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Were a more eloquent or scientifically advanced person in this situation, falling into this whirlpool nexus of reality that connects one Hilltop Road to another, or possibly even dozens or thousands of other such named roads, they could potentially find the words to describe the sensation and sights that would come with such a cosmically miraculous transportation between universes. To try and define the forever shifting patterns and colours, to rationalise an experience that by all known defintions should be impossible. To make out the words and individual voices that make up the constant scream of noises that resonants from every possible direction.
"SHIT SHIT FUCK NO NO NO GOD GOD GOD FUCK"
Samama Khalid, was decidedly not that kind of person. Like most English men having a rather rubbish and inconvientient day, swearing was a far more effective and reactive response.
As the young terrified man plummeted down into this void (or rather is he falling upwards? Sideways? Or is he tumbling perfectly still in place while the multiverse itself casacades down around him? No human senses could truly tell) he desperately kicked around, arms flailing trying to grab onto something to slow him down from this descent, or at least the illusion of one. To try and spot the crack through which he fell, or was rather dragged into. He soon realised how foolhardy that would be. Like trying to spot a crack in the night sky. He wanted to know if anyone was with him, Celia or that, Thing that stalked them.
There were flickers of beings in his vision, patches of stable darkness that stuck out from the ever changing landscapes colours, but they flitted far too fast for Sam to accurately tell who or what they were. What he could make out were more like, incomplete shadows of a person rather than a complete figure.
Didn't mean these shadows were any less alive or terrified as he was, he could make out that much from how they writhed and contorted in, wrong ways.
Some were wrapped around in some kind of, black tendril. The more they moved, the more they were entangled, choked by it.
Like wild animals in a trap, left to bleed out.
One such tendril wormed its way towards him. Swearing once more, he quickly snapped at hand at it, to hold in place, keep it away from his face. Once he had a tight grasp on it, feeling the smooth material be crushed under his fingers, he realised what it was. Like a flash in the dark, childhood memories of playing around with his famillies cassette tapes came back to mind.
It wasn't a tendril. It was tapes. Fucking tape recorders. Couldn't even get away from them here he thought bitterly to himself. Or maybe... maybe this is where they came from?
He tried to throw the thing far away, but physics as he knew it no longer complied here. Instead the long line of tape remained drifting in the nothingness with him. No longer approaching, just waiting.
One of the shadows came in closer. It was so small. No more than the shade of an half formed head. Orbs of a darker shade of blackness he took to be eyes gazed into him. He felt compelled to gaze back. To pour all his attention to this one, solid thing rather than the melting half-reality around him.
We Are Sorry the eyes whispered in multiple voices. Sam didn't know how he could hear such quiet words over the roar of noise.
Is this hell, he wanted to ask, but found he was worn out from his previous screams and meaningless swears. His breath was caught in his throat, tears too frozen to pour out.
Not For You. You Will Not Remain Here Long. Not All Of You. You Are Going Somewhere Else. You Will Not Remember This. I Promise.
There was something almost familiar about this, fusion of voices, speaking inside his head. There was a cold comfort from what it was saying. Words of assurance but emotionless, from a place of authority, not from a friend or loved one. Try as the authority might to look after you, to empathise, it still feels like a giant talking down to an ant.
There was so much Sam wanted to ask, to know. Did Celia really love me? Where am I going? What are you? Did I deserve this? Will that archivist monster be there with me? Will anyone notice that I am gone? Does Alice hate me?
But there was only one question he poured his concerns into as he thought it.
What do you mean by not all of me?
There Is A Toll For Passing Through The Gap In Reality. Something Must Be Left Behind In This Tunnel Network Of Realities. A Part Of Yourself. Physical Or Metaphysical. A Memory. Dust Of Your Flesh. A Breath Forever Pinned. A Shadow Of A Shadow. A Sense Of Faith. You Will Escape This Place. You Must Go On In The New Life You Will Find Yourself In. But A Part Of You Will Never Leave Here. Never Leave Us. We Are Sorry. We Promise You Will Not Be Lesser Because Of This. You Will Still Be Whole. You Will Not Be Splintered Like Us
Sam blinked and the shadow of eyes were gone along with the stray tape.
He believed what the being said. He would leave this place. But he knew he would't be back home. Knew as hard as he tried, she wouldn't hear him. He would never get a chance to say what needed to be said. It would be foolhardy to even try in this, tunnelspace, before he was whisked away to somewhere else.
Sam breathed in. He screamed.
"ALICE I'M SORRY I'M SO"
Too late. The young man is gone. Where to; well that's a story for another time.
But the words remain hanging in this space between spaces. Fated to never fade in pitch, to be a forever constant loop containing Samama Khalids terror and regret. Another remnant note to join the cacophony of fear.