INT. SOMEWHERE - ???

As the sheep's eyes snap open, he finds he is in the entrance of the House. There is an eerie absence of life that lingers about the area he is lurking in.

FOGGY / WILL¹⁶

I... this... Hello?

When his gaze hangs around the entrance door that sits upon him, for just a quick moment, a sudden sensation spikes through him to unlatch through the barrier; onwards to behold its secrets. He blinks. A whispering voice not quite his own slithers in the gaps of his own mind; nestling in his home. It is not him. Despite his protests to drive ignorance into his head, the intruder fresh in his mind coerces him to turn the doorknob, and step out into the unknown. You know you want to.¹⁷ The door before him groans as it creaks open; inviting the sheep to step o u t side the bounds of the House. Only two more steps.

^{16. This is quite the sight. While retracing back my steps and rereading my annotations, there seems to be no sign of this "Will" anywhere that is previously mentioned. I suspect that this must be one of Warren's inconsistencies again. That and still not a connection to Barnes.}

^{17. A new series of handwriting finds its way onto these papers. For some particular unknown reason, though, this array of letters does not match the format and/or styling of Warren's writing. I would say it was probably someone who co-wrote for him, but the lack of another person's name of the cover of our scripture vexes me. It couldn't be a publisher of some kind. And not a relative. So.. who wrote this?}

As Foggy finds himself descending down the steps, and touching the cool blue floor, he tries to glance back; wanting to go inside again. We don't need it, Foggy. There is no past, but only the present. The only way is forward.

FOGGY / WILL

Where are you taking me?

The voice doesn't respond to his cries. It restlessly pushes on; forcing his feet to carry on. As Foggy's gaze linger on what's in front of him, the sheep notices the slight hint of a rectangular hole in the distance—slowly dragging itself closer as he approaches it.

FOGGY / WILL

What is that?

No response answers him. Only the mysterious static that buzzes to a crescendo does as he enters the hole; revealing a series of cameras, floodlights, cardboard cutouts, wallpapers, and props that litter the corridors. Remnants of confetti and childhood toys stain the dulled gray grounds with a ugly blemished mess.

WILL / FOGGY

We've been trapped here for years. Don't you understand? We just want to go home. That's all we ask for.

FOGGY / WILL

"We"? You... You say that there's more of us here. Somewhere under this mess.

Abrupt laughter chokes out of Foggy's throat. It sounds bitter. Longing tinges its tone.

WILL / FOGGY

There is. He's coming. For me. For you. For us.

FOGGY / WILL

Who's "he"?

His question earns no answer. As the sheep 'rounds a corner, he approaches a light at the end of the tunnel. With each step, the corridor's illumation gets darker, and the final passageway glows bright. As he grasps the doorframe, his eyes look out to see what's outdoors; a glowing sun hovering above the horzion—a clear blue sky with clouds drifting by—and the undergrowth of grass brushing against his rubber boots as he trails ahead to the house lingering in the background¹⁹.

^{19. I'm guessing what Foggy saw was this. link Can't say for certain because I've never gone to the eye-doctor. Optometrist? Eh. Who fucken' cares?}

And then,

the sweet smell of chlorine greets him; strangling his nose.

The amalgam drags himself out of the dark waters that surround him, and upon adjusting his vision, the amalgam finds himself in a bathtub. Now, how did he get here?

Their ears perk up at the sound of the knocking; facing themselves upon the door in front of him. The sound of Tapey's voice finds its way to their ears.

TAPEY

Foggy, are you in here? There's someone at the door, and I think it's for you!

Foggy/Will blinks. Huh. For them?

A few droplets of water are left behind as the amalgam steps out of the water-filled tub and into the rest of the House.

INT. ENTRANCE FOYER, THE HOUSE - ???

As Foggy/Will transcends his way into the atrium of the House, he finds a crowd bumbling around the door. What's going on? He can't help but wonder. As he approaches the crowd from behind, and untangles his way through, they find their paw on the knob; ready to unveil what is causing all this fuss.

As the door opens before the residents, they find a gray wolf²⁰ standing before them, smiling. For a moment, Foggy/Will thought that their eyes were unnatural and their smile was far too sharp. He blinks. Maybe that was just his imagination fooling his eyes.

A STRANGER

Well, howdy do, parder! What's your name?

As Foggy/Will anxiously chuckles at him. A unusual sense of dread sinks in his stomach like dead weight. There is something off-putting about this young fellow.

^{20. Terrance came by today. He said he wanted to check up on me, and see how well I'm doing. I told him that I was fine, and I was just grappling with some archivist biz. "I thought you were a stylist, man." He cackles like the toughest dog in Revelstroke; deep and gravelly. "What, you planning to go to Museumtown or something?" I lightly chuckle at his joke, and amusingly throw back, "There's room for the two of us," as I gesture for him to come up to my workshop; upstairs in the attic. He pats my shoulder, shining his snarky and toothy grin at me. "Sure, mate." He smugly responds as he follows along my trail, "I'll gladly join you." As we push our way upstairs, I dive into my office chair as I pleasantly show all the things I've been curating; niche record labels, floppy discs, vhs tapes, amongst other ancient objects in my possessions. The man's eyes spark, and his face seems to light up as his gaze lay eyes on all this stuff. "You've been keeping track too, right?" He questions, to which his smile brightens upon my nod. "That's so cool."}

^{It is before then, that I show him the unreleased documents of MORTIS. Surely he knows something, right? I watch as his smile burns down into a frown as he peers at the tattered sheets of pages lightly passed over; neatly placed in a vintage shoebox container. "What... What is this exactly?" He quietly asks as he slowly looks up to me; his tone laced with a tinge of worry yet curiousity. "It's a unreleased first draft of MORTIS, written by Warren Saunders." I quickly summarized, "The author is unusually lost to time, and I've... I've seen names written in there that don't make sense."}

^{Silence. Deafening silence.}

^{I make the next move. "Do you know anyone named Barnes?"}

^{Something akin to remembrance shifts in Terrance's eyes. He knows something. The next time he speaks, there is a tint of dread laced in the undergrowth of his tone as if it's too senstive to touch upon. Still, Terrance pushes on. "Yeah. I know him," There is a tense pause. "Well, knew him. But that was right before he disappeared in the December of 1931." I swallow, and then whisper like I'm being strangled. "What, What happened to him?" Terrance briefly looks away from my gaze; avoiding eye-contact. "I... I don't know." He sighs. "When the police found him, they said it was a suicide. When I arrived at the scene of the crime, it... it seemed like someone had broken in and tried to smuggle him. Broken glass, attempts of a struggle, and his body littered with orange bruises; indicting side effects of a allergy, and a heckton of puncture wounds right in the chest." He heaves; his eyes shutting tight as he tries his best not to recall the rest. "It's too harsh for me to think about." I grab his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. "Hey. It's not your fault. I'm sorry I asked."}

FOGGY / WILL

It's... haha, it's Foggy.

The wolf's scales ripple like the tides of water. Its eyes dilate; its pupils dilating into a thin slit.

A STRANGER

It's so nice to see you. Name's—

It burbles for a moment. Foggy/Will visibly cringes.

A STRANGER

—Illuso... ry....

The amalgam turns to Ferrie for answers. Instead of support, Ferrie blinks, and turns away from his gaze*. Foggy/Will glances back; trying to school his anxious, unnerved gaze into a neutral expression while taking Illusory's paw in his own.

FOGGY / WILL

Let's take you for a ride, okay?

Illusory's response is nothing but the disconcerting, grating noise of static droning in Foggy's ears. The more Foggy stares into those eyes, the more he could make a shadowy figure in the gilmpse behind them.

The sheep shakes his head. It's possibly just his mind playing tricks on him again. He turns back to the crowd of residents and smiles; gesturing them to take their places. Once they scatter, Foggy glances back and leads the wolf in his trail.

INT. ATELIER, THE HOUSE - ???

A series of easels, blank canvases, waterbuckets, palettes, and paintbrushes litter the room as the two wander into the room. One canvas, in particular, seems to be preoccupied by someone—Wayfinder—who gently applies a few strokes of blues onto his canvas. When the swan discerns two pairs of footfalls coming from right behind him, his head swivels to the left.

ILLUSORY

Hello, m rr Mr. Swan²¹!

^{21. Messy and frantic handwriting that strangely seems to match my dear friend, Terrance's handwriting here. When I asked him if he'd borrowed the documents before I moved in, he said no. In fact, what's even stranger, is that he has no clear memory of ever touching or interacting with them. This is just probably another thing to add to Warren's inconsistancies.}

^{* There seems to be a sense that Ferrie knows Illusory, and despises him for some particular reason. Which makes me wonder why? What happened to them prior to the events of this show? Unless there is a possiblity that Ferrie is keeping Illusory trapped and away from the showgrounds. He dopesn't want him near any of them because he holds something more than just a uncanny form.}

^Knowledge.

Wayfinder winces at the gray wolf, Illusory's stilted and synchronized tone of voice. He then looks to Foggy/Will, exchanging a expression of pure concern, then glances back at Illusory, offering him a strained smile that which in turn looked more like a grimace.

WAYFINDER

Hey. Who're you?

A few beats pass. The wolf's eyes are still pinned down on Wayfinder. The swan lets out a nervous chuckle; a tremouring cold sweet running down his forehead as he turns to Foggy/Will, gesturing to give him answers as Illusory blalently echoes his phrases.

The amalgam looks up at Wayfinder after picking at his gloves' texture after some time.

FOGGY/WILL

His name is Illusory.

Wayfinder blinks, and lets out a "ah".

WAYFINDER

Why don't we invite you to some painting?

Wayfinder lets a sparse beam as he escorts him to a unoccupied canvas with a stool next to it. As he gestures for him to sit down, Illusory settles softly in his chair; mindlessly staring at the desolate whiteness on the textile.

WAYFINDER

Now, Illusory, I'm going to teach you some of the basics...

It seems that once Wayfinder has started his lecture, his words fall on deaf ears, as Illusory has already picked up a brush, dipped it in water, and rubbing the color pigment; getting hues on his tip of his utensil.

Foggy/Will watches as the brush drifts across the dull canvas; each stroke of color splashing against the bland tinge of pale white. As the brush finds direction through the invisble maze; each turn paints a story of its own like words on a page.

As the veils of imagination pour down on this bleak textile of raw linen, the figure behind pearly curtains begins to reveal itself like an seraphim of some kind descending down from the heavens to deliver a prophecy of great importance.

The final strokes bring peace to it all. The wolf turns back and scoots away to let the others bear witness to his creation.

ILLUSORY

You can do anything.

The artwork that Illusory has painted depicts a portrait of a amicable figure glancing listlessly off to the side. His paw wields a off-white wedding veil²² that seems to conceal his face. For some reason, the more the amalgam stares into the face of the figure illustrated in the painting, the more he seems to know this figure. His head begins to spin. The feeling of eyes grows beneath his reach. Who is this? Who is this? Wh—

^{22. You know, Illusory's painted artwork reminds me of Fred Elwell's The Wedding Dress, link which depicts a young woman (possibly a widow), in grief; mourning for the man she was due to marry, or recently wed. The lightness of the white gown marks a symbolism of innocence constracts with the dark undertones of everything else. Such is life. Such is death.}

WAYFINDER

Hey, you okay?

Foggy/Will snaps out of the beginnings of a thought spiral and glances up at the swan, Wayfinder. The amalgam rubs his neck.

FOGGY/WILL

I'm... I'm gonna need some fresh air.

Wayfinder opens his mouth as if to say, "But you just got here!", but closes it as soon as the amalgam takes their leave; recoiling as the door shuts with a sudden slam. He turns to the gray wolf who seems to stare after them. The swan looks away from its bizzare gaze, but as he glances back—he gasps as it vanishes from sight. Crap.

INT. FOYER, THE HOUSE - ???

As we see Foggy/Will descending down the lobby, variations of the painting of Nidhogg²³ stalk him from behind; their eyes following his every move. With each step that the amalgam takes, the feeling of eyes rises to a unbearable tension. The lighting gets darker as the wallpaper slowly starts to peel, and the people start to disappear behind him.

^{23. If you didn't know, Nidhogg is a wyvern dragon in Norse Mythology, known to gnaw on the roots of Yggdrasil—the tree of life—and mostly associated with the dead in Hel and Niflheim; repressenting the inevitable death and decay of the life-systems that exist in the universe. Curious as to why Warren has chosen this symbol for this.}

A abrupt crack seems to answer the call of deafening silence in the air. Foggy/Will's head lifts up as he discerns the noise. From there, we can see a shadowy figure (mostly definitely akin to the shadow in the previous episodes before us) behind him.

Barnes? Where are you g goingg?

Foggy/Will turns around at the voice that calls for him, he finds that the House has shifted to what it was before; noticing the Nidhogg paintings has vanished and and the wallpaper hasn't yet chipped off. Instead the gray wolf stands in front of him, almost beckoning him to follow as it steps back.

FOGGY/WILL

Leave me alone.

The gray wolf doesn't move from his space. His eyes bore into the amalgam, wanting/needing something. It steps back once more. Was it... trying to convince him to pursue it?

As Foggy/Will steps once in its path, it too, backs away. Two steps. Three steps. On the fourth step, he starts running after it through the hallways; swiveling right, dashing left, bouncing forth, and loop de loops. Until finally, the gray wolf plunges into a inconceivable darkness.

Foggy/Will's footfalls skid into a sudden halt. As he glances below, a cascanding set of stairs seem to descend down, down, ever downward.

Before the amalgam could truly investigate what's down there, two pairs of paws drag him out to safety. He gasps as he is ripped from his eternal spell the gloaming twilight has cast on them and turns around.

It's Blackbell and Tapey. Ferrie, in some reason, is not there with them like he usually is.

BLACKBELL

Be careful there, Foggy!

TAPEY

Nearly scared us for a sec there, eh? By the way, where did the new guy go?

Foggy/Will blinks. As the amalgam tries to motion towards the unholy blackness behind hin, all he sees is a regular ol' door in front of him. His brows furrow, and as he turns back to the two in front of him, they both laugh at his awkward predicament.

BLACKBELL

You silly goose. That's just a door.

Foggy/Will stammers, but shuts down as Tapey gestures for him to come with.

TAPEY

C'mon, what are you waiting for? Follow us. Everyone's anticipating you.

Foggy/Will hesitantly bobs his head, takes Tapey's offer, and slowly descends from the foyer. As he does so, he takes a glimpse behind him, only seeing a light in the darkness glancing into him.

END: EP THREE

Archivist note: Upon closer inspection, I have found a hidden card in the interval of this page. Although the writer's identity and alias is unfamiliar, there is a clear date written: 02/1944 alongside a message reading:

The basement is dark.

➣