Without a second thought, Brock quickly went online again, hoping this thing would be anywhere else. He kept searching for who the silhouette could be or why it had just stood there. Still petrified by the thought of it coming back, Brock thought to himself, "It could actually do something this time."
Trying to shake the image of this entity, he went to his bathroom to take a relaxing shower, knowing it would clear his mind. Turning on the only still-working lightbulb in the bathroom, Brock got ready. He thought about arming himself but knew there was nothing he could really do if it came back.
Stepping one foot into the hot—yet slightly cold—shower, then the next, Brock felt uneasy. He was even too scared to wash his hair. He wet it a little, trying to keep his eyes open the whole time. As he applied shampoo, some of it got into his eyes.
"Dammit," Brock muttered, rubbing his eyes and trying to get the soap out. Suddenly, he felt a light rub on his back.
Startled, he let out a small gasp and almost slipped. Fighting through the stinging soap, he opened his eyes and realized—he had just backed into his towel.
"Okay... I am going insane. This is really killing me. I'm way too paranoid."
Brock rinsed out his hair and cleaned the rest of his body. Stepping out of the shower and drying off, he almost forgot about the silhouette. He started putting on clothes—his underwear, joggers with a hole in the knee, and a cotton shirt that looked fifty years old from wear but had no holes, so he wore it anyway.
As he walked to his room, he overheard his mom talking on the phone. Her voice was loud yet shaky, like she could cry at any second.
"Yes, I'm telling you—he broke his door."
Feeling horrible, like the whole situation was his fault, Brock walked sluggishly and listlessly toward the gap in the doorframe. He sat down on his bed with a vacant look. Then, he grabbed a bat from the corner of his bare closet. Walking across the room, he grabbed his backpack and emptied it. He packed a change of clothes, the bat, and a flashlight to fill the dark void he felt inside.
Ambling toward the door, he moved to leave. As he passed his mom, she wiped her tears.
"Brock, where the hell are you going? You know you're still in trouble!"
With a blank, aimless face, he walked past her.
"Damn, she's gonna kill me," he thought.
Closing the door with motive, Brock left to solve the mystery of the silhouette.
He called his friend Hawk. "Please pick up, Hawk, please," he whispered, clenching all the muscles in his face.
"Yo Brock, it's been a minute."
Brock let out a big sigh of relief. "Hey Hawk, can I come over?"
Hawk sounded a little confused but confirmed.
"So, Hawk… you'll never believe me—"
After a hike, Brock made it to Hawk's house and explained everything. Hawk looked at Brock like he was trying to hold back a laugh—until he couldn't anymore. He started laughing hysterically, uncontrollably. Not even Brock could stop him.
"A silhouette? Sure," Hawk said between gasps of laughter.
He tried to stop, but one glance at Brock's serious face set him off again—this time laughing even harder.
"Listen, Hawk," Brock said, his voice steady as stone. His face gave nothing away, hoping that being completely serious would finally get Hawk to understand.
Brock suggested the idea of stopping the entity. Hawk agreed, though he remained highly skeptical that it would work.
The two of them strode toward the kitchen to grab water and food for the adventure—until they heard a knock at the front door.
Hawk walked over without a second thought. Brock, looking horrified, told him to stop.
Hawk, mocking and not listening, looked out the window.
"There's nothing. You're paranoid," he said.
And then, he opened the door…