The Inheritance

Chapter Twelve - Isolation

Mike's grip on reality was slipping, and it was becoming more apparent to everyone around him. The strain of the haunting—relentless shadows, the suffocating weight of unseen eyes—was starting to fracture his relationships. He could feel himself pulling away from the people who mattered, retreating into a shell of isolation as the terror grew.

The morning after his discovery at Abraham Dunn's house, Mike returned to work at the pub, but he was distant, distracted. Jen, his closest friend among the staff, noticed immediately. She watched him for most of the evening, concerned but unsure of how to approach the conversation. It wasn't like Mike to look so frazzled, so unsteady.

Finally, after the last customer left, she approached him as he wiped down the bar, his movements slow and absent-minded.

"Mike," she said, leaning against the counter, "what's going on? You've been off for days now, and don't say it's just work. Something's not right."

Mike stiffened, his fingers tightening around the rag in his hand. He hadn't wanted to involve Jen—or anyone else for that matter—but the weight of everything was too much to carry alone. He sighed and placed the rag on the counter, meeting her gaze.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jen's brow furrowed. "Try me."

Mike hesitated. How could he possibly explain what was happening? The shadows, the voices, the haunting that had plagued his family for generations—it all sounded insane. But he could see the genuine concern in Jen's eyes, the worry that had been growing for weeks. Maybe it was time to tell someone.

"I've been... seeing things," Mike began, his voice trembling slightly. "It started with the sleep paralysis, but now it's more than that. I'm seeing shadows, hearing voices. And it's not just when I'm asleep. It's happening when I'm awake, too."

Jen stared at him, her expression unreadable. "Shadows? Voices? Mike, that sounds—"

"Crazy, I know," Mike interrupted, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "But it's real, Jen. I've tried to ignore it, tried to tell myself it's just stress or exhaustion, but it's not. It's something else. It's been happening for generations in my family. My grandfather, my great-grandfather—they went through the same thing, and now it's happening to me."

Jen took a step back, her arms folding across her chest. "Mike, are you sure this isn't just... you know, anxiety? Maybe your mind's playing tricks on you."

"I'm not imagining it!" Mike snapped, louder than he intended. He regretted the outburst immediately, but the fear and frustration had been building for so long. He was unraveling, and no one could help him.

Jen's face softened, but the uncertainty in her eyes remained. "I believe you're going through something, Mike. But you need help. Have you talked to someone? A therapist, maybe?"

"I don't need a therapist," Mike said, his voice strained. "I need answers. I found something, a journal from my grandfather. There's a name—Abraham Dunn. He went through the same thing, and I think... I think he knew how to stop it."

Jen frowned. "Abraham Dunn? Who is he?"

"He disappeared. Decades ago. He thought destroying his house would end it, but I don't know if that's the solution. I don't know if there's a solution at all." Mike's hands shook as he spoke, his voice cracking with desperation. "I'm losing control, Jen. I can't sleep, I can't think straight, and the shadows... they're everywhere."

Jen reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Mike, you don't have to go through this alone. Let me help. We can figure this out together."

Mike pulled away, shaking his head. "No. You can't help me. No one can. This is my burden."

Before Jen could respond, he grabbed his coat and stormed out of the pub, leaving her standing there in stunned silence. The guilt gnawed at him as he walked down the darkened streets, but he couldn't risk dragging her into the nightmare that was swallowing him whole.