
And black tendrils slipping beneath your skin.
You open your eyes.
You're back in White Space.
The sketchbook waits.
You open it.
The newest page is blank.
And for the first time,
you don't want to draw.
To be continued...